Miss Isabella Thaws a Frosty Lord

by Larissa Lyons

  He expected, now that she knew her orientation, she’d join him any second. “For the rest of the evening, my darling Issybelle, I am your servant to explore and use as you will. Tonight, we each discover the other on equal footing, as it were.”

  Her giggles had quieted.

  The blackness of his vision amplified the howl of wind outside, the slap-bang of a shutter in the distance, and the lack of sound from his wife. But the fire flamed on, crackling and popping merrily, oblivious to his growing concern.

  “Are you warm enough?” God knew he was.

  She made an affirmative noise in her throat.

  But his ears told him she hadn’t moved a muscle. “Still nervous?”

  “Just a little.”

  “Take all the time you need,” he said soothingly, exhibiting the patience of one expecting to be sainted any moment now. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  And still he waited.

  And waited.

  Damn. Now that he was practically spread-eagle, nude as a babe, baring his soul and body as never before, and beyond ready for his wife, she was nowhere to be found. And it was dark as hell behind the thick sash.

  An odd choking noise came from the foot of the bed.

  “Isabella?” Nicholas scrambled to a sitting position. One long tie of the blindfold flopped against his nose. It was tempting to take it off, to see her in the firelight. But he wouldn’t.

  He’d meant what he said—they’d blindly learn each other’s secrets together. Tomorrow morning would be soon enough to behold all her charms in the light. To tell her how lovely she appeared to him, his charming Issybelle.

  For now, he just wanted to hold her. So where the dickens was she? “Isabella?”

  Sexual intercourse. Mating. Breeding. Lovemaking.

  Aye, that was the one.

  Lovemaking with her new husband.

  There were so many words for it and so much she didn’t know. Such as how to do it.

  Oh, Anne had shared the basic fundamentals, but Isabella surmised intimate relations were much like eating raspberry cobbler. No matter how much description one received from others, one never knew how it really tasted until the crumbly, gooey sweetness crossed from a fork into their own mouth.

  But how could she think of food when her stomach was a roiling twaddle of spikes and stickers?

  She knew nervousness was to be expected.

  She knew it would likely sting—but just for a bit.

  She knew her comfort surrounding the act would assuredly improve with time.

  She also knew she was not—most certainly not—supposed to find any of this funny.

  But the tickle in her throat, the gurgles of laughter fighting their way up from her neck, the giant smile she tried to stifle by mashing her lips together, they all said otherwise.

  “Isabella?” Rustling ensued and she feared he was about to call a halt to the little game he’d instigated. That or possibly stop his thoughtful seduction altogether. “Isabella!”

  “No! I am f-fine,” she choked out. “Stay in bed, I beg you.”

  “You don’t sound fine.”

  “I’m trying not to laugh.”

  “Eh?” Another of his adorable grunts. He exhaled loudly. “Sweetheart, if you want to laugh, by all means do so. Only please, would you enlighten me as to its cause? I think I could use a chuckle,” he finished on a growl. “This evening is not proceeding how I’d planned.”

  Which somehow struck her as funny, and she did laugh. Finally. It felt good, allowing the pressure that had built up in her chest a way out. “But that’s just it, this isn’t going how I’d envisioned either. I thought…ah, doing this was going to be a solemn, serious occasion and—”

  “But we’ve kissed a fair amount,” Nicolas sounded surprisingly conversational, “more than a fair amount I’d say, and you can’t claim those were all sober events.”

  “Nay, but this is different. I’ve been eagerly dreading it all day but—”

  “Dreading it?” The word dropped like a guillotine.

  “But eagerly, mind you. Although now all I can do is picture you with a black patch covering one eye and a red scarf wrapped about your head and—”

  “A red scarf? An eyepatch?”

  “Like a pirate,” she explained as she approached the bed. “Because you’ve stolen me away to ravish me and because you treasure me so thoroughly.”

  “I can be your pirate.” The growl was more subdued this time. More thoughtful.

  Reaching the thick post at the corner, she paused. “Is this where you stubbed your toe?”

  “Where? What?”

  “The bedpost.”

  “Yessss…”

  She feared her wild changes of topics were leading him on a merry chase. And she was about to take yet another turn because a fresh scent, one that reminded her of summer sunshine and the picnics of her youth, was causing her to sniff. Then sniff again. “Do I smell…” Raspberries? Nooo. That would be implausible. “Blueberries?”

  “And a whole slew of other berries. For later.”

  Some imp made her ask, “Mistletoe?”

  “Hanging from the rafters,” he replied instantly. “Hordes of it, far above your head.”

  Isabella knew how to recognize his clankers by now; he might not spout them as frequently, but she’d learned well the different nuances in his voice. She grazed her palm up the stout wood column, imagining the just-invented kissing boughs dangling above. “Ah, but since I’m no longer charging for my kisses, I suppose we can leave it all up there.”

  “Thank God.” He sounded ever so relieved.

