A Kiss to Remember

by Rebecca Minto

  She suddenly jerked her face aside, panting. “I can’t take it,” she cried. She tried to shove his hand away.

  He dragged her face back to his. “You can,” he breathed.

  His fingers moved lower, slowly gliding inside her moist heat. In and out they glided, teaching her the rhythm, and when her hips began to arch upward, demanding the slow thrust, his thumb reached up to her nub once more. It was only moments before he felt her shudder, as her walls tightened around his fingers. She cried his name as she found her first release.

  “Easy,” he soothed. His fingers stroked slowly now, a gentling caress aimed to comfort rather than arouse.

  “James, what are you doing to me?” Daphne breathed.

  “I am pleasuring you,” he replied hoarsely.

  “I can tell.”

  He lowered his head to kiss her the sensitive spot where her neck curved into shoulder. She moaned and lifted her hips upward. He drew in a ragged breath. She was outstanding.

  Daphne slid her hands down his shoulders. He was still dressed, she thought unevenly. Impatiently, she tugged at the offending obstruction.

  He lifted his head lazily. “What are you doing?”

  “You are overdressed,” she pouted.

  James stilled. He stared into her eyes, liquid velvet and soft. “There is no taking it back, Daphne,” he whispered.

  She arched up and slid her mouth over his. She did not want to say any of the words; she wanted him to simply know. She tasted his sigh a moment before he drew away.

  Annoyed, she sat up to look at him.

  James gulped. It was a damned hard thing to be honorable and just when a beautifully naked, wholly aroused woman, was sitting there glaring at you. He managed to lift his eyes from her swollen breasts with a great effort.

  “I want us on equal ground,” she told him gently.

  He shook his head. “Daphne, if I feel you against my flesh, I may not be able to control myself.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You will in the morning,” he ground out.

  “I will not,” she hissed. “Do not think to deny me, James. I am empty without you.”

  “Do you have any idea of what you are asking?”

  Daphne wrapped her arms around his neck. “James, please.”

  He slid his hands down her spine. “You know this is not right,” he growled. He was almost beyond caring.

  “Don’t naysay me,” Daphne begged. “I want you on top of me, behind me. I want you inside me.” Forever.

  He smiled at her play on words. He had said something similar to her once. Slowly, he released her.

  Staring deep into her eyes, he pulled his shirt up over his head. Her eyes widened.

  “You are so furry,” she gasped.

  Awed, she reached out and buried her hands in the thick mat of crisp, curly hair. Beneath, his chest was rigid with muscle. Curiously, she slid her hands upwards. He inhaled sharply.

  Her eyes lifted to his in worry. “Did I hurt you?”

  He shook his head. “You want to touch me?”

  “Oh, yes,” she breathed.

  He stood up and slowly unbuttoned his trousers. Her eyes strayed to his long fingers curiously. As he slowly lowered them over trim hips, she watched, almost choking on her breath.

  He was beautiful.

  Wordlessly, he lay down. He folded his arms behind his head. “Do as you want with me, sweet,” he told her huskily.

  “I won’t hurt you?” she worried.

  “You could never hurt me.”

  Daphne stared at him, wholly in awe. She did not know what to do first. Although he was the only man she had ever seen completely in the nude, she believed he must also be one of the most handsome men in England. No, in all the world.

  His body was so different from hers. Crisp, curling hairs on his long legs, a rich mahogany over taut muscle. She followed the trail with her eyes, to the enormous member between his thighs. As she watched, it jerked slightly, moving of its own accord. It was thick and long, nestled in a thatch of thick, curling hair. Above, he had a strong, muscled belly, littered with hair that trailed all the way up his chest.

  Daphne nervously wet her lips. She reached out with both hands, stroking up his firm stomach. He had a mystifying look on his face as her hands stroked up and down his torso. She found a taut little nipple hidden amidst the thick fur and leaned her head towards the little nub.

  As she ran her tongue around him, licking and, slowly closing her lips around him, she heard him inhale sharply. She jerked back, alarmed.

  “I said you would not hurt me,” James said roughly. He clenched his jaw. “I did not say you wouldn’t please me.”

  Assured, she took up where she left off, lightly rubbing her teeth over his nipples, kissing them. He tasted salty and sweet all at once. His scent invaded her senses, intoxicating her. She kissed her way down his chest, nibbling at his belly. The muscles contracted. She did it again and again, fascinated by the play of muscle.

  Then she came to the thick member between his legs. Tentatively, she reached out and stroked a long finger down the length of him. She gasped. Unlike the rest of him, it was soft, a silken texture that she could not have imagined. Encouraged by this discovery, she slid her hand around him. It was the most fascinating thing, how the silky skin encased something so hard and pulsating. She slowly stroked her hand up, inspecting the rosy tip. Even as she watched, a clear liquid oozed.

  Curious, she drew the tip into her mouth and licked the moisture away.

  James nearly shot up off the bed. With a low shout, he rolled her beneath him. She wrapped her arms around his neck as his mouth found hers. He kissed her roughly as his hands squeezed her breasts before moving lower. She whimpered as his fingers slid into her, again and again until she was wet and aching.

