Adelaide was certain the fire between them could not burn hotter, until his free hand wandered down her side, brushed her sensitive breast and finally paused at her thinly covered bottom. His slow squeeze, followed by a soft caress was but a prelude to his real intention. She gasped, a move that thrust her tongue into his mouth, as he grasped her bottom in his strong hands and lifted her into the burning length that now seared her belly.
She twirled her tongue around his, mirroring its movements to his. He groaned and ground his hips into hers. Suspended in his arms as she was, the precarious nature of their balance eluded her. An urgent whimper accompanied her fervent response. She clasped her arms around his neck more tightly and tunneled her fingers into the lush, silk darkness of his hair. Marcus snatched his lips from hers in a quest for air and tilted his head back with an inarticulate cry.
He rested his forehead on hers, their breaths mingled in a gentle duet. With a slow, wicked smile he took a step back towards the bed. And immediately fell backwards over the stray ottoman behind him.
Sprawled across his prone form, Adelaide blinked and looked around to get her bearings. The heartfelt moan from beneath her, followed by, of all things, a sensual chuckle, set her spinning head to rights. Marcus had fallen flat of his back and carried her with him, safely cushioned in his arms. Her thoughts flew immediately to his bad leg. Before she could ask him about it, he covered the twin globes of her bottom and pulled her into the cradle of his groin.
“Well, my lady,” he said. His face was wreathed in the most rakish of grins. “Now you have me where you want me, do you intend to have your wicked way with me?”
With no attempt at subtlety, she pushed the already loose edges of his dressing gown apart and planted a moist kiss in the middle of his chest.
“Absolutely, my lord. As soon as I discover exactly what my wicked way is.” She lowered her head to scrape her teeth across the taut muscles she had uncovered. Marcus’s lower body undulated up in response. The pool of liquid fire between her legs seemed to deepen in answer. She closed her eyes and bit down on her lower lip. Her body was awake and alive and beneath her lay the source of that awakening.
She framed his face in her small hands and started at the base of his throat. A kiss pressed to the pulse that beat there caused it to quicken. She let her mouth wander in tiny steps up his chin and along his jaw line. The wicked scar, which stretched from the chisel of his jaw across the hollow of his cheek to his temple and into his hair, drew her like a treasure map.
He flinched as her lips first touched it. She went on, his protests quieted by the tender caress of her lips on his wounded skin. Then again, perhaps it was the enticement of her barely covered bosom, now hovered over his face. No sooner had that idea flitted through her head than it was answered.
A short growl was her only warning before Marcus ran his tongue down the cleft between her breasts. Her shock was momentary, as the most incredible sensations danced across her skin in the wake of his marauding mouth. The plump flesh exposed by the daring cut of her nightrail was seized, albeit tenderly, in his teeth and worried until she cried out from the pleasure of it.
“The bed, Addy,” he muttered as he nipped and kissed every inch he could reach from his position beneath her. “I want you—I want—the bed.”
She attempted to rise only to be pulled back into his arms and suddenly rolled onto her back. His attempt to free her breast from its fragile cover resulted in a loud rip. Adelaide’s head moved from side to side as she tried to find his lips with hers. A frantic kiss did little to slow him down.
“Marcus, you’ll tear it.” She did not care, but she had to say something before she burst into flames. His fevered touch, his draining kisses threatened to shatter her completely.
“I want it off,” he growled. Something of her own frenetic thoughts showed in her face. For once he looked into her eyes, he grew very still. On his hands and knees, poised above her he panted like some wounded animal. Adelaide touched her hand to his cheek, paused and then drew it down his throat to rest over his heart.
“The bed sounds like a very good idea, my love,” she whispered. “Take me to bed, Marcus. Make me your wife.”
Chapter Seventeen
Her soft request filled the stone walls of the spacious bedchamber. The room, with its vaulted ceilings and massive carved tester bed, faded away as Marcus looked into Addy’s deep brown eyes. Desire clung to him like a second skin. It exiled him from all reason, save the voice of the siren beneath him.
