Even as she smiled to the family, ready to make her own farewells, Sebastian hooked his arm behind her knees and swept her into his arms, carrying her out to the sounds of laughter and whooping.
Not until they reached the spiral staircase from the armory to the lord’s chamber did he set her down, the staircase far too narrow for such gallantry. Every other step up the spiral staircase, Sebastian paused, stepped down, and pinned Liz to him for a kiss, each kiss deeper, each kiss longer.
By the time they reached the top steps, she found herself pressed against the stone wall, her husband enveloping her with the deepest and longest kiss they had yet shared. The cold stone against the back of her dress contrasted with the warmth pervading her body, doubling in intensity from the heat radiating from Sebastian.
She wanted this. She wondered if she wanted it more than he did.
She had wanted this since she knew their first kiss of hungry lust, and she had physically ached for him after seeing Dunstanburgh and its risqué art. Even Neptune’s nudity teased her, made her question what Sebastian would look like unclothed.
While not entirely ignorant of what happened between a husband and wife, she didn’t know quite how it happened, and that blasted statue made her anxious and anticipatory.
Her husband ran one hand down her back, feeling her curves, the other moving towards her buttocks and tugging her firmly against him. Even fully clothed, she could feel his desire for her, spurring her own excitement.
She knew she should be nervous, but nothing about his touches, nothing about the way his lips teased her skin caused apprehension. Quite the opposite. The longer they stayed clothed, the more desperate she was to know him, to unveil the mystery of marital consummation. She ached and throbbed, her skin on fire where he touched.
He led her the last few steps into the lord’s chamber, his eyes black with fierce yearning, his skin flushed from where she had explored with her own mouth, tasting his salty skin.
Given this marked the first day of entering this forbidden room, she should want to explore, make note of the decor, the layout, anything, but all she saw was Sebastian, and all she wanted to explore was his body.
They stood in the chamber entrance, admiring each other, touching each other. He ran his fingers up her arms, tickling her until gooseflesh covered her skin, and she, in turn, butterflied her fingertips down his chest, eager to relieve him of his layers.
“My husband,” she said possessively, throatily.
“My wife,” he replied, his voice more vibration than words.
Light streamed in from large windows. She wanted to see him, all of him, even if it embarrassed her and made her appear vulgarly indecent.
She licked his lips, savoring the taste before he walked her backwards to the four-poster bed. As the back of her legs touched the cold wood of the bedframe, he stopped, holding her to him with one hand around her waist.
“I’ve wanted to do this since we first met,” he confessed as he pulled hairpins from her hair.
A simple act, mundane, the pulling out of hairpins, yet the methodic slowness with which he pulled out each one, the fascination in his eyes as he watched the strands of hair fall down her back, turned the act into sensual eroticism. Once he removed all hairpins and her hair tumbled to her waist, flowing around her, he ran his hands through the tresses, marveling at the length and thickness, the wildness of it. He entwined his fingers in the locks as he brushed his lips against hers.
His lips still on hers, he removed her shawl and reached behind her back to undo the buttons of her gown, feeling his way to each button, his tongue teasing the inside of her lips as he worked. Once undone, she caught the gown from sliding off, holding it protectively against her.
“I desire equality, my lord.” She smiled coyly. “Your coat?”
Sebastian shrugged out of the coat, struggling slightly to remove the tailored jacket without the help of his valet. He unknotted his cravat with a dramatized slowness, his fingers pausing between each tug to smile diabolically at her or dash a kiss to her bared neck and shoulders.
Leaving on the waistcoat and shirt, he put hands on hips and waited. She reached up, her gown hanging loosely from her arms, and fingered the bare skin at the hollow of his throat, tufts of black hair peeking out from the v of his shirt. Trailing her hand down his hardened chest, she reached his waistcoat and pushed each button through the buttonhole until it hung loosely open. He tugged off the garment and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his chest bare for her to explore.
