James laid her on the bed and stepped back to finish undressing. As he slipped off his trousers and drawers, he hadn’t expected to feel so self-conscious, exposing not only his body, but the state of his desire—his vulnerability where she was concerned. Maybe it was because Amanda watched him openly now as though she sensed his challenge and was meeting him with one of her own.
Naked and aroused, he stood before her, aware that the next hour would determine where their relationship went from here. Who would win this war of wills, he wondered? In a flash of understanding, James realized either they both won or they both lost. There was no in between.
Still, despite the sudden disquiet filling his breast, he had no intention of allowing her to think he had lost his courage. Somehow he knew that would doom his effort as nothing else could.
“Your turn,” he murmured.
Amanda swallowed, the column of her throat working nervously. “What do you mean?”
“The gown, love.”
“I’ll choose when to disrobe.” Her voice was now haughty.
“Yes? Then I would deem it a special favor if you would ‘choose’ now. You understand, so as not to interfere with my participation.”
For a long time she stared at him as if assessing how to respond. Slowly, her flashing eyes never leaving his face, she came up on her knees. She grabbed the hem of her gown in both hands and, in one swift motion, pulled it over her head. Her hair came up with the gown and settled in a black staticky cloud around her shoulders.
James’s breath whooshed through his mouth on a gasp.
“Satisfied?” she hissed.
Satisfied? Oh, indeed, although satisfied hardly covered it. His wife was as beautiful as he had imagined she would be—more so. And his imagination, fertile and relentless, had conjured her supposed charms often. Maintaining his composure under such pressure took all his control.
“Um, yes, it’s a start,” he said.
“Is this not cooperation, my lord?” Amanda held her arms out, the gown dangling from her fingers, daring him, taunting him with her body.
But it was the formality of her address that angered him anew. James threw one leg up on the bed as he reached across the space that separated them. He grabbed the back of her hair pulling her toward him.
“James,” he rasped against her mouth.
Her eyes widened. “What—?
“The only person in this room with you is a man called James. He has no title, no worth beyond his desire for his wife. Remember that.”
He felt her shiver, but he would have sworn it had nothing to do with cold. James pulled his other leg up on the bed, joining her on his knees. He dropped his hands, running them over her hips, up her ribs, the sides of her breasts to her neck then clasped her face gently. He kissed her, this time with no more thought than to drown himself in her lips, to absorb the heat between them, skin to skin, chest to chest, belly to belly.
He could feel her sex next to his own, and he rubbed himself against her, exquisite sensation. He groaned, a sudden overwhelming desire to end the torture and bury himself in her.
James knew he must slow down, knew he would have to take his time if he hoped to seduce her. Not her body, she had already given him that. He wanted her heart, her emotions—her participation. He forced himself to release her mouth, drawing a shaky breath as he laid his forehead to hers.
“Put your arms around my neck,” he said.
Amanda hesitated briefly then complied, but it was awkwardly done, as though she were uncomfortable with the request. The motion raised her breasts, her nipples hardened tips against his chest. This time with herculean effort he stemmed the groan that rose in his throat.
He sensed her reluctance, her effort to remain aloof, and more than her virginity that was the barrier he must scale. Participation. To take this journey of passion alone was unthinkable…unbearable. He wanted desperately to slake himself within her, but it was so much more than that. Shocked, he could feel his heart aching with need and the fear that she would reject him.
Absolute resolve guided him now. She would not deny him.
He refused to accept that her heart was not as full as his. That she did not love him.
James pulled her down beside him covering her with his body. He found her mouth again, and he felt a moment of sheer joy when she melted beneath him without a fight. Her lips parted invitingly, and now there was no holding back the ragged sound that escaped him.
He slipped one hand under her to her lower back, bracing himself on that elbow as he hovered over her. The other hand he placed on her belly. Though she did not stop him, she did not meet his gaze, either. James could not resist staring down the length of her, satiny skin and long willowy limbs, she took his breath away.
Amanda lay unmoving beneath his inspection, continuing to avert her gaze, but when he looked at her again her face had taken on a rosy tinge.
“Manda,” he murmured huskily next to her ear.
“Humm…?” Still she did not look at him.
James had had enough of her evasion. The hand on her belly dipped between her legs, cupping her firmly. That gained her attention. Amanda’s eyes widened and shifted to his. He would have felt smug if the action had not caused a surge of lust that seem to burn right through his gut. He squeezed his own eyes shut briefly, absorbing the feel of her.
He focused on her again.
They neither moved nor spoke as each watched the other, until he saw the stormy denial begin to gather in her expression. At once she started to struggle but he held her fast.
Amanda stilled. “W-what are you doing?” she asked, the words breathless.
“Why, I’m enjoying myself, of course.” He moved his fingers, probing her gently to emphasize his words.
She squirmed which increased his enjoyment immensely.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“You haven’t forgotten, have you?” He lowered his voice suggestively, “The kissing and the…touching I spoke of once upon a time. To enhance the mood. You understand.”
