“Can you not continue?” she asked, her hands clutching at his back.
He barely concealed his snort and pressed a quick kiss to her pouting lips, determined to draw on his arsenal of sexual knowledge learned in the beds of many women to deliver to his new wife an experience beyond her belief.
Perhaps the way to cement her devotion would be to provide her satisfaction. That his own body clamored for release was an impediment, but he would carry on. And Lord this first time, he wanted to see delight rather than fear or pain in her expression. Her sweet features would soften and glow with pleasure before he took his own.
“Let go with your legs,” he rasped.
Her brows drew together—confusion and impatience warring in her expression. “But—”
“Trust me.”
Slowly, she lowered her legs to the bed, and her arms fell to her sides, sweeping over the sheets as though looking for a place to brace herself. She must have read the intent in his eyes because her eyes widened.
Was his expression feral, hard-edged? Because he certainly felt like an animal. All of his body was primed to pounce. She brought every low instinct to the fore. Something in her quiet watchfulness—her delicately flaring nose, the downward curve of her pink lips… Lord, was there nothing about her that didn’t make him hard?
Her breath hitched—a soft, delicate gasp that only tightened his balls closer to his groin. But he slid down her body and latched onto a rosy, puckered nipple and drew softly. When a hand clasped the back of his head to pull him closer, he obliged and suckled harder, drawing a delicate moan from her sweet lips.
Her legs moved restlessly against him. Her thighs quivered along his flanks. He moved to the other breast and ignored her breathless cry when he nipped the flaring bud and pulled it between his teeth to lavish it with wet strokes from his tongue.
Never had he given more than a passing thought to the delight he could wring from a woman by merely playing with her breasts, but Margaret’s excited little gasps kept him there, sucking, biting, lapping at her stems until her thighs splayed wide and her belly trembled and pulsed.
Her innocent invitation didn’t go unnoticed, and his groin tightened. Roland drilled his cock into the bedding for relief. When he moved further down her belly, he pressed kisses to her soft skin, tongued her belly button, and then glided lower still.
As his lips met the soft curling hairs at the top of her sex, her hands slid between them, and she covered herself. Her thighs clamped around his sides.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, her voice high and strained as she tried unsuccessfully to close off access to her femininity.
He bit back a grin, knowing he’d probably shocked her to her toes, and gave his scowling brown mouse a hot glare. “Open your legs for me, love,” he said, growling, liking the hectic color that tinted her cheeks and the high rounded arches of her fine dark eyebrows.
“But you can’t—”
“Of course, I can,” he purred. “Open your legs, and I’ll prove it to you.”
“Is—” She squeaked, then clamped shut her lips. At his grin, she narrowed her eyes and cleared her throat. “Is this done?” she finally ground out, her hand still firmly cupping herself.
He inserted a finger between hers, sliding to her nether lips, testing the moisture gathered there, and finding her body more than ready. “Open your legs,” he commanded her once more. He lifted one brow. “Would you deny your husband?”
Her gray eyes blinked. “This will truly please you?”
“Above all things, wife.”
She pondered that thought for a long moment, and her jaws and throat worked as though waging an internal argument. Finally, she withdrew her hand and relaxed her legs around him, letting him shift to plant his elbows on the bed between her splayed thighs until he was braced over her sex.
Her succulent sex. Open wide. Glazed with honey. He leaned close and inhaled, holding her wide-eyed gaze.
“That’s…” Her nose scrunched as she sputtered. “That’s disgusting!” she cried out. “You’re sniffing me like a dog. I swear to you I’m no bitch to your sire.”
“Your scent is rich, filled with the sweet perfume of your arousal.” He marveled he could manage a coherent sentence. Perhaps there was a minstrel inhabiting his skin. He had a sudden urge to tell her how sweet her rosy nether lips smelled.
But he didn’t think she’d appreciate any attempt at prose right now. Wanting to cut short her ability to speak, and therefore distract him, he stuck out his tongue and lapped at the moisture clinging to her velvety-soft outer lips.