When his control returned enough for him to realize what had happened, he shook his head.
“Addy, I…”
She touched his hair and pushed a stray lock out of his eyes. His innocent bride smiled. Much to his chagrin, it was he who trembled.
“Help me up, Marcus. This floor is cold.” Her voice was temptation itself.
The rosy expanse bared by her diaphanous gown shimmered with dew and fluttered, an enticement with her every breath. He, on the other hand, found it difficult to draw air into his lungs at all.
He moved away from her prone form and slowly got to his feet. The sight of her lying there in a pool of honey-colored hair and sheer white silk nearly knocked him to his knees again. His hands reached for her without a thought. He lifted her to her feet. As he pulled her into his embrace, she gasped. The feel of her in his arms was almost too much to bear.
She was so small and light, but her form was perfection. The scent of lavender and wildflowers and feminine desire suffused his senses. He buried his face in the burnished gold of her hair. She threaded both of her hands through the overlong hair curled at his neck and touched her lips to his temple.
“Marcus,” she murmured.
He lifted her in his arms and moved toward the bed. The pain in his leg began to throb, but was no match for the aching pulse that shot into a slightly higher region. His cautious pace must have alerted Addy to his weakness. Just as they reached the edge of the white turned down sheets and the elegant blue counterpane, she removed one arm from around his neck and squeezed his forearm.
“Put me down, Marcus,” she said gently.
He looked into her eyes in search of the pity he expected to see. As ever, her expression bore none. Not censure, but a heavy-eyed languor met his gaze. His heart stuttered at it. He lowered her slowly to the floor. The brush of her body loosed the knot of his dressing gown and brought the exquisite tease of her hip against his swollen sex.
“I don’t like to think you are my wife out of pity, Addy. I am afraid my male dignity could not bear it.”
“Marcus,” she said, her voice a smoky whisper. She looked down toward the spot where his hot length, still shielded somewhat by the gaping side of his robe, was pressed to the cool, smooth silk draped over her hip. “You are the least pitiful man I know.” When she reached into those folds to touch him, he grabbed her wrist and then let it go.
“If you touch me, sweet, I may run mad. Are you sure…”
“Oh, yes. I’m sure.” In a slow tease of movements, she tugged at the ribbons that held her nightrail together at her shoulders. “I did not spend a week being measured, poked and pricked by pins, followed by half a day in shoes that grew smaller by the hour, to be denied my God-given right to a wedding night.”
Marcus chuckled. “You are a bossy wench.”
Suddenly, the last ribbon let go and the gossamer concoction that served as her only shield against him, slid to the floor. His mouth went dry. Dear God, she was beautiful.
Her shoulders were delicate smooth curves of sun-kissed alabaster. Generous, proud breasts crowned with rosettes of pink begged for his touch. A waist so tiny he was certain he could span it with his hands led to the graceful hint of a curve at her belly. Her hips were slender as were her legs. Those legs went on too long for a woman who barely reached his shoulder.
The moment his gaze found the honey gold fleece at the apex of her thighs, he sensed her first shiver of uncertainty. When she moved her hand to cover he
rself, he stopped her. He scooped her back into his arms and laid her onto the bed. Her eyes grew large and luminous as she lay back on the pillows. She reached for the edge of his robe.
At her wordless request, he snatched the garment off and let it fall to the floor. He wanted to get under the sheets with her before she had the chance to see his leg. Addy would have none of it. She sat up and placed her hands on his chest. His muscles jumped at the shock of her touch. The little minx smiled up at him as she ran her palms over his nipples and down his sides.
“You have seen me, Marcus,” she said. Her voice was as sultry as a summer night. It danced on his skin like a thousand stars. “I want to see you. All of you.”
He stepped back onto the floor and stood as still as a statue. Addy knelt on the edge of the bed and ran her fingertips over his shoulders. From there she skimmed across his chest and down his abdomen. Marcus gritted his teeth and hissed slightly.
