Bedchamber Games

by Tracy Anne Warren

  “Do you mean this?” He brushed her with his fingers again, dipping one briefly into the wetness gathered there before moving out again.

  “Yes, you devil.”

  He chuckled. “And so I am. But then, you knew that before we began. Tell me what you want.”

  “You know what I want.”

  “Tell me something else.”

  Her breasts chose that moment to throb, the tips drawn up hard and red as berries. Still, the words stuck in her throat.

  He tickled her down below again, rubbing his thigh tantalizingly between hers.

  She moaned. “Kiss me.”

  Leaning low, he obliged, plundering her mouth with a slow yet blatant intimacy that spoke of far more than mere kisses. He made it last, taking her lips thoroughly, so that by the end she felt even needier than before.

  “Anything more?” he said when he finally let her come up for air.

  “M-my . . . You know . . . like you did before,” she confessed shyly.

  “You’ll have to say the words. There are several ‘you knows,’ I’m afraid. It could be any one of them.”

  She wanted to curse him. “My breasts,” she whispered.

  “What about them?”

  “Ooh, just wait. As soon as I’m able, I’m going to pay you back for this.”

  He grinned. “I look forward to it. Now, you were telling me about your breasts.”

  “Kiss them.”

  “Of course.” Lowering his head, he gave her a few rather chaste little pecks that were lovely yet somehow managed to avoid the most sensitive parts.

  “Not like that.”

  “Like what, then?”

  “You know what. Take them in your . . . mouth. Suckle me the way you did before.”

  “With pleasure.” Smiling, he bent his head and did as she bade, opening his mouth to feast on her with obvious relish.

  The world spun away, his movements both dark and delicious. Her yearning doubled, her body ripe with unsatisfied hunger.

  “More,” she moaned, tangling her fingers in his thick, springy hair so that she could press herself more fully against him.

  He obeyed, drawing on her with a quick, fierce suction that left her delirious.

  Adrift, she ran her other hand up and down the length of his body, exploring the shape and texture of whatever she could reach—arm, shoulder and back. He was blazingly warm and hard and silky all at the same time, as was the male part of him that pressed insistently against her side.

  Yet while he pleasured her above, he continued to torment her below, careful to let her inch closer to what she craved before drawing away again. Every so often, he would dip in a finger to brush across the ultrasensitive nub of flesh between her folds but lightly enough and only long enough to heighten her agony without appeasing it.

  Racked with an almost violent longing, she bent one knee to the side and slid it upward against the sheets, opening her legs wider to give him more access. Her femininity throbbed, yearning with an emptiness that insisted on being appeased. She was wet too, so slick her inner thighs were damp from the excess moisture weeping from her core.

  “Please,” she begged, barely even aware she’d said the word.

  He raised his head, his eyes heavy and dark, jaw clenched with barely controlled desire. “Please what? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

  She met his gaze, realizing in that moment that he wanted her complete and unconditional surrender, as well as her unqualified participation in this ultimate act of possession.

  “Take me, Lawrence,” she said. “Please, just take me.”

  He stared into her eyes for a few seconds longer, then crushed her mouth beneath his with a kind of deep, quiet exhalation.

  Kissing her still, he levered his body over hers, using his knees to nudge her legs even wider. Careful to keep a portion of his weight off her, he settled himself between her thighs, then guided himself firmly yet slowly inside.

  It was good at first, so good she didn’t know why she’d ever had any hesitation at all. She threw her arms around his shoulders and kissed him back, tangling their tongues together as she gave herself over to the pleasure.

  He drew back, then pushed again, this time gaining twice the distance as before. She squirmed, aware of a sudden measure of discomfort, a feeling of being stretched a bit too much.

  He hushed her with whispered words, letting her adjust before repeating the process again. Out and then in, then out and in again, thrusting deeper and more forcefully so he was lodged a bit more each time.

  It was only then, though, that she became aware just how much farther he had to go, that he was actually barely inside her despite the continued sensation of being overstretched.

  He kissed her slowly, tenderly, then moved his hands down to take hold of her hips, his fingers cradled around the pliant flesh of her buttocks. “I think there’s only one good way to do this. Trust me?”

  “Yes,” she panted, not entirely sure what he meant.

  “This is likely going to smart and I’m sorry for that. But it’s your first time and you’re just too tight for half measures. I promise it’ll be good afterward, though. I’ll make sure it’s good.”

  In silent demand, he angled her hips so she was even more exposed to him. “Wrap your legs around me.”

  Doing as he asked, she hooked one leg around his hips and the other across his lower back, the new position forcing him a bit deeper.

  Yet still it was not enough.

  He claimed her mouth again, kissing her in long, sultry drafts that quickly swept her away, leaving her as spellbound with pleasure as she had been earlier. Sighing, she rubbed her breasts against his chest as he moved to nuzzle her neck, her nipples tight and tingling from the contact. A little hum of delight rose in her throat as she mindlessly glided her hands up and down the length of his back.