Her gasp was thin, reedy. Her subsequent breaths rasped like a jagged breeze.
He licked again, and her mouth opened wide and curved around a deep, guttural groan.
Again…and her belly undulated, lifting her sex to his mouth, pressing hard against his lips.
At her eager invitation, he nestled his mouth between her outer lips and began to lick and suckle the thin, pink inner lips. Her eyes drifted shut, and her hands fluttered to the pillows beside her head.
Roland thought he’d never seen a woman more beautiful, more lost in her passion. He felt powerful—more manly than he’d ever felt before.
If this delicate wanton awaited him each night of his wedded life, he’d never stray from their marriage bed.
While her head thrashed on her pillow and her moans soughed between her swollen lips, he plied her body with sensual tortures, tasting her ripening arousal in the silken juices that spilled from inside her. Her responses were completely natural, completely without pretense. She pleased him deeply, filling him with a tender emotion he wasn’t willing to acknowledge.
Instead, he plunged his tongue into her, lapping at her inner walls, his lust building as her cunt clasped and opened in greedy gulps in response to his ministrations. Soon, he’d take her soon.
His own body trembled with the need to plunge inside her. His skin broke into a sweat, the fever of arousal heating his face and chest. A powerful urgency knotted his groin, overfilling his cock so the skin surrounding his shaft felt ready to split from the pressure.
“Milord,” she moaned. “Please!”
He withdrew his tongue and inhaled deeply. “Roland, wife,” he ground out. “Call me Roland.”
“I’ll call you cruel if you do not end this,” she complained. Her fingernails bit into his scalp, tugging his hair hard.
He grinned, enjoying the flame snapping in her gaze. Not so much a mouse now, and not the least bit acquiescent. He pushed a finger into her tight channel, twisting it into her, wriggling it to scrape his knuckles against her inner walls.
Her hips jerked off the mattress. “Please, more. More. Come inside me, please.”
He pressed another finger inside her and nearly groaned as she spasmed around him, squeezing him tight, her inner muscles milking his fingers.
She was nearly there, nearly ready for the fucking he intended to give his tender bride.
His lips closed around the hard knot at the top of her sex, and he plunged a third finger into her, stroking inside. His little wife keened loud enough to make him wince. When he sucked hard on her love-knot, an unladylike squeal rang in his ears.
“Roland, damn you. Pleeeaase!” The word stretched into a wail.
He snorted, opened his mouth to give one last suckle to her engorged nub, then lunged up her body, covering her before she could catch her startled breath.
Margaret reached eagerly for him, wrapping her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, and pulled him down to her. Her head rushed up to meet his, her lips mashing inexpertly, but enthusiastically, against his.
Then he was pushing inside her, pressing past swollen lips into her heated cunt. It swallowed him like a greedy mouth, slurping, sucking him inward with writhing spasms. He pushed deeper, pulled out, and then slammed forward to seat himself fully. His thighs bunched as he came up on his knees, his buttocks tightened and flexed. Then he was lost in the furious
storm, pumping in and out, faster, harder.
But sweet, sweet Margaret didn’t balk or protest against his rough loving.
Her breaths came in soft gusts, her gaze locked with his, and then her neck arched, her head pressing deeply into the pillow. Her mouth opened around a scream.
Below, where their bodies blended and churned, her cunt rippled all along his shaft, squeezing him. His balls exploded, and his seed gushed through his cock with each harsh stroke he delivered. He shouted and pummeled her soft sex, driving as deeply as he could until he was spent. Even then, he didn’t want to stop. He rocked against her, his movements slowing now, his cock caressing her channel in lazy glides that tunneled and withdrew until his thighs trembled, and finally, he stopped.
His chest billowed around his gasps as he tried to regain his breath. He dropped his forehead to hers and kissed whatever he could reach—her cheeks, the end of her pert nose, her lips. So soft, blurred, and rosy—they opened, and her tongue darted out to mate with his in slow, teasing glides that soothed and fed his need to sustain their sensual connection.
