by Lavinia Kent
“It is because people can be cruel. I’ve spent my life learning that.”
He brought her hand up to his lips. “Yes, they can be. But they are not always. Your friends do not seem cruel.”
“No, the ladies are not. They can be honest, too honest, but they are never cruel just to be cruel.”
“And what about me, do you believe I am cruel?” It was hard to ask the question, but it had to be asked.
She chewed on her lower lip, and he was tempted to lean over and kiss it. He held back; this time it would be her turn to move.
“No. I have never known you to be cruel.” She said the words slowly. He could see she was putting thought into them. “I can see that now. I will still never understand why you had to leave, but I can learn to live with that.”
“You can?” He turned her hand over and kissed her palm, as he had once before that night in the carriage. This time he moved even slower, watching how each of his nibbles made her quiver.
“Yes, I can.” She turned on her side, facing him. “What I need now is for you to tell me that you’ll never leave again.”
Could he make that promise? At this moment he had no desire to leave again, but could he promise that he never would? Traveling the world brought a thrill like no other. And there were still so many places he’d never been. “What about if I brought you with me?”
“Brought me where?”
“Wherever I decided to go—Africa, China, Mexico? I don’t know. Would you come?”
He could tell he had surprised her. Her eyes gleamed, but there was also doubt.
“Is it enough if I agree not to leave you—but do not promise not to go?” he asked. “It will be up to you.”
“I get to decide if we go?” She sat up suddenly. “Could I also decide where we go?”
“I suppose.”
“India. I’ve always wanted to see India, the colors, the smells. My parents had always talked of going—and then they died.”
He’d already been to India, but seeing it through her eyes would be like seeing it anew.
Forget about waiting for her. He used the hand he held to pull her closer, moving until her lips met his. She did not resist.
He kissed her softly, pretending she was the most precious thing he’d ever met. Hell, he wasn’t pretending.
As she began to move restlessly against him, he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue over her lips. God, her mouth was sweet. He could have kissed her forever, tasted her, loved her. He realized what he’d just thought, but even that was not enough to stop him.
He did love her. The very idea might be preposterous, but he was becoming more and more convinced that he’d recognized his soul mate from the beginning. He almost laughed at the thought. It was more likely that he was only thinking this way because he had a warm, willing woman in his arms.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
She knew where this was heading. Her heart beat faster than she could ever remember, and not with fear. She’d always thought she’d be afraid, or at least nervous, but instead this felt right.
“So you’ve had a few years to pick up some more experience, to know what to do?” she murmured against his cheek.
He stopped moving for a moment, lifted his face away from hers and rolled to his back. “Actually, no. I have no more experience than I did when I left. I take marriage vows seriously.”
Was he blushing? It was hard to tell by candlelight, but she was quite sure he’d gone a couple of shades darker. “You do? You honored your marriage vows? You actually considered yourself married?” She knew she was being repetitive, but the thought had never even occurred to her.
“Yes. I have always considered myself married.”
“But, we never . . . ”
“Believe me, I’ve been very aware of that these last four years.”
“And you never . . . ? Were never tempted to . . . ?” Her mind spun, trying to comprehend what he had said. Could she believe him?
“I never said I wasn’t tempted. I just believe in keeping promises and I promised both you and God that I would give you fidelity. I’ve been far from a perfect husband, but I have done that.”
And she believed him. She sat up, wrapping her arms about her knees. He had considered himself married all these years, married to her. Suddenly she was glad things had not worked out with Doveshire, that he had loved Linnette from the start.
She turned her face to William, staring up at him from under her lashes. “I’ve been faithful too. I didn’t really mean to be—I am afraid I may not be as honorable as you—but nothing ever happened. Those rumored lovers were just that: rumors. In the beginning I could not imagine trusting a man, wanting a man, and then later I never managed to find the right man, to find a man who makes me feel desire like you do.”
Reaching out, he placed a hand upon her cheek, his thumb stroking the mouth his lips had just caressed. “Thank you for telling me. I thought that was the case, but I was not sure. It makes me glad—but also nervous.”
“Why nervous?” She pushed up onto her knees, turning toward him. His hand remained on her cheek.
“Because things have not changed from four years ago. Yes, I am older and more in control of my body’s urges—but that is only theory. In truth I want to push you down on the pillows and bury myself in you. It is as simple as that.”
“Oh.” It was her turn to blush. That didn’t actually sound so bad. After waiting for four years she was ready to get on with it. She could worry about whether she liked it the next time. “Then why not?”
In one fluid movement she rose up high on her knees and pulled the linen shift over her head, dropping it on the floor beside the bed.
William didn’t say anything. He just stared. His eyes darkened and focused on her breasts. Her arms wanted to rise and cover them, but she held back. If he found them wanting she would rather know than wonder.
He kept staring.
She shifted forward.
He kept staring.
“Excuse me,” she said after a moment. “I did not think that taking off my shift would bring things to a halt. Is there something wrong with them?”