James moved his fingers again, his gaze boring into hers. He must have found the nerve he was seeking, for she shuddered and moaned softly. Her breathing accelerated.
“Stop!” she said.
“Interfering with my participation, Amanda? We have a bargain, remember?”
“That’s not what you’re doing—”
“It’s not?”
“You are forcing me to…to…”
“Yes?”
“Please don’t,” she whispered brokenly.
At that point, James almost gave in and released her. Amanda was upset, and that truly upset him. She was, however, also aroused. He knew it for certain—the dampness on his hand had betrayed her—though he also realized she didn’t want to be.
She was right. He was trying to awaken her desire, wringing from her against her will, a response that had the added bonus of exciting him. He was selfish and he knew it. But it was more than that. In his very soul of souls, he believed they should finish this thing, and he wanted—needed—her to be there with him. Thus, to accede to her wishes would put them right back where they had started—another night trying to break down an emotional wall that had become more impenetrable with time. He found that possibility unacceptable.
He leaned down and kissed her ever so gently, his tongue caressing her lips. “I can’t,” he spoke against her mouth, “it’s too late.”
He felt her wilt beneath him, the fight leaving her.
James began the magic between her legs again, fondling the sensitive flesh, delving in and out, mimicking what was to come. She was stiff and unyielding at first, but gradually her thighs eased open, allowing him access.
The flush that had touched her cheeks now covered her neck and breasts. Her eyes were closed against the lust that swirled around them, but she was a part of it, yes indeed. How beautiful she was! Perspiration beaded on his forehead with the effort to control himself.
Amanda’s han
ds came up, and he thought at first it was to push him away. But she grabbed hold of his shoulders, her nails digging into his back. No longer did she resist him, instead pressing against his hand. He played her sweetly, her writhing body beneath his touch an aphrodisiac on the senses. His own desire was beginning to rise up and overtake him.
He hated to interrupt her pleasure—oh, she was so close!—however, now was the best time to breach her virginity. At the height of her desire her body would accept him more easily—or so he hoped. Deflowering innocents had never been a pastime of his. But truly, in his ignorance he did not want to hurt her.
James threw his leg over her hips, bringing himself fully on top of her. He rubbed his erection against her sex, praying for a gentle rupture. She opened her eyes to look at him. Pausing, James stared down into her lovely face.
“Trust me, love,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with pent up emotion.
Her gaze was filled with uncertainty. “James?”
He eased into her then took her maidenhead with one swift thrust, filling her completely.
Oh—!”
James covered her mouth with his, absorbing her cry of pain. He felt her anguish rattle to the bottom of his chest, a tangible ache. But despite the distress he shared with her, the hunger that consumed him would not be denied. Ecstasy filled every cell in his body as he steeped himself in her hot silky passage.
He slipped his hand between their bodies, intent on bringing her back to him. He found the swollen nub he had so successfully teased earlier, and began his onslaught anew. To his intense satisfaction, Amanda responded almost immediately, tensing beneath him.
As he moved his hips, she quickly found the rhythm, moving with him. His fingers found the rhythm as well, and he stroked her rapidly, lightly then with more pressure until she was panting mindlessly.
She began to shake her head, as if afraid of the pending storm, afraid to let it rush over her.
“Manda,” he rasped next to her ear. “Just let it come…”
All at once she stiffened and a breathless sob escaped her.
This time when James swallowed her cry, it was to exalt with her. He felt the intense contractions of her release and was lost.
The rapture took him in a violent orgasm, feeling as though he might burst apart. Wave after wave of excruciating pleasure tore through his system, until an involuntary shudder wrung him dry. And still, tiny aftershocks rippled deep within him, a network of stimulated nerves continuing to pulse. Delicious sensation! He shuddered again.
When he felt capable of movement, James eased up on his elbows. Their bellies, pressed tightly together, were damp with perspiration, the musky heat of their lovemaking surrounding them. Amanda’s hair was a chaotic mass of dark curls spread on the bed linens. Her features had softened with expended desire, lips swollen from his kisses. Never had she looked lovelier.
Even as he still filled her, his heart filled with an emotion so intense, so profound, a new kind of release shook him—the release of closely guarded feelings, intimate needs and desires, hung out for all to see. The protection of indifference was stripped away, leaving his soul as naked as the two people still joined on this bed.
The tenderness was like a compelling mist, filtering its way through James’s bloodstream. It was warm and comforting. He loved his wife, passionately, possessively. Intent on expressing this to her, he gathered Amanda into his arms and kissed her for the hundredth time that night. Now a non-persuasive pressure, it was free of all but his wish to tell her how much he cared.
Therefore, he was unprepared when she began to weep, wracking sobs that shook her whole body.
Had he been as sensitive as he wanted to be, James would have noticed the stricken expression in Amanda’s eyes. How quiet she had grown, how unresponsive. But he had not wanted to see. He wanted to believe all was finally right with them. That she felt as he did.
“Why?” he forced the word through his shock.