  Which only made her smile. “Tell me, my always, always, always truthful spouse—”

  “Ha! You know me well.”

  “I do indeed. You’re not peeking, are you? At me?”

  “Though I’m beyond tempted, I won’t.” She knew he spoke honestly. “I’m in the dark as much as you, my love.”

  And that’s when she left off being wary of the unknown, berries—fictional and otherwise—and her very own blindfolded pirate showing her the way. “But I’m no longer in the dark, haven’t been since that very first kiss you gave me.”

  “Issy…belle.” Within the drawn-out syllables of her name, he infused a wealth of love.

  She tested the scope of the bed hangings and found the center of the high mattress between the fabric-draped posts. Propping one knee on the plush surface, she allowed her dressing gown to slide from her shoulders.

  Another deep inhale of berry-scented air for courage and she pulled her gossamer nightgown over her head, only a smidgen disappointed he wouldn’t be admiring it tonight. “There now. I’ve just taken off my robe.”

  “Have you now?” He sounded almost indulgent.

  “Aye, and all that was underneath.”

  “Y-you have?” he sputtered.

  “That I have.” Her voice had taken on a smoky tone Isabella was amazed actually came from her mouth. “And I don’t feel like laughing anymore either.”

  “You don’t?” It was a husky whisper.

  “Not at all. Shall I tell you what I see?”

  “God, yes.”

  Her fingers crept forward until she sensed the heat coming from his body. Circling a few inches around, she made deliberate contact with the skin of his lower legs.

  She’d meant to initiate tentative contact, but the rasp of his manly body hairs tossed that intention overboard and her hands clasped firmly to the muscled limbs. A slow, up-and-down slide of her palms sent treacherous tingles racing from her fingers to set up camp somewhere south of her stomach. That scandalous slide also oriented her between his knees and his feet. So now she knew “where” she was. Supposedly.

  In truth, she was swimming in such deep waters she was thankful she could count on Nicholas to jump in with her.

  Climbing fully onto the mattress, Isabella took hold of his ankles, one in each hand. “I see a beautiful room, full of strong, masculine furnishings. The smoldering fir
e casts a golden glow over the warm brown tones of the rug and bed hangings.” And because she was awfully curious whether or not she’d do better to modify her initial perceptions, she asked in an aside, “Are they by chance, brown—like your eyes?”

  “They will be tomorrow.”

  Smiling deep inside, she moved one hand from his ankle to caress the embroidered silk counterpane beneath his leg. “I see sumptuous bronze bed coverings and beige linen sheets beneath.”

  “New ones,” he assured. “I ordered them from the best linen-draper in London.”

  “Thoughtful of you. Now do hush, I have a lot to see yet.” Her fingers returned to his leg and she swept them upward, hearing his breath hitch and ignoring the quiver the fine hairs on his legs kept causing in her belly. (Or attempting to ignore it, otherwise she’d never be able to keep describing things, to show Nicholas the world he’d given her.) “I see muscular calves and—oh, dear—slightly knobby knees—”

  He gave a bark of laughter.

  “And, ahmm…” She faltered when she encountered the firm, flexing flesh of his thighs and the smooth, smooth skin above, and to the sides when she stretched her arms higher and around—way around—certain anatomical protrusions—

  “I’m afraid you might have missed something there.”

  As though battling the urge to reverse direction and go back, her fingers dug into the sides of his torso. “Some things we aren’t always ready to see,” she answered primly.

  By the time she renewed her daring sufficiently to continue on and flattened her palms on the corded muscles of his stomach, Isabella thought perhaps both she and the man she explored were shaking equally.

  What to do next? Reach forward to stroke his enticing chest or instead pay particular attention to the private, upright beacon of his, the one that beckoned discovery as much as it intimidated?

  Inexperience made the decision for her.

  Slapping her palms together, Isabella interlocked her fingers and withdrew, sitting back until her posterior came to rest on his legs. “I see a woman who’s lost her courage to explore,” she confessed, more than a little dismayed when she discerned how very damp her center had become. “And one who fears she’s leaking and may soon abandon ship if her pirate doesn’t hurry and claim—”

  Nicholas surged to sitting so fast he almost knocked her off the bed.

  After only a second’s groping, he clasped her shoulders, quickly sliding his hands to her waist. He hauled her to him, dragging her over that protruding part of him and right up his body until he held her strongly against his chest.

  Lips at her temple, hand splayed on her spine, he whispered, “So, my lady, you’d like for your ravishment to commence?”

  Isabella lengthened her legs along his, petted the broad shoulders beneath her hands and exhaled, flattening her tender breasts as she melted onto his bare skin. “I think… I think…” She feathered her fingers up his neck and jaw to take hold of the blindfold covering his eyes, pulling it off. “I think, rather than be ravaged by a pirate tonight, I just want my husband to make me his.”

  His fingers flexed on her back, echoing the twitch of his male part against her abdomen.