Ravenous, she ran her fingers across the naked flesh, wanting to devour every inch of him. His skin felt velvety smooth and almost feverish to her touch. His chest was well-muscled with a thick pelt of black hair covering the expanse above his erect nipples. A few scars licked over the tops of his shoulders, and one long scar slashed across his chest. Curious, she ran her finger across the puckered white line.
An enticing trail of hair sprinkled down his abdomen and disappeared into his breeches. Her fingertips followed the trail until she heard his sharp intake of breath, his eyes closing. Relishing in this newfound reaction, she palmed the soft flesh of stomach, rubbed the back and front of her hands against the muscles, and leaned forward deviously to press her lips against the naked skin. He held his breath.
Grinning, she ran her fingers through the trail of hair, wandering her hand downwards inquisitively. She eyed with surprise and slight trepidation the shape of his ardor struggling against the fall flap. Averting her eyes, she reached up to cradle his face.
He opened his eyes to meet hers, released his breath, and took a step back from her outstretched hands to slide her gown down her arms until it fell in a heap around her legs. Sebastian smiled so devilishly, so wickedly while loosening the ties on her stays, Liz thought she might swoon. Her body ached and throbbed with desperation as he took his time to remove the stays, then lower her petticoat, baring her breasts to the cool air.
Now was her turn to intake a sharp breath, her nipples hardening at the exposure and her body boiling from his appreciating gaze. Unabashedly his eyes combed her body up, down, and back up. He kneeled to remove her stockings, slipping off her shoes, and rolling the stockings down her legs, lingering at her ankles. Hot hands, rough and callused on the palm, ran the length of her legs. Each stroke sent shivers down her spine.
Before she realized he had risen, his mouth was on hers, probing, wanting, feasting, greedy with desire. Cupping her buttocks, he lifted her onto the bed and laid her against the mattress.
His hands roamed, stroked, and palmed, worshipping her curves, tracing her figure, tantalizing and tormenting her. His palms grazed her nipples until she gasped and arched into his hand. Her body pulsed. She wanted to cry, desperate for release, her body thrumming and throbbing.
“Lizbeth.” His voice caressed her name.
Moving off the bed, he stood before her, affording her a full view as he removed his own shoes, stockings, and finally, breeches. His thighs, like the Vulcan god in the tapestry, were thickly muscled. Between those thighs, she flushed to say, his affection for her stood prominently, a hardened muscle curving upwards, surrounded by a bed of dark curls, looking nothing remotely like the statue of Neptune in the armory. Not sure what to do next, she leaned forward and touched his manhood.
“Good God, Lizbeth,” he stammered and pushed her against the bed, climbing atop her.
Her husband. Her love. Her Sebastian.
She parted her legs as he lowered his body against hers, nestling into her curves. He exhaled, his muscles clenching as he hovered, loving her only with his eyes. She reached up to feel his arms, his chest, his stomach, encouraging him to satiate her throbbing need. Rubbing her legs against his, her feet sliding along the bed, she tilted towards him, slipped his body further between her legs, pressing the length of him against her womanhood.
Cautiously, he entered her, sheathin
g his tip. The strange, foreign pressure increased the longing, simultaneously causing an alarming discomfort. She wriggled away from the pain, but her body ached for his in response.
Sebastian shifted to rest on his forearms, reassuring her with his eyes. Lowering himself until his chest grazed her breasts, his lips met hers, hungrily devouring her mouth as he eased himself back into her, driving deeper.
He growled as he pushed forward, slowly, agonizingly slowly, spurring her to precarious boldness. She wrapped her legs behind his buttocks and forced him to her as she arched her hips against him, thrusting him into her, stretching her with a searing tenderness and wave of dizzying intensity. Her muscles involuntarily contracted around him. She cried out with surprise, her nails digging into his shoulders.
He held himself inside her, accustoming her to the feel of him, not moving, just filling her, pulsing within her core. Licking and nipping at her lips, he began to pull out, but her hips followed in frantic desperation, not wanting him to leave, wanting more. That couldn’t have been all there was to it. Was it over? Was that all there was?