“Am I hurting you?” She sounded so young and curious. Curiosity and sensuality were a heady mix. The beautiful, fey creature, who, clothed only in spun amber silk, explored his body like some foreign country, had reduced him to a tight coil of barely leashed lust. He did not know how much longer he might last.
“Not at all. You are merely torturing me to death. At this rate, you’ll be a widow by morning.”
“Really?” She looked up at him with a slight smile. Her delicate lashes fluttered closed as she leaned in to touch her lips to his shoulder. His Addy was a master strategist. He knew at once she intended her heated kiss to his aching flesh to distract him. Whilst her lips wandered lower and lower, her hand brushed over his hip and down his wounded leg. She had barely descended the line of twisted scars when he flinched. She jerked in response. Her hand came in contact with another, far healthier member.
They both looked down and then, into each other’s eyes. She drew her fingers up his length and as she did, her eyes widened in surprise. “Oh my,” she said. “I don’t think…”
Her voice caught as Marcus lifted one hand to cup her breast. With a light touch he shaped the tempting flesh and studied her face to judge her reaction. He still held her as he slowly pushed her back onto the white linen. In movements far more graceful than he believed himself capable of, he came onto the bed to lie beside her.
She watched in wide-eyed wonder as he brushed his roughened palm over her taut nipples. A sharp cry was his reward. He continued his gentle friction. Addy arched up to meet his seeking fingers as they squeezed and molded her obviously sensitive flesh. Marcus could no longer resist the lure of those puckered rosettes. He dipped his head and flicked his tongue, first on one, then the other.
“Marcus,” she cried. Her hands moved to stop him and then dropped to clasp the bedclothes.
“Yes, love?” He blew his answer across her damp breast, only to apply his tongue again in a wicked swirl. Addy whimpered softly in confusion. “Do you like it, Addy? Do you want me to stop?” She shook her head wildly and Marcus grinned. Her body bowed up in an effort to offer those twin jewels to him.
He accepted the offering gladly and set to tease one breast with licks and swirls and gentle nips, whilst his hand worked to pleasure the other. She tried to turn toward him. He threw his leg over her and rose to settle his elbows along her arms. From his propped position his mouth had access to every inch of her glorious breasts.
His lips paused only briefly before closing over the sweet temptation that had mesmerized him from the moment he entered the room. Those tightly closed buds had beckoned to him from under their gauzy veil and now he must taste them or die.
The gentle suckling of his lips and the soft cries of his bride were a cocoon of sound from which he had no wish to escape. She tasted of a mix of velvet and something distinctly Addy—sassy and vulnerable, all at once. His tongue and lips delighted in the softness of her breast and the tiny ridges of her nipple. Marcus drew away with a groan and moved to her other breast, helpless to resist. Addy’s voice came out in a sobbed sigh. Her hands no longer clenched the bedclothes. She threaded the fingers of one hand through his hair and held his head in a tender embrace.
It was the caress of her free hand that captured him completely. Her palm was so small, so soft. Her caress moved from the back of his neck, across his shoulders, to every inch of skin she could reach. His body shuddered at the power of her delicate touch. He moved into each stroke, each pass of all things soft and sweet and heavenly. The delicious agony of it overwhelmed him. Never had he craved the touch of a woman more.
“Addy,” he gasped, once he had released her breast. “Addy, I can’t last. I… God, I want you.” He did not care how desperate he sounded. He pushed up on his hands and stared down into her face. In the last week, he thought he’d seen all the faces of Adelaide Formsby-Smythe – the sharp-tongued girl with no awe of him at all, the stubborn woman who made him propose six times, the ethereal virginal bride, the flirtatious young lady.
Now he knew none of those compared with the woman who lay beneath him now. Eyes ablaze with passion, lids heavy with desire, lips plump and red and ready to speak of needs she never knew she had. Here lay his Addy at the dawn of her sensuality. His Addy and none other’s. With that thought, he was lost.
