Reign’s jaw tightened with annoyance. Of course she had heard the rumors. “Since my nickname is simply a variation on my title, the conversation must have been short and rather boring.”
With unexpected stubbornness, she persisted, “You once boasted to a crowded ballroom that you would rather reign in the lowest bowels of hell than bind yourself to another lady.”
Reign’s hand curled into an impotent fist on his thigh. He had been bitter about his marriage to Beatrice, and more than a little drunk the night he had silenced the ballroom with his derisive statement. At the time, he had embraced the declaration as a vow.
“That was many years ago. Besides, my friends were calling me Reign long before my marriage to Beatrice.”
Sophia tucked an errant strand of hair from her cheek. “I forced you to break your vow, did I not?” She gave him an anguished glance. “And now you regret it. Am I responsible for you having to put Lord Chillingsworth in his coach, too?”
The soft breathy catch in her voice spurred Reign into action. He refused to endure another wedding night in which he helplessly watched his bride sob out her regrets in their marriage bed. Sophia gasped as he crawled across the mattress and pulled her from the warm confines of the bedding.
“My lord—Reign,” she began.
“Pay attention,” Reign said, giving her a slight shake. Her startled blue-green eyes locked onto his face. He held her close, savoring how the gentle swell of her breasts flattened against his bare chest. “I made that drunken boast long ago. It is no secret that my first marriage was not a happy pairing. The entire affair left me embittered, and I was determined not to embrace such a blunder again.”
“I understand.”
“Not likely,” he muttered under his breath. “If a vow was broken, it was mine to break.”
“And Lord Chillingsworth?”
Reign was not going to reveal Frost’s true feelings about the couple’s marriage. Sophia was already skittish and likely seeking reasons to refuse him. “The man bedevils everyone. I usually ignore him, until it is impossible to do so.”
Still skeptical, Sophia raised one delicate eyebrow. “This evening was one such night?”
“Exactly.”
Reign lightly stroked her long blond hair. Sophia grew still in his arms, but did not cringe away from him. It was the first time he had ever seen her glossy tresses unbound, and he took a moment to appreciate its beauty. Her hair was longer than he had guessed, the ends curling teasingly at the lady’s elbows. He cupped one of the curls in his hand and marveled that such a magnificent bounty was as light as a plume. The texture reminded him of the finest silk.
“My God, you are beautiful,” Reign murmured, his hand reverently brushing her silken hair aside until it settled down her back.
Sophia shivered as his fingertips delicately scraped the bared flesh at her shoulder. “You are generous in your praise, my lord.”
She was lovely and guileless, and unlike the ladies he usually consorted with when he ventured from his lands. “I cannot decide if it was carelessness on your brothers’ part or a bloody miracle that some gent did not carry you off to a vicar during your first season in London.”
“The first year my brothers deemed me old enough, a chill settled into my chest on the journey to London,” she confessed, hesitating when Reign slid the chemise lower and exposed more of her shoulder. “I-I had to endure a month in bed. By then, Henry was responsible for some unfortunate incident and the entire family was obliged to return to the country.”
“And the following year?”
Sophia sighed.
Reign’s temper flared to life on her behalf. Her brothers were not only reckless, they were cruel. Stephan, in particular, sparked Reign’s ire. In some ways, young Ravenshaw reminded Reign of his callous sire.
“Carelessness, then,” he said, nuzzling her temple with his chin.
The gesture was intended to be soothing, a balm for the ills wrought by her brothers. Nevertheless, Reign felt the muscles in his abdomen tense as the desire to claim his bride could no longer be ignored.
“Stephan and Henry—” she began.
“Will be dealt with, I promise you,” Reign said flatly. “However, I do not wish to bring your brothers into our bed.”
Sophia blushed. “Oh. You are quite right.”
“I can think of more pressing issues,” Reign said, circling her left nipple with his finger. The sensitive nubbin puckered in response.
“Such as?”
“Kissing my bride.”
Reign lowered his head, brushing his lips against hers.