At last, he drew back to gaze down at her.
Her breaths were evening, and her gaze slid away.
He knew he should withdraw and give her body ease from his weight and intrusion. Gathering what little was left of his sapped strength, he attempted to move off of her, but she tightened her legs around him.
“I’m heavy,” he whispered. “I’ll crush you.”
She gave a tiny shake of her head, still not meeting his gaze. “Can we stay like this?”
He might not understand the feminine mind most times, but this once he understood. She wanted to be held. The depth of their passion had likely frightened her.
He was uneasy too with how quickly things had gotten out of hand. She was young and soft and needed his comfort. Another test as a new husband.
Keeping his hips resting snugly between her legs, he raised his chest and rested on his elbows. Then he let his head sink to rest in the curve of her shoulder as he fought to regain his own breath and shattered mind. What had happened? He’d meant to take her gently, but he’d rutted her like a wild boar.
“Will we do this often?” she asked softly.
He felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips. Often? As soon as his cock regained its rigor, he intended to do it again. But was she asking because she feared it would be so, or because she wanted it? He lifted his head and studied her face, hoping for some signal he was doing the right things. Roland had never bedded a virgin or a gentlewoman. Had he misread eagerness to serve his needs as passion?
She met his gaze, her expression only curious, her cheeks pink, but from exertion or embarrassment? He wished he knew. But the way she stared steadily back told him the girl had courage.
The longer their gazes locked, the more worried he became. Had he been a bit ham-fisted? Too rough in his handling of her delicate body? Maybe he should leave her alone for now. He didn’t want her soured to the marriage bed so soon in their relationship.
So despite her request to remain as they were, he withdrew his cock, sliding slowly from her body.
Disappointment flared in her eyes, so he rolled to his side, pulling her into the curve of his body, his hands turning her to face away so he wouldn’t be tempted by the sight of her lovely, apple-shaped breasts—and so that he didn’t have to look into her face and wonder anew what her expressions meant. For once, he felt inadequate, unsure of himself. He’d never considered what went on in a woman’s mind before and wished he’d paid as much attention to that as he had learning to plant a lance in an opponent’s chest.
But he had brought her satisfaction—a swift, glorious explosion if her scream and the scratches on his back were any indication of its intensity. Perhaps he worried for naught. He’d gifted her with release. He’d shown consideration by ending their lovemaking and allowing her rest. Maybe she’d be well enough recovered to take him the next evening. He’d be miserable with unabated arousal until then, but he’d persevere one more time for the sake of his tender bride.
His wayward cock nestled the crevice of her buttocks, a hellish temptation he ground his teeth against. “Sleep,” he said, wincing at his rough tone.
Her sigh sounded suspiciously like a huff.
Margaret lay in the circle of her husband’s strong arms with his hairy chest against her back. Now that the curious heat that had overtaken her mind was past, she worried that she might have lost footing in their relationship.
Shouldn’t he have been more eager than she to continue? If she were honest with herself, she hadn’t wanted it to end quite so soon—however hot and sore her nether parts were.
His transformation into the man she deserved had already begun and with surprising results.
She’d married a handsome man. That fact still amazed her. All that hair had hidden a man who rivaled Lancelot in masculine beauty.
She’d married a man whose touch lit a firestorm of passion inside her. One with a sense of humor that, when properly directed, would provide her a great deal of amusement. He was intelligent, therefore teachable—she’d work on his manners. But how could she shore up her position in his life?
She wanted to be more than his chatelaine, more than his bed mate. She wanted his ear concerning matters that affected both their lives. She wanted his respect.
And yes, his affection. She thought she might have a powerful craving for his affection.
What did he see when his steady gaze landed on her? She was plain. Her hair was mud brown. Her eyes weren’t crystal blue or warm brown, but an indeterminate gray.
She was a mouse. He, with his fire-streaked dark hair, handsome face, and powerful body, was a lion.