His eyes moved up to her face. “God—no—sorry. I am afraid I just became a bit lost for a moment. Your breasts are quite the most exquisite things I have ever seen.”
“Really?” She wished she didn’t sound so disbelieving.
“Really.” Keeping his eyes firmly on hers, William raised his arms and with great care placed his palms over her breasts. “Look how well they fit.” He squeezed lightly.
That felt good. It felt remarkably good. She leaned nearer, ready to bring her lips against his.
Instead she found herself suddenly lifted, and deposited flat on her back. William rose over her, his hips straddling her own.
Her breath caught in her chest. He was so big. He towered above her, holding her down.
And she liked it. She more than liked it.
His hands returned to her breasts and his thumbs brushed over the nipples, raising them to sharp peaks. A moan slipped from between her lips. He smiled. Then lowered his head. His tongue snaked out and flicked across one taut tip.
Her hips jerked off the bed.
Her eyes must be as wide as saucers. Sensations she’d never known began to grow deep in her belly and between her legs. Her hips jerked again, bringing her into direct contact with the hardness between his legs. Pressing her elbows into the bed, she lifted her hips again, this time with care, and rubbed with some deliberation.
It was his turn to moan.
She rubbed again, watched as he bit down on his lip.
“Do you like that?” she whispered, moving again.
“Too much.” He lowered his weight, holding her still, but also keeping the contact between them. “Hold still, my dear enchantress, or this will be over before it begins. It has been more than four years.”
What? Oh. Yes, she had heard that. But rather than discouraging her, it made her want to wiggle more. The
idea of pushing him beyond the limits of control was quite delicious. Working hard, she shifted her hips again.
“I believe I said to stop.” His voice held more command than she’d ever heard before. “If you don’t stop I will have to distract you. His fingers went to his buttons, and she had to admit that she found it more than a little distracting as his broad, muscled chest was slowly bared before her. A scar ran across his chest, just above the left breast.
Her fingers reached out and stroked it, the tight band of pink smooth beneath her touch. She raised a brow in question.
“I’d like to say that I was attacked by pirates and had to fight them off, but the truth is much less glamorous. I fell from a tree and landed on my knife. It was not my brightest hour.”
She stroked again, watching his skin quiver beneath her touch. “Still, it must have hurt. Were you badly injured?”
“No, but I did take a fever that lasted days. The jungle is not a good place to be injured.”
Pushing back with her elbows, she lifted the top half of her body until she could lay a gentle kiss upon it. “There. If I am an enchantress, I will kiss it and make it better.”
“It couldn’t be better.” It was his turn to rub his sex against hers, reminding her just how naked she was.
Her lips had finished with the scar and were now trailing over the rest of his chest. She’d never imagined this part of lovemaking, how wonderful it could be. She brushed her mouth over his flat brown nipple. Oh, he liked that. She did it again—and again, her insecurities fading at his obvious response. She lifted one arm, attempting to push the shirt from his shoulders. He instantly realized what it was she wanted and shrugged it off entirely.
He was beautiful. She’d often considered him powerful and strong, but never had she appreciated the subtle beauty of his torso, the play of muscle, the curve and line that defined shoulder, and chest, and abdomen. Her gaze dropped, following the rippling muscles of his stomach. She wanted to see more. “Take off your trousers. I want you bare.”
“This won’t go on long if I am. I want to take it slow.”
It was her turn to take command. “I don’t care. We have all night—and my understanding is that this thing can happen more than once.”
He slipped off her, and off the bed. Came to stand beside her, his hips at eye level. “If I had not known you were a virgin I would be sure now—this thing. You call sex ‘this thing’.”
“Do not make fun of me. I have been jeered at enough.”
His hands dropped from his belt line. “I am sorry. I did not mean . . . ”
“Don’t worry. I have a tough skin, but I thought you should know that it is not a form of humor that I appreciate any longer.”
“Of course. I promise not to do it again.”
“And you always keep your promises.”
“Yes, I do. Even if sometimes it takes me much too long. I think it’s time for ‘with my body I thee worship’.”
“I am not sure that’s actually in the marriage ceremony,” she said, understanding his meaning.
He leaned forward, the hairs on his chest brushing across her breasts, making her wish he would never move, and left a soft kiss on her lips. “Do you think I care?”
And then he straightened, his hands lifting again to his waist. He undid the buttons of his fall and in a single movement pushed down all. She was vaguely aware of him awkwardly trying to push off his stockings as well, but her whole focus was caught on his—a half dozen words ran through her mind, some vulgar, some not—his cock. That was a term she could live with.
“What did you just say?” His voice startled her.
Had she actually said it out loud? She rolled onto her side and continued to stare. It was rather a strange object, but breathtaking all the same—the shaft, thick and veined; the head, dark and swollen and dripping with need.
“Can I touch?” Even as she asked the question she reached out. It felt like velvet.
His whole body jerked toward her. He grabbed her hand, held it still. “Later. Not now.” His words were a single groan.
She rolled away, stared up at the ceiling. “Then let’s get on with it. I want to be able to play.”