  Then suddenly, with no real warning, he shifted his hips and pulled nearly all the way out, his hands tightening on her bottom to hold her in place. Gathering himself, he thrust into her using a single determined stroke that drove his shaft deep.

  Pain burst through her and she gasped, her nails digging reflexively into his shoulders. She bucked her hips as her body instinctively fought against his intrusion, yet the movement had the contrary effect of seating him even more deeply within her. She panted and moaned, feeling impossibly and thoroughly impaled.

  “Shh,” he hushed, dusting kisses over her lips and cheeks and temples, then along her neck and ear. “It’ll be better soon. Just be still.”

  As if I could even consider moving with him in me like this, she thought, squeezing her eyes closed against the discomfort.

  He continued kissing her, gently, lightly, communicating with each touch his remorse at having caused her pain. It was only then that she noticed the way he was trembling, how his muscles were rigid with the effort to hold himself quiet.

  “It’s all right,” she murmured, running a hand over the back of his neck and into his perspiration dampened hair. “Go on. Do what you need to do.”

  He met her gaze, his eyes brilliant in the hazy sunlight that filtered past the curtains. “Not without you.”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Oh, you can,” he said with complete confidence. “You will. I told you I would make certain of it.”

  She shivered and kissed him, forcing aside her doubts.

  And that was when he began to move, slowly to start, as he did nothing more than rock their hips together. “All right?” he asked.

  She nodded, surprised to discover it was true. The pain was still there but less intense, having faded to little more than a dull ache.

  Sliding a hand between them, he sought out her breasts and began caressing them in all the ways she most liked, rolling and plucking at the already sensitized tips with a consummate
skill that soon had her whimpering.

  “Good?” he questioned.

  “Yes.” She nodded, her breath picking up speed at the same moment his hips began to move a little faster.

  She shuddered, but with a different sort of discomfort this time as he established an easy, shallow rhythm. Nascent tendrils of renewed need curled through her and he captured her mouth for a long, steamy, tempestuous kiss. She kissed him back, welcoming the warm, wet thrust of his tongue in her mouth while she accepted the thick, heavy pressure of his shaft plunging in and out of her feminine core.

  She tightened her hold and ran her hands over his shoulders and back before delving lower across the base of his spine to find the shifting muscles of his buttocks.

  He arched and groaned, increasing his rhythm as he thrust even faster, his kiss turning wild.

  And all she could do was hold on, pleasure and pain blurring into an indistinguishable line from which there was no return.

  He reached down and shifted her hips again, angling her higher so she was forced to take more of him.

  And she did, astonished that she even could, her body craving his now like a drug. She felt him everywhere, utterly engulfed and grateful for it.

  She breathed in, the air thick with their mingled scents. Gasping out his name, she pressed her heels against his back as he drove her higher, then higher still. Her mind spun, senses dulling until there was nothing but the two of them left in the world.

  His hands moved over her again, seemingly everywhere all at once before he trailed one across her breasts down to her stomach. He paused to dip a forefinger into her belly button, wiggling it in a way that made her jolt and cry out, pumping her hips hard into his.

  She took him, more of him than she’d ever imagined her untried body could handle, yet still it wasn’t quite enough.

  Bliss lay just beyond her reach and she wanted it.

  Wanted him.

  “Lawrence, please,” she moaned, need pouring through her hot as an inferno. Rolling her head and her hips, she whimpered, urging him on in a kind of delirium.

  He reached lower to the place where they were joined, finding her there even while he continued to thrust fiercely in and out.

  A high keening wail that had to be hers filled the air, her body shaking hard as intoxicating bliss crashed through her with the force of a riptide. Caught in the storm, she had no choice but to give herself over to it, letting the savage pleasure roar and swirl around her with a power as unstoppable as a hurricane.

  She clung to Lawrence, adrift save for him, as he thrust inside her even faster, his shaft seeming, quite improbably, to thicken more. A heavy shudder went through him, his jaw tight, as he strained to claim his own pleasure.

  Abruptly he gave a hoarse shout and pulled out of her, pumping his hips once, then twice more before his seed spurted from his shaft in warm, wet arcs. A few droplets landed on her stomach, the rest across the sheets.

  With a groan, Lawrence collapsed beside her. He lay unmoving for a brief interval as they each fought to reclaim their breaths. Reaching out, he drew her close, curving an arm over her shoulder and leaving a hand draped across one breast.

  Delirious and deliciously exhausted, Rosamund smiled and closed her eyes.

  Chapter 17

  She was still floating a short while later as glorious after-echoes continued to ripple through her system. Occasionally one of her muscles would give a tiny twitch while blood continued to pump inside her arteries and veins with the force of a rushing river.

  Gradually awareness began to return, along with a renewed sense of where she was, as well as the knowledge of everything she and Lawrence had just done.

  She ought to have been shocked—and there was no denying that a good portion of her was. Yet she couldn’t deny the thrill of it all or the curious sense of freedom she’d found in their intimacy. For despite her shyness and inexperience, there had been moments when she barely recognized herself, the woman in his arms turning out to be just as daring and passionate as he’d declared her to be.