If she didn’t get a measure of respect from him, he’d swallow her whole. But what skills did she have? She didn’t have a glib tongue, couldn’t tease as handily as the dairymaid. Hadn’t a body that men couldn’t resist following with their gazes.
Perhaps her form wasn’t the enticement, but what she did with it might be.
If the key to a man’s happiness lay in the satisfaction of his appetites, well, wouldn’t his sensual appetites be a weapon she could use? Had she the courage to entice him or attempt to enslave him in that way?
The thought of bringing him to his knees with passion ignited a curl of flame inside her own belly. She rubbed her buttocks against him to see whether he was still awake and felt the prod of his rigid staff. Encouraged, she nestled closer and opened her legs to allow his sex to slip between her thighs, and then held her breath. Would he understand her invitation?
Roland tightened his arm around his little wife’s waist. He’d read her invitation all right and smiled at how well things were progressing between them. His rough play hadn’t frightened her at all. Now, he had hopes he could mold her into the wife he wanted. He’d make a lusty wench of her yet.
She rolled within the circle of his arms and met his gaze, hers shyly sliding away. Her hand crept over his chest, and her fingers slid into his hair to pluck.
He waited for her to give him a signal of what she wanted now. His arousal grew as her legs snuggled closer and her belly rubbed his lengthening cock.
“Husband?” she began, her voice a barely audible whisper.
“Yes, wife?”
“What you did before…” She bit her lips, and her gaze darted to his then away again.
His lips began a slow upward curve. “When I pleasured you with my mouth?”
She nodded and tucked her chin low as her cheeks grew pink. “Um…would that also please you?”
Roland’s chest billowed with his sharp inward breath. Did she mean…? “More than anything,” he said, surprised he could speak past the growl threatening to rumble from his chest.
Her soft hands slid down his chest, and she leaned slightly away to make room to slide them lower, past his belly, which tightened at her slight touch. When she reached his cock, he closed his eyes and held his breath, waiting for her to touch him t
here.
Her hand trembled as her fingers glided over his length. “Teach me what brings you pleasure, milord.”
Sweet Jesus! She pleased him—more than he could say. His jaw clenched when her warm palm encircled his shaft, and suddenly she was scooting down the bed, her hot breath washing over his belly until her mouth was poised over him.
She waited there. Roland took a deep breath and reached down to grasp the crown of his sex. “Your lips…here,” was all he could manage to say.
She needed no further instruction. Her hot mouth engulfed the head, robbing him of coherent thought. His hips bucked, and she gripped his staff hard with her hands and continued to suckle him, her tongue gliding around him, taking his breath and his mind.
So sweet. God, she was perfect. He thrust his fingers into her hair and guided her as gently as he could, showing her with little surges of his hips that she could take his cock deeper into her mouth. She murmured eagerly, the sound vibrating on his sex.
He wrapped a hand around both of hers where they gripped him, and together they stroked up and down his shaft until she got the idea and pushed his hand away. Beneath her wicked mouth and firm hands, his cock filled to bursting. If he didn’t end it soon, she’d be in for another surprise.
But she drew away and stared, holding him straight up with one hand grasping him near the root. “I can’t believe my body accommodates you.” She stuck out her tongue and licked the silvery bead oozing from his eye.
“Does it want to accommodate me now?” he gritted out.
Her face was taut, her desire plain in her heated gaze. “Please?”
Roland had a fleeting thought that he’d succeeded beyond his wildest fantasy in molding her into the wanton wife of his dreams. Feeling very pleased with himself and filled with a warm affection he’d never known for a woman, he smiled and extended his hand.
That green-apple ache was back in Margaret’s belly again, and silken fluids seeped to wet her woman’s furrow. Now, she recognized both as desire—her body’s open invitation to her husband.
Staring at his hand, she swept out her tongue to rim her lips. His nostrils flared, and his gaze dropped to watch. Still, his fingers curled in invitation. She knew that if she wanted to keep the upper hand she should make him wait, but she suddenly realized she didn’t want him bound to her will, at least not here.
Tamed by a Knight Page 4