Chuckling into her ear, he returned to her depths, pausing, then retreating again. Again, he repeated the motion, increasing the pace each time.
As she found his rhythm, she relaxed into the thrusts and contracted against the withdrawals. Her gasps echoed his moans. If they could stay this way forever, she would be the happiest of women, their bodies joined as one, his entering hers, invading her body as a conquering warrior. Nothing could be more intimate. Nothing could bind them together closer than this.
His eyes fixed on hers, drunk with fervor. Their bodies moved in a slow, steady rhythm. He rocked his hips inwards at the apex of the thrust, rubbing his groin against nether lips, causing a shiver of pleasure with each rub, his body stroking her nub, the pace of his thrusts quickening to match her gasps.
Her legs trembled against his thighs. She felt increasingly dizzy. She gripped his shoulders, digging her fingers into his flesh, her lips seeking his as she became lightheaded. Oh, please don’t swoon, she thought, not wanting to miss a second of him inside of her.
He thrust harder and faster, aggressively kneading and chafing his groin against her nub with each plunge.
“Lizbeth,” he groaned hoarsely.
With ragged breath and pounding heart, she experienced a tide sweeping over her, an undertow pulling her down.
His rhythm increased when he parted her lips with his own, his tongue urgently wrestling against hers, the undertow dragging her down, the ocean taking her, and she thrust against him, legs twining around his to force him against her and into her. Her body tensed as she rode him, her muscles squeezing him inside of her, and at last waves of pleasure washed over her as she climaxed.
Crying out, she clung to him, the rhythm turning erratic. He climaxed with her, spilling his seed into her.
“Sebastian,” she sobbed in heaving cries as the waves released her ashore.
He held her against him and kissed her face, her jaw, her ears, and her eyelids until she relaxed, their bodies still joined. She laughed against his cheek, exhausted and euphoric.
Her legs trembled, and her body shook.
They held each other, each on the brink of sleep, but neither wanting to lose themselves to this moment. He finally disentangled from her embrace and moved himself to lie next to her, propping his head on one hand, and with his other hand tracing the features of her face.
“Is it always like that?” she inquired.
“I hope so.” He kissed her forehead and smiled with obvious satisfaction.
“When can we do it again?” She reached over to run her hand through his chest hair, feeling the silk between her fingers.
He howled in laughter, then shook his head. “It might be awhile, I’m afraid. I need to recover, and you must be sore. I don’t want to hurt you. We can wait as long as you need, even if it’s days from now.”
She shook her head. “No, that would be terrible. Let’s not wait that long.”
She raised herself on her elbow and leaned in to nibble his ear lobes, then kiss his neck, trailing the tip of her tongue down to his salty chest. She heard his sharp in-take of breath.
Her husband. Her Sebastian.
Brazenly exploring his chest with her mouth, she flicked her tongue against a taut nipple, tickling her fingertips down his sweaty chest to his stomach, following the trail of hair until she felt the damp bed of curls.
She touched his manhood tentatively, the flesh sticky. Wrapping her fingers around it, she massaged it, exploring the texture and shape until it stiffened. Hardening beneath her palm, it pulsed and thickened until her grip spread too wide for her fingers to touch.
The now familiar and burgeoning warmth spread through her body, her stomach fluttering. Pushing her hand away gruffly, he rolled her over and climbed between her legs. Her heartbeat quickened with excitement knowing what would happen next.
Instead of entering her, though, as she had expected, he kneeled between her legs and placed his hand against her mound. He rubbed his hand in the same way he had rubbed his groin against her earlier. She instantly felt the same lightheadedness, the tensing of muscles at this touch. Where he pressed was indeed sore, a tender ache, but not unpleasant, instead intensely sensitive. She watched him, revering him as he massaged her.