After Reign’s scuffle with Frost downstairs, Sophia was bemused by the gentleness of Reign’s kiss. His tenderness seemed at odds with his size and temperament, and it added an intriguing facet to her husband’s character. With her eyes closed, Sophia concentrated on the tantalizing contact of his firm lips moving leisurely over hers. The sensation was almost unbearable. No man had ever kissed her in such a manner!
The ground was spinning beneath her. Sophia swayed in his embrace and grabbed his upper arms to keep from falling. The warm, bare masculine flesh reminded her that he had removed his shirt. Startled, she hastily released Reign, but he slid his left hand to the small of her back to anchor her.
“You can touch me, wife,” Reign said, sounding amused. “I like being petted.”
With his right hand, he took her left hand and brought it up to his lips. She felt the tingling effects of that kiss all the way to her toes. He brought her hand up until her fingers curved around his neck.
“Now place the other on my chest,” he instructed.
Sophia tentatively complied. Beneath her fingers and palm, she savored the differences between them. He was well formed and muscular, she mused, as her fingers danced lightly over the thatch of crisp hairs that bisected his chest.
“You are marvelously warm, my lord,” she said, pausing in her exploration to let his internal heat sink into her palm. “Is it the brandy?”
“No, it is you.” He brought Sophia’s hand to his cheek. “You make me burn, my lady. Forgive me, but I cannot wait.”
Reign’s hands moved brazenly to her thighs. Before she could guess his intentions, he grasped the hem of her chemise and pulled the thin linen garment over her head.
“Reign!” she gasped, crossing her arms over her breasts.
He inched forward on his knees, not allowing her to retreat. “Seems only fair since you are fondling my chest.”
Sophia sputtered a wordless denial. “I was not fondling your chest.” Exactly. “You were the one who placed my hand there!”
His rich laughter filled the room, warming her almost as thoroughly as his body had. “My outraged little innocent. How can I resist you?”
Reign lifted her into his arms as if she weighed no more than her discarded chemise and kissed her. Using his mouth, he silently coaxed her to respond. Sophia did not want to disappoint her new husband. Regardless, all of this was too new. Her brothers would have quietly murdered her if she had dared to allow a gentleman such liberties.
But Reign had earned the right to touch her so boldly. It seemed shameful to admit it, even to herself, but she was not a reluctant participant in his lovemaking. The Earl of Rainecourt fascinated her, and had from their first meeting. She was drawn to the low, soothing cadence of his voice, his intelligence, and the manner in which he treated her. Some people treated her like a child because of the limitations placed upon her by her fractured eyesight. Reign saw only the woman.
Sophia wanted to be worthy of his esteem and sacrifice.
She was breathless when Reign ended the kiss. “Should I not be doing . . . something?” she asked, making a small approving sound as her husband’s lips trailed down to the side of her neck.
Reign cupped her breast and rubbed her nipple with his thumb. The small nubbin of flesh puckered and swelled at his caress. “You are. Your body is so exquisitely responsive.” His hand slid lower, following the natu
ral curve of her waist to her hips. “So perfect.”
Sophia inhaled sharply at a wet, decisive flick of Reign’s tongue over her nipple. Instinctively, she tried to rise up from her prone position, but his hand on her shoulder held her in place. She reached for him, threading her fingers into his hair as he suckled at one breast and then the other. Pleasure shot through her like shooting stars.
“You liked that, did you not?” he said, very pleased with himself.
“It seems awfully wicked.”
Reign raised his head, and she glimpsed a knowing gleam in his dark blue eyes before the shifting shadows obscured his masculine beauty. “Oh, my sweet innocent, I have yet to demonstrate the full measure of my wickedness.”
To demonstrate, Reign slid down her body and settled between her thighs. Without giving her any warning of his intentions, he parted the intimate folds of her femininity and kissed her in the most carnal fashion.
“Good heavens!” she exclaimed, her hands splayed out on the mattress for support. “You cannot . . . you should not . . . oh!”