“You are going to kill me. Are you ready?”
“Ready?”
“I knew there was a reason I was scared four years ago.” He climbed back on the bed, kneeling between her legs. Watching her watch him, he held out a single finger and brought it between her legs. He stroked through her soft curls, letting them wrap about his finger. The sensation sent tingles to the center of her core. Her legs began to press together of their own accord, but his knees kept them open. In fact, he spread his legs slightly, causing her to open further. His gaze dropped from hers and centered on that space where her legs met, that space nobody had seen since she’d been a babe. Moving his finger down through her curls, he pressed it into her slit—it was her turn to jerk. Her whole body suddenly centered on one tiny spot of sensation. He moved his finger again, and again.
She bit down hard on her lip, trying not to scream. Her hips were thrashing and all she wanted was—God, she didn’t even know what she wanted, only that she wanted it now. She pressed her body against his, hard, working hard for further contact. Her legs again tried to close, to contain the pleasure that was threatening her control.
“Yes, I am ready.” She almost spit the words in her desperation for whatever it was that came next.
He pulled his hand back. Damnation, that was not what she had wanted. He stared at his fingers, at the dampness that coated them. “Yes, I think you are.” He leaned forward, bracing himself on his arms—no, on one arm—as he positioned himself between her legs. She felt the fingers of his hand brush against her again, opening her, preparing his way. And then she felt him, big, hard, intruding. Her whole body tensed, awaiting the pain.
His eyes met hers, and she could see anticipation in them, but also caution.
He started to ease himself forward, bit by bit.
She felt the stretch, tried to shift, tried to accommodate, tried to relax muscles she’d never known she had.
And then, as if reading her gaze, he thrust forward, filling her completely.
And it didn’t hurt. It was certainly not comfortable, but there was no pain.
She felt stretched and filled, more than she would ever have believed possible. With care she bent her knees up, cradling his hips between them. There, that was much more agreeable, almost pleasant.
His face was marked with strain as he held still.
She lifted her hips toward him, signaling that she was ready.
He began to move. At first it merely felt odd—not good or bad, just something like she had never felt before.
She did like the closeness, the feeling of being almost one.
And then it changed. Those spots that had been so sensitive a moment before began to tingle again, to want again.
She found herself moving with him, thighs lifting, seeking, needing.
Tilting forward, she sought more pressure . . . there, ah, just there. His pace quickened—and so did hers.
She could feel it coming, knew it was almost there. Yes. Almost. Now. Now.
Her body ached with need, her whole being caught up in the now, in the need for—for an ending, an explosion, a . . . she didn’t know what, but she needed it—and now. Her hips jerked. She tried to move, to find—
William’s whole body stiffened. His head fell back, a roar tearing from his lips.
He thrust again, hard—once, twice, and then softer, his whole body collapsing upon hers.
He knew she hadn’t found satisfaction. Even as his own body still screamed with pleasure, his mind was filled with that fact. He’d felt her; she’d been with him, her whole body straining. And then he’d gone ahead. He’d tried to hold back—and failed. It had simply been too long.
He rolled off her, not wanting to crush her, and despite the desire to do nothing but lie there, luxuriating in comfort and satisfac
tion, he pushed up on one elbow and faced her.
She did not look upset, merely curious. Her hair lay damp upon her cheeks, and her eyes still glowed with pleasure, but not that final pleasure.
He reached out and ran a finger down her breastbone, careful not to touch the mounds on either side. She shivered. Keeping his eyes on hers, he bent his head and took one plump, ripe nipple in his mouth. He had not done this earlier, despite having dreamed of it for years. This was complete heaven. He closed his eyes and thought of nothing but the sensation. He pulled the nipple further into his mouth, suckling deeply.
She purred. He opened his eyes. Her head thrashed lightly on the pillows, and the softest, sweetest sounds leaked from her lips. His hand came up and began to play with the other nipple, pulling and teasing at the tip. Her breasts were so perfect. They fit his palms as if made for them—and his mouth. He loved that he could suckle almost her entire breast, his tongue playing with the tight bud, while his lips massaged the rest. He rolled nearer to her, leaning over her, laying damp kisses upon her as he moved from one breast to the other.
Then, placing a palm over each breast, he began his descent. First he ran his tongue along the underside of her bosoms, that wonderfully sensitive line of flesh where breasts meet ribs. Then lower. He kissed each rib, nibbling his way down. Her navel warranted special attention. His tongue delved deep, his teeth nipping at the outer edge. He could feel the little shivers race through her.
He moved lower, heading toward his ultimate target.
Hands twisting in his hair, she pulled his head up. Their eyes met. He could see the question in hers, but also the trust.
He blew her a kiss.
She relaxed her hold, and back down he went.
Hands slid down her body, bracing her legs wide.
He caught her curls between his teeth and pulled gently, the rich, musky scent of her rising up. Her thighs tried to press closed, but he held them open, staring down at that sweet bud he’d only dreamed of. She was pink—pink and wet.