The lightheadedness blossomed until she was falling from the side of a cliff, flying, diving towards a warm ocean. Just as she plunged into the water, he entered her, melding his groin against her nub so she could feel every inch of him against her, inside of her, and embracing her as she came. He held himself inside her, still hard, the length of him filling her, the width of him stretching her, as he watched her realize pleasure.
Only when her quivering lessened and she sighed with satisfaction, did he begin a slow, thorough thrust, tilting his pelvis as before to rub himself on her swollen bud. Her second climax hadn’t yet finished before she felt another wave, a deeper waver, a stronger undertow.
With every thrust, his pelvis rubbed, and the dizziness augmented until she cried his name with wild abandon, involuntarily thrusting against him, tilting her hips, trapping his thighs and buttocks with her legs, wrapping herself around him in a vice grip. She rode him as he drove her into the sea, the sensation pushing him over the edge with her, their cries in unison.
After lying in a tangle of limbs, panting, sweaty, and sore, they rolled away from each other to lie on their backs, limbs sprawled to welcome the cool air. He reached down for her hand and held it.
The room filled with the musky scent of their lovemaking, intoxicating them until they fell asleep.
When Lizbeth woke, night had fallen. She reached for her husband, but her hand met an empty space beside her. Startled, she sat up and searched the room. Sebastian stood in front of the hearth, stoking the fire. She could only see his silhouette against the firelight.
She felt a flush of shyness to recall his passionate lovemaking, to remember the feel of him against her and inside of her. However pleasant the memory, she winced at the aching soreness.
Absently she wondered at what point the fireplace had been lit and by whom. Had a servant snuck into the room while they slept or had Sebastian done it himself? What a curious image that made, a naked Sebastian building a fire. She was only sorry she had missed the show.
Stretching her limbs, she realized the soreness wasn’t isolated. She ached everywhere below her stomach, including through her hips and legs, the latter still shaky.
“What time is it?” she groggily asked the silhouette.
Sebastian rumbled, “No idea. I’d like to think we’re caught in a timeless vortex in which we may make love and laze about for eternity.”
He reached for a pitcher of water to fill two glasses, angling his body to pour the refreshing liquid. The firelight illuminated his tall, strong form, revealing the flesh
of his back.
Lizbeth’s horrified cry startled them both.
Covering the landscape of his back were hideous, uncountable crisscrossing scars, lashing down across his buttocks and the back of his legs. Lizbeth covered her mouth with her hand as Sebastian haltingly turned towards her, fear, pain, and utter betrayal in his eyes.
Chapter 24
Her horror, her disgust echoed in his ears as he looked back at her. So lost in their lovemaking, he had forgotten to cover himself with his shirt afterwards. No one had seen his back before. He had made sure of that. But here on his wedding night he became careless, revealing his disfigured flesh to his new wife.
He could see her revulsion. He could see it in her eyes all the way from the hearth. He resolved never to tell her what he had done to deserve the scars, but some explanation would be expected, unless she decided to run now before he could offer half-truths.
Please, don’t run, he thought. I’ve only just found you, only just made you mine. Please don’t find me hideous. The steel trap around his heart tightened in anticipation.
She held a hand to her mouth, tears glistening in her eyes, but otherwise she sat perfectly still, wordless. She didn’t have to speak for him to know her repulsion.
Carrying the two glasses of water, he set them on the nightstand and picked up his shirt.
“No! What are you doing?” She raised herself to her knees and reached for him.
“Covering myself so you don’t have to see this.” His hands trembled as he slipped the shirt over his head, hiding his scars.
“No. Please, don’t do that. I want to see you.” She crawled to the edge of the bed and pulled him to her by his shirt front. “You’re beautiful.”
He didn’t move.
Had she just called him beautiful? He remained still when she tugged the shirt over his head and tossed it back to the floor. Lugging him to the bed, she made room for him to sit on the edge. He refused to sit. If he sat on the edge, his back would be to her.
The Earl and The Enchantress (An Enchantress Novel Book 1) Page 23