Speechless, Sophia fell back against the pillow. Reign was correct. His wickedness exceeded her limited experience and vast imagination. The man skillfully found every sensitive spot on her body and exploited it. With his hands gripping her hips, he suckled and licked the tender flesh between the fleshy folds until she was gasping.
“I like the taste of you, Sophia,” Reign said, nibbling her inner thigh. She expected him to resume his delightful torment, but he surprised her. Instead, he sat up on his knees, and his hands went to his waist. It was then that Sophia realized that he was preparing to remove his trousers.
She rolled onto her side as Reign undressed. He quickly stripped out of his trousers and linen drawers. Offering his profile, she admired his muscular buttock as he leaned over to untie the garters to his stockings. He straightened, and even his profile could not conceal his arousal.
“Like what you see?”
Sophia gave him an owlish blink when Reign faced her and moved closer to the edge of the mattress. The man was entirely comfortable with his nakedness and her scrutiny.
“Yes.” Sophia reached out and captured his thick manhood. The heat and velvet smoothness was a revelation. The size of him gave her a moment of concern. She nibbled on her lower lip. “Do you think you will fit?”
Her husband groaned in response, and moved against her hand. “Ah, Sophia, you sorely test a man’s restraint. Do not fret, sweet, I will fit.”
Reign gently disengaged her hand and crawled onto the bed until he had caged her with his body. He kissed her reverently as if to soothe her for what was to come next, as the blunt head of his manhood pushed restlessly against the nest of curls between her legs. Bracing his weight with one hand, Reign circled his fingers around his arousal and guided the rigid length to the dewy depths of her womanly folds.
Sophia gasped as she felt his thick arousal press against her.
“Am I hurting you?” Reign asked grimly, his face an expressionless mask.
“No,” she replied, uncertain if she was telling him the truth.
Reign moved against her, using the wetness to ease himself deeper. Sophia gripped his forearms as she squirmed against his persistent onslaught. He was murmuring soft words of encouragement, but she barely heard them. Sophia was wholly focused on the tightness building within her. Her body was warming and opening for him, and the ebb and flow of Reign’s short thrusts were stretching her to the point of discomfort.
“Reign?”
Her husband knew her body better than she did. With clenched teeth, he suddenly surged upward and breached her maidenhead with a single thrust. Buried deep inside her womanly sheath, Reign held himself still.
He kissed the damp tracks left by her tears. “You have survived the worst, my dear Sophia. Only pleasure from this moment onward.”
Sophia was not feeling as optimistic. His initial intrusion was almost unbearable. It was simple to deduce that the poets had lied about the beauty of lovemaking. As the minutes ticked by, her body seemed to relax and accept her husband’s intimate invasion. So much so, Sophia was prepared to reevaluate her opinion on the matter.
“Pleasure, you say?”
Reign chuckled softly and kissed her on the forehead. He moved his hips against her, proving that her body would accept him. Sophia gasped at the ease with which his manhood slid in and out of her sheath. She brought her left knee up in a restless gesture.
“Is there more?”
He shook his head in disbelief. “Are you trying to kill me, woman?”
Sophia giggled in the face of his mock outrage. “Is that even possible?”
Reign bit her earlobe. “Hmm . . . dying from pleasure? It sounds like a tempting challenge. God knows, I have risked my life for less worthy causes.”
Before Sophia could question Reign on specific details, he quickened his thrusts and her questions scattered from her thoughts as a tingling heat steadily began to build within her. She shut her eyes, letting her skin, nose, and ears make up for her flawed vision.
Reign had the innate ability to engage her on all levels. Oh, she was wholly aware of his thick manhood as he pummeled into her, branding her as his alone. His dogged determination to claim her could not be ignored. Still, as she arched her pelvis, meeting his exquisite thrusts, her body slowly awakened to his sensual onslaught.