Amanda pushed at his chest, trying to move from under him.
“Stop it! Why are you doing this?” he asked.
“Get off me,” she said, choking on her tears. “You have what you came for. I’ll not be forfeiting anything more tonight.”
“Forfeiting? I bloody well want to know what you mean by that.”
She sent him a look so filled with disdain, James flinched. He rolled away from her and came to a sitting position, legs hanging off the bed.
Now free, Amanda scrabbled away from him, diving beneath the covers and pulling them to her chin. She continued to watch him through eyes wide with sorrow.
“Did I hurt you?”
Her gaze slipped from his and she shook her head. “Nothing unbearable.”
“Was I,” he swallowed, “was I inadequate in some way?”
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, James. Why do men assume their virility is at the root of any difficulty? You were very good…much too good.”
Well, she wasn’t a broken woman if the acid in her voice was anything to go by, but the self-loathing she was obviously feeling confused James and disturbed him.
“There’s nothing wrong with feeling passion, Amanda.”
“You don’t understand.” She pressed her lips together as if she might start crying once more.
“I want to,” he said gently.
“This is perverse of me, I’m sure, but I don’t care what you want at the moment.” Her mouth was trembling in earnest now. “I want to go to sleep, and if I’m very fortunate I will dream nothing. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll be more reasonable.”
Which, he suspected, was her way of saying he shouldn’t hold his breath. Damn!
James had two choices. He could stay, or—as his indignation bade him—hie himself from the room and allow her to stew alone. Although he had never considered himself overly intuitive, he somehow knew leaving would be a mistake, one from which he might not recover. If he left he would prove her theory—he had what he wanted. Why linger? She truly must believe him a cad.
He sighed. Seemed there was no choice after all.
Even as he flung his legs back on the bed and crawled under the covers, James felt sorely misjudged. He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to hold his wife in his arms. He wanted to wake in the middle of the night and make love to her again, leisurely, dwelling on all the little erotic details they had missed the first time around.
He moved next to Amanda and, surprisingly, after one distrustful look she allowed him to nestle close. The feel of their naked bodies touching was still amazingly pleasurable, despite the quieting of very basic emotions.
For a long time they lay there, both awake, neither speaking.
And then, “James?”
“Yes, love?”
“Are you going to want to do this often?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Oh.”
“Does that upset you?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
He felt a smile well in his chest, and for no reason he could fathom all at once he was hopeful. It still wasn’t going to be easy. Coming back from a lie was tricky business, and when all was said and done he supposed he deserved her mistrust. However, for the moment he would bask in his sudden optimism and revel in the knowledge that tonight was only the beginning.
Despite the resistance he still sensed in his stubborn wife, James gathered her in his arms and promptly fell asleep.
***
CHAPTER 13
Amanda did not sleep that night. Instead, she lay in her husband’s embrace while a battle waged in her breast that, as the hours ticked away, became physically painful. A throbbing pain in her temple continued to intensify until her stomach felt queasy.
How could she desire one thing so much, and yet fear it was bad for her. Why not give in and admit she loved James? Why not pretend all was well? Eventually it would be, wouldn’t it? Better than wending their way through this battlefield of misunderstandings until it was no longer worth the effort to either one of them.
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br /> Thing was, she knew James did not understand why she had cried after they made love. And without him understanding that, she could not see her way clear of her reluctance.
He had forced her to respond to his lovemaking. He had made her participate when it was the last thing she had meant to do. Had he simply taken what he desired, without insisting she feel something, maybe she wouldn’t be so filled with resentment. But he had insisted, and it had been horrible and wonderful all at the same time. Sorting through such diverse feelings was almost too much for her.
In all honesty, she wondered if it would have been possible to remain aloof under such undeniably compelling circumstances. But at least the choice would have been hers, and for some reason that was important to her. Clearly, he had been unwilling to wait for her to come around on her own. Perhaps he had feared she would not. Regardless, now they would both have to cope with her bruised emotions.
He had held her for hours, his warm breath puffing gently across the back of her neck as he breathed in and out. His arms felt strong and safe even as he slept, and the ache in her heart was all the more poignant because of it.
If only she could believe that he cared for her beyond obligation…beyond the passion. Not that passion was a bad thing. In fact, after tonight’s lesson in erotic play she suspected resisting his overtures would be all the more difficult. But passion without deeper feeling was temporary and ultimately worthless.
Amanda glanced over her shoulder at her husband’s sleeping features. He slept on, peacefully, as he had the night long. But each time she had tried to ease away from him, his grip on her had tightened, his body cupping hers more closely until she could not tell where she ended and he began.
And so she greeted the break of dawn, sneaky light filtering into the room through cracks in the drapes. She watched a sunbeam creep across the bedcovers as dust motes danced in its hazy brightness. Close enough to touch, Amanda slipped her hand into the beam and wiggled her fingers, sending the motes flying in all directions. They were much like her emotions, chaotic and too elusive to grasp.
In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4) Page 14