  Still, she didn’t know how she was ever going to be able to look at him without blushing. Or manage to conceal the desire she knew must show in her eyes. For even as unquestionably satisfied as she was at present, a part of her was already wondering how soon they could do it again.

  Assuming he wanted to be with her again.

  They hadn’t talked about anything past today. Maybe this one time was enough for him.

  Then there was the way he’d withdrawn at the end, spilling himself on the sheets rather than inside her body.

  She didn’t think he’d been disappointed; he was holding her close now. But maybe he simply felt guilty for having taken her virginity. Perhaps, in the end, her inexperience had turned out to be more of a bother than he’d anticipated and not worth the trouble in retrospect.

  She frowned.

  She must have made some sort of sound as well, since he turned his head to look at her. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded, refusing to meet his eyes.

  She could sense him watching her, studying her. Slowly, gently, he eased away and slid out of the bed.

  She closed her eyes again, wondering where she was going to find the strength to get up, locate her clothes and dress. Would he want her to leave right away? Or would he at least give her some time to put herself back together again before he ushered her out of the door?

  She heard the sound of water being poured.

  Was he washing? Bathing away the traces of her?

  But then he was there again, standing beside the bed. She opened her eyes to find him holding a towel and a basin, the latter of which he set down on a nearby bedside table.

  “You must think me a brute,” he murmured, remorse clear on his face.

  “Why would you say that?”

  His gaze moved down her body, stopping when it reached her pelvis and legs.

  It was only in that moment that she saw the blood, crimson smears of it staining the sheets with more on the inside of her thighs. There was blood on him as well, his own thighs and shaft tinged a peculiar red.

  “Oh!” she said with abrupt understanding.

  “Exactly.” Carefully he sat down next to her, the mattress dipping as it took his weight. “How badly have I hurt you?”

  “You haven’t. I didn’t even notice . . . this . . . until you pointed it out.” She reached out, wanting to reassure him. “I’m fine. Truly. It’s only to be expected, being that it was my first time and all.”

  A panoply of emotions chased across his features as he considered her words. “I suppose you’re right. It is to be expected, especially given how narrow you were.”

  Her inner muscles flexed at the reminder, her body recalling the brief pain, then the exquisite pleasure, of his possession.

  He met her eyes. “I confess I haven’t much experience initiating virgins. You’re only my second and I was a green boy with the first. It was all a great deal of hasty fumbling as I remember and not terribly satisfactory for either one of us. Since then, I’ve confined myself to women who know the game.” He took hold of her offered hand and bent to kiss her palm. “It would seem you are the exception to the rule.”

  “And was I—” she began, wishing as soon as she began that maybe he hadn’t heard her.

  But of course he had. “Were you what?”

  Her heart hammered and she forced herself to speak. “Satisfactory? Seeing as I’m not what you usually prefer.”

  “Is that what you’ve been lying here puzzling over?”

  She flushed, not only her cheeks turning pink. She started to turn away, but he caught her and held her still, a hand on her chin so she couldn’t avoid his look.

  “Did you not listen earlier when I told you what an absolute impossibility that was?” he said. “Believe me, you were much more
than satisfactory, Rosamund. You were stellar. This day with you is one I shall never forget, not even if I live to be as old as Methuselah.”

  Her flush changed from one of shame to pleasure. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.” He laughed. “You know, for someone of your keen intellect and cunning legal mind, you can be remarkably silly sometimes.”

  “I am not silly.”

  He grinned, then winked. “You keep telling yourself that, my dear. Now lie back again and let me clean you up.”

  “Oh, I can do that.” She started to lean forward, but he gently pushed her back down again.

  “No.” He gave her a possessive look that permitted no disagreement. “I shall do it. Though, if you like, you can do me afterward.”

  Her eyes turned round, her body getting hotter—and pinker.

  He laughed again, the carefree sound filling the room. Chuckling still, he dipped the towel in the basin.

  She fought the urge to be embarrassed as he cleaned her, which, she admitted, did seem rather silly considering everything they’d done together in his bed. He was infinitely tender, taking care to cause her no further discomfort, the cool water soothing against her most delicate parts. He even washed her stomach where the evidence of his satisfaction still lay.

  “May I ask you something?” she whispered.

  He glanced up. “Of course.”

  “Why did you . . . at the last . . . you—” She broke off, shaking her head as her daring disappeared.

  “Why did I what?” He dropped the cloth in the bowl, the water now tinged pink, then turned back. “Tell me. We’re lovers now, which means there is nothing too intimate to ask.” He stroked a hand across her damp thigh. “Or to want.”

  She drew a breath, then plunged ahead. “Why did you pull out of me before you . . .”

  “Climaxed?” he offered helpfully.

  She nodded.

  He looked at her for a moment as if the answer should be obvious. “I’m trying to keep you from getting with child,” he said softly.

  “Oh.”

  Well, of course, she thought, feeling like a complete dolt. She ought to have thought of that rather important consideration long ago, she realized. Yet somehow, despite all her agonizing over whether to give herself to him today, it hadn’t really occurred to her that she ran the very real risk of getting pregnant.