The earthy scents of their lovemaking filled her nostrils. She buried her nose into the hollow of his shoulder, savoring the masculine fragrance that she identified as Reign. Their joining had mingled their unique essences, and the results were intoxicating as a full-bodied wine. Sophia arched her spine in sheer delight and Reign growled his approval.
He captured one of her breasts in his hand and squeezed the curvy, pliant flesh. There were calluses on his palms and fingers, something Sophia had not expected from a gentleman. There was more to Reign than the reckless rake facade that he presented to polite society, she silently mused, but it was swiftly forgotten as he brought her breast to his mouth.
Reign’s tongue laved her swollen nipple several times. Sophia moaned in response and twisted in his arms.
“You taste divine, sweet wife.”
His greedy lips covered over her nipple as his clever tongue undulated against the tender flesh. The pleasure of his suckling was as acute as it was devastating in its carnal assault to her senses. Reign switched to her other breast, ruthlessly determined to inflame every part of her body. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, touching her face, the curve of her shoulders, her buttocks, and then pressing against the nest of hair between her legs.
Something was happening to her. Reign seemed to sense the peculiar tension constricting every muscle in her body because his breathing had changed. His hot breath reminded Sophia of a stallion pushed beyond its limits.
“Do not fight it!” Reign growled in her ear.
What does he think I am fighting? Sophia thought mindlessly. She was not fighting anything or anyone. Pinned to the mattress with the weight of Reign’s body, she trembled and tried to meet each thunderous thrust as his manhood renewed its claim again and again.
Then suddenly . . .
Every feeling that seemed to be spinning out of control reversed its outward spiral and collapsed upon itself like an imploding sun.
“Reign!”
Sophia slammed the back of her head against the pillow and cried out as the darkness beneath her eyelids went white, reminding her of a flash of lightning on the horizon. The sensitive flesh between her thighs rippled with each of Reign’s frantic thrusts.
Perhaps a person could die from pleasure!
Reign groped for her buttocks and pulled her tightly against him. Sophia’s eyes fluttered open at his clumsy roughness. His eyes were shut and his teeth were clenched as if he was anticipating a wave of unbearable agony. The breath Reign was holding burst from his lungs, and the skillful strokes he had used to evoke passion within her disintegrated into blind lust. Re
ign gave a hoarse shout, and collapsed against Sophia as his strength abandoned him. Deep within her sheath, she felt Reign’s manhood bump and thicken against her womb as his hot seed pumped into her.
Sophia quietly held Reign while his breathing returned to normal. She grinned as a thought occurred to her. Whereas Reign had laid claim to her by taking her innocence, his loss of control at the end had unequivocally made him hers.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It was with some reluctance that Reign stirred, peeled his damp cheek from Sophia’s shoulder. Replete from their lovemaking, he could have happily slumbered where he lay, but he doubted his new wife was as comfortable.
Sophia made a faint protesting sound as Reign eased his softening cock from her snug channel. A twinge of guilt jabbed him in the gut as he realized that he had hurt Sophia. The pain had been unavoidable, he silently rationalized, but he did not want his new wife to think of him as a brutish savage.
After the debacle with Beatrice, he had avoided virgins for precisely this reason. A lady’s innocence carried too many complications. What he had sought out after Beatrice’s death were ladies of experience. Skilled lovers who understood the need for mutual satisfaction and required nothing more from him than an entertaining evening and perhaps a trinket or two as a gesture of his appreciation.
“Are you leaving me?”
Reign frowned at the fear infused into her question. He stood, not bothering to hide his nudity from her. “The room is too cold. I thought to add some coal to the dying embers.” He had another reason for climbing out of his warm bed, but he saw no reason to panic his lady.
Sophia drew the sheet over her breasts as she sat up. She had a rather odd forthright manner of staring at him that was unexpected from a lady. Reign attributed it to her poor eyesight, but there were times when it was damn unsettling. A superstitious gent might have thought that Sophia possessed the uncanny ability to see beyond a man’s flesh, muscle, and bone. It was as if she were attempting to peer into his soul.
Till Dawn with the Devil Page 13