Adelaide had scarcely been able to catch her breath from the moment Marcus touched his tongue to her sensitive flesh. His hungry eyes had invoked an ache in her which grew with his every word, his every glance, his every touch. Her shock at what he bent his head to do, gave way to a desire for him to never stop. Her breasts bloomed under his decadent mouth. The ache was eased for a moment until it grew to an ever-higher flame. Nothing had prepared her for the flood of sensations set loose on her unsuspecting body. She wanted nothing more than to meld herself to him until there was nothing of him and her, only them.
His lips sought hers and she drank his kiss like wine, greedy for the taste of him— brandy and smoke. Hers was a thirst only he could quench. Adelaide opened her mouth to him. She needed to get closer. She knew not why. Never had she felt this wild need to draw another into herself as she did now.
Her arms pulled him to her and all the while he fed on her mouth with long strokes of his tongue and nips of his teeth. His lips ravished hers like a marauding warrior. Adelaide matched him kiss for kiss. She ran her hands over the taut sinews of his arms, his muscled back. Every ounce of modesty she ever possessed was gone. When she reached the sculptured rise of his buttocks, she squeezed and used that hold to try and guide him into the one place that ached above all others.
His hand stroked down her arm, even as he gasped for air. The sight of him, breathless and strained with barely leashed passion thrilled her. She had done this to him. Never had she dreamt of this, not in all her wild imaginings.
“Wait, Addy. Let me.”
“Marcus, please,” she begged. “Please.” She did not know what it was she begged for; she only knew she must have it soon or burn to embers on the spot.
“I know,” he murmured. “I know, love. Let me. Let me.” His kisses were soft and sweet now. He pressed them to her face over and over. His hand moved between them to settle between her legs. She flinched slightly, not from pain, but from surprise. He paused to look at her for a moment, and then smiled before he took her mouth in a slow, hypnotic kiss.
His fingers brushed her thigh and without thought, her hips rose to meet them. One long finger parted her nether lips in a single stroke. Her heated skin told her of the blush that swept her from head to toe. For once she did not care. Once his finger began to tease and tempt the moisture she had felt since Marcus walked into the room, she cared for nothing save the building sensation which threatened to consume her.
Her hand gripped his forearm. She did not know if she sought to stop him, to guide him, or to insure he did not cease. The first time he dipped his finger in a shallow foray into her cleft, she gasped in shock. The second time, she moaned at the exquisite pleasure of it. No part of her was immune to the lure of the pulse of his finger, the s
ensuous draw of his kiss.
Her body rose with each stroke. She followed as every motion lead to some newer, more heavenly place.
“Marcus.” Her voice came out in pants and sighs. Strange mewling sounds echoed in the room and she realized they came from her.
The ceaseless slide into her grasping passage consumed her. She thought surely nothing could ever feel this good, this wonderful. And then his thumb glided to the top of her mons and pressed. Once. Twice. Three times. “Marcus!” she cried. Adelaide shattered. Her body arched. Every fiber of her being reveled in the flood of heady sensation that seemed to go on forever.
Had he not held her in his arms, she felt certain she would have flown away to some ethereal cloud, never to return. He whispered into her hair. His hands caressed her face, her breasts, her hips. She tried to raise her arms to hold him, but they would not obey. Even as her body shuddered in wave after wave of pleasure, she realized he brushed something far larger than his finger at her weeping entrance. She gasped in pleasure with every touch.
Suddenly Marcus looked into her eyes. She knew. There was a passion in those green eyes that burned far brighter than it ever had. She wondered if her eyes shone the same. He drew himself across her sensitive flesh, as if to keep her pleasure climbing ever higher. It worked. Already her hips moved to follow him, to seek what he offered.
“Addy,” he whispered. “My sweet, Addy.” The hesitation was in his eyes, not in his body.
“Yes, Marcus,” she answered. “Yes, please.”
A gentle push, followed by a tiny burning sensation made her tense in spite of the tender passion in his face. She gripped his shoulders and bit her lower lip. He dropped his head to set his mouth over hers.
“Shhh, Addy. Put your arms around me, sweet. Yes, like that. Just like that.”
Lost In Love (Road To Forever Series #1) Page 19