  James drew back, panting. He framed her face between his large palms. “I can’t…stop.”

  Daphne kissed him so he would know it was okay. Apparently, he understood her message. Groaning, he grasped both thighs and pulled them wide. Perplexed, she stared into his eyes. She felt something poking at her thigh. Belatedly, she knew what that hard and silky thing was going to do.

  “James?” she worried.

  He kissed her into silence, all the while his hips prodded at her. She clung to him in warring need and terror. She felt him prodding the very place his fingers had caressed so maddeningly. He was slow at first, moving forward an inch, then pulling slightly back. As he slid further and further, she felt herself stretching. His hands cupped her thighs and opened her wider still.

  His lips slid over hers as his hips surged forward. She felt a sudden ache ripping deep inside as he buried himself.

  “Oh,” she cried. The pain was excruciating.

  “Daphne,” he groaned. The pleasure was incredible.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, desperately trying not to cry. She felt as though he had just ripped her apart, indeed wondered if he had. She was throbbing now, and not in the pleasurable way she had before. She wanted to shove him away even as she wanted to beg him to hold her.

  James braced his weight on his arms either side of her. He clenched his teeth together as he tried not to move. He knew he hurt her. As he had pushed through her maidenhead, as she had cried out, he had exulted in knowing he had been her first. Her only. Her last. Now, his body was throbbing with the need to move. She was grimacing in pain.

  He struggled to find something to say. What could a man say in such a position without sounding like an ass? He wanted to tell her she was beautiful and wonderful, that she was everything he had ever dreamed of. He could say none of those things to her now.

  Finally, Daphne managed to open her eyes. She winced. “You are hurting me,” she whispered roughly.

  “I know,”
he growled. “I’m sorry.”

  More than words, the timber of his voice comforted her. She tightened her arms around his neck. “Kiss me,” she begged.

  He kissed her for all he was worth. His tongue traced her lips, savoring the taste and feel of his Daphne. He kissed her gently, with increasing fervor, until she could not hold back any longer and met him with her own returning passion.

  Growling, he cupped her breasts. With a groan, he began to lave at her, stroking circles around the tautening peak until he could draw it deeply into his mouth and suckle.

  Daphne sighed in pleasure as the bolts of heat doubled. She shifted so that he could have better access, only to gasp in awareness. As she shifted, he moved slightly, deep inside. Rather than pain, it was the most pleasing sensation she had ever felt. Wondering if it was a fluke, she shifted again. The wave of pleasure threatened to drown her.

  “James?”

  “Baby, hold still,” he growled.

  She bucked her hips against his. Again, hot spirals slid through her, more intense than she had ever known. He slowly lifted his mouth from her breast.

  Growling low in his throat, he lowered his mouth to hers once more. At the same moment, he cupped her hips and slowly withdrew. As he thrust inside her, deep and hard, she whimpered. Sweat beaded his temple. He was struggling to stay in control and it was damned difficult.

  He began to slowly thrust, setting a patient rhythm that was undemanding even as it was sweet. She began to lift her hips in anticipation of his thrusts. With each movement, he lost just a small degree of his hard-earned control.

  When she writhed, scraping her nails over his shoulders and leaning up to bite into his neck, he lost it completely. He yanked her legs up, ordering her to wrap her legs around his waist tersely. He grasped her hands in his, winding their fingers together as he slid deep inside, faster and faster, again and again. With each downward thrust, he fell deeper, with each time harder, until he felt her tightening around him.

  Daphne began to weep as he drove himself over the edge. He buried himself to the hilt, shouting her name as he spilled his seed deep inside her. Shuddering, he collapsed on top of her.

  He was the first to recover, drawing back to stare down at her tear-stained face. He caught a single tear on his forefinger.

  “Tears, Daphne?”

  She smiled radiantly. “That was the most beautiful experience of my life,” she confessed.

  It was beautiful, he thought, pleased. He leaned down to kiss her tenderly. When he started to roll away, she tightened her arms around him.

  “Don’t leave me,” she cried out.

  Patiently, James smoothed his hand down her arm. “I’m not leaving, baby.” With great care, he withdrew her arms from around his neck.

  She whimpered unhappily as she felt him withdraw from her. She had felt so complete with him there, where he was. She frowned as he sat up to draw the blankets back. When he lay down beside her and drew warm blankets up over them, she sighed.

  “Hold me?”

  He was such a cad. With his lust sated, reality began to sink in with a vengeance. He should never have allowed things to go so far, James thought, furious with himself. Daphne was his forbidden fruit and, like the first man, he had been unable to resist taking that tempting bite.

  She was ruined now. He was such a selfish bastard. He took her without finesse or care in a cheap, roadside inn. She deserved satin sheets and roses. She deserved a man who would have given her dreams on a wedding night rather than the base, selfish coupling he had given her.

  He would make it up to her, James vowed. Every single day, for the rest of his life, he would make up his failure to Daphne.

  It was a promise he fully intended to keep.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  She overslept.

  Daphne stretched herself awake, slowly reveling in the sensation of soft, warm sheets sliding over her bare skin.

  Bare skin?

  She sat upright, blinking. Everything that had happened came rushing back with a vengeance. She blushed as she recalled what had happened during the night. She had fallen asleep with James holding her snug against his warm chest.

  The light through the window told her it was late in the morning, nearing afternoon. She frantically glanced around the room. James wasn’t here.

  Frowning, she stood up. There was a fresh pitcher of water standing on the table next to a basin. Sighing, she looked around. There was a dress laying across the stool, a dove gray wool that was faded yet serviceable. She smiled. Her wonderful James must have wanted to give her privacy, she thought happily. He was the most thoughtful man.

  Sighing happily, she began to wash. Her thighs were sticky, which only reminded her of what they had done. She blushed. As she wiped the area clean, she winced. She was tender and sore.

  Daphne did not have any unmentionables, and neither had James brought any. She felt naughty and wicked. Resigned, she pulled the scratchy wool dress over head. It was going to be a very uncomfortable journey home.

  She started to straighten up the room. Although she knew they had paid well for their night’s stay, Daphne believed it was only right to clean up after yourself. Although it was not a popular notion amongst the elite, Papa had impressed this upon her all throughout her childhood. Her years at the boarding school had also pushed this concept deep into her nature.

  She moaned as she saw the ruin of the coverlet, however. There were streaks of blood across the pale cover. She blushed scarlet as she realized what the hostess would know as soon as she came to clean up the room.

  Refusing to repine on it further, she tossed her hair over a shoulder and quickly quit the room. She would find James and tell him to pay the owners an extra coin for the loss.

  However, James was not downstairs, as she had expected. He was nowhere to be seen. Her heart stuttered in her chest at the thought that he might have abandoned her here.

  One of the adolescent boys she had noticed the night before wordlessly brought her a bowl of porridge. Sitting down at an empty oblong table, she ate woodenly. Her heart was racing with anxiety. Why would James leave her?

  Just when she was ready to run out and chase him back to London, he walked inside. Their eyes locked from across the room. She smiled shyly at him.

  “Daphne, will you be ready to go soon?” he asked her quietly.

  “I am ready now,” she murmured. “But…”

  He took her arm and led her to the door. “What is it?” he asked brusquely.

  She dipped her head so he would not see her blush. “Could you leave them an extra coin? I ruined their coverlet.”

  He sent her an amused look. “I already did, Daphne. We need to get going if we are ever going to get to London.”

  She sighed. She glanced at the stables and realized that there were two horses saddled. She glanced at him inquisitively.

  “I seem to recall you know your way around horses,” he told her warmly. “We will make better time this way.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I am an adequate rider.”

  Her feet padded across the dirt road. James glanced down and frowned. He had forgotten that she did not have shoes. Not that there was any shop hereabout that could remedy that particular problem, but it bothered him that he had not thought of it.

  Daphne stood in front of her horse. It was a lively chestnut mare. She stroked her nose while murmuring praise, allowing her to come accustomed to her touch and voice. James watched her, amused.

  “We don’t have all day, Daphne,” he reminded her.

  She nodded. “I need help,” she admitted ruefully.

  James came up behind her. She refused to meet his stare. She was blushing again. It was mortifying. Daphne thought she might have already blushed more in one morning than she had in her entire life.

 
“Are you terribly sore?” he asked in a low voice.

  Oh, God. “A bit,” she admitted faintly.

  “Can you ride?”

  James stared at the top of her bent head. What was wrong with her? She was acting more the shy virgin than she had last night. He ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. God. He didn’t know how to deal with her. In truth, he never had.

  “Daphne, answer me. Are you capable of riding on your own?”

  “I believe so.” But it would hurt, she thought miserably. She truly was tender.

  He wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her. She clutched at the mare’s mane and settled herself. It was not too bad, she mused. A tenderness, a small jolt. She watched him swing into his own saddle. A clean, smooth flow of sinew. He truly was a fit man.

  The first few minutes, they rode in silence. Daphne spent the time trying to adjust herself to a bearable position. By the time they reached town, she knew she would be in agony. Determinedly, she tried to forget the discomfort and sidled up to James.

  “I am eager to reach home,” she told him with forced cheerfulness.

  He sent her a furtive glance.

  “The very first thing I shall do is have a bath,” Daphne decided eagerly. “Then I will go check on Villiers.”

  James cleared his throat.

  “You are going to stay with Lady Sinclair,” he told her implacably.

  Daphne sent him a shocked look. “What?”

  “You will be staying with the Sinclairs until arrangements can be made,” James explained.

  “W-what arrangement?” Daphne sputtered.

  He sighed heavily. “Arrangements for our wedding.”

  By the time they reached London, Daphne was beyond exhausted. Dusk was beginning to fall when they rode down Mayfair, where Lady Sinclair lived.

  Daphne sent James a weary glance. His face was cold and rigid as though it had been carved of granite. His jaw was clenched, most likely to contain the urge to shout at her.