  “Do you now?” he said as silkily as she’d ever heard him.

  Before he could kiss her though, Isabella pushed up onto her forearms and blurted, “I do still want to play pirate—only not tonight.”

  Chuckling deeply, Nicholas rolled to his side, bringing her with him. “I’m certain that can be arranged. But for now, let me arrange you…”

  He angled one of her legs over his waist, opening her in the most vulnerable way.

  Her body contracted in a series of tiny tremors and he instantly paused, hand just below her knee. “Issybelle? You’re grimacing. Shall I stop? Or mayhap slow down?”

  Telling her face muscles to behave, she scooted one arm between them to toy with the light whorl of hair in the center of his chest. Now that she knew what he looked like, so easily could she envision the slight, concerned scowl furrowing his forehead, the bisected eyebrow lifted in consternation, the serious, half tilt to his lips as he awaited her reply.

  She pressed her hand to his heart. “I’m perfect. Please, continue on.”

  “Ah,” his voice and the image in her mind smiled. Dimples appeared. “Just what I wanted to hear.” He returned to stroking her leg as he leaned forward and kissed her. First her forehead, both her cheeks, her lips…

  The hand rubbing over her leg didn’t hurry, didn’t rush, but glided over her skin from thigh to knee, venturing toward her waist a time or two, occasionally shifting to brush her breasts…rousing desire and firing need every bit as much as his ever-deepening kisses.

  When her pelvis started shifting forward of its own accord, he pulled back and whispered, “You’re ready now.”

  She whimpered her agreement, trusting. Yearning.

  With strong, gentle hands, Nicholas guided her to her back and settled himself over her. His weight was divine.

  His staff, lying hot and heavy between her thighs, wicked.

  And wanted.

  So very wanted.

  Her hands roved restlessly over his back. His lips worshiped at her breasts.

  Nicholas positioned his knees between her legs and spread them wide. Then he meandered his fingers down her stomach and delivered lazy, spiraling caresses through her curls.

  He was going so slowly, moving against her body with such grace and control. She didn’t want to flail against him like a madwoman, had been fighting the urge to slant her pelvis, to encourage him to move faster, farther…

  But oh, the sensations he brought forth with his tender touch. A giant wave threatened to cascade through her, only something held it back. As though an invisible dam stopped the tide from flowing freely.

  The wet glide of his fingers edging her open was more intimate than anything she could imagine.

  “Uh…” She licked her lips, her mouth so dry and stomach so fluttery, it was a wonder she still possessed a command of English. “Uh…”

  Well, perhaps she no longer did.

  He stilled his hand and bestowed a fervent kiss to the base of her neck. “Aye?”

  “Those are your fingers, right?”

  “For now.”

  “Uhm…for how long?”

  He shifted and withdrew from her slick core, kissed her lips and assured, “For as long as you like.”

  “What if I’d like to feel the other?”

  He froze. Then kissed her deeper before pulling back to ask against her mouth, “The other?”

  Isabella scratched her fingernails lightly over the barely perceptible bristle shading one cheek—thoughtful man, he must’ve shaved just before coming for her. “The other as in that impossibly long and stiff part of you I’ve felt through our clothes for weeks now. I—”

  She said no more. It wasn’t necessary.

  Not when Nicholas scooted his body a few inches down hers and a slight shuffle between her spread thighs brought his fingers back to her sex, this time with a blunt-tipped offering in hand. “Do you feel me, Isabella?” he breathed against the sloping mound of one breast. “I’m holding myself back, keeping the bawdy parts of me in check, but, darling—”

  “But I’m sure I want to meet those parts too.”

  “My bawdy parts? Well then…” He echoed her gasp as something warm and thick, much thicker than his fingers, slid up her cleft then back down. “This is me, knocking at your entrance—”

  “Knocking?” She laughed on a moan. “Feels more like nudging—”

  His arm jerked between her thighs, bringing the head of his staff ever closer to her inner depths. “Blast it, woman, this is love talk. I’ve not had much practice so I’m not any good—”

  She reached down and took hold of his wrist. “You’re good,” she corrected breathlessly, “great, in fact, so—ah—” Tugging on his arm and canting her hips, she rubbed herself along his shaft a few more times. Her knees lifted until her feet were
flat on the bed, toes curled into the silky counterpane. “So wonderful I—I think the dam is about to burst—”

  “The what?”

  And then she was bucking wildly against his body as he brought his head to her breast and licked a narrowing circle around her areola until he scaled the summit. He drew the impossibly tight point of her nipple into his mouth and Isabella forgot how to breathe.

  All she could do was feel. Feel the tugging on her breast as it traveled through her stomach to her core where the waves were building, cresting…

  “I see it!” she whispered fervently as sensations streaked through her, illuminating every corner of her darkened past. “See the sun shining on the ocean—” She gasped. “The beautiful, unending ocean. I see us there…” The waves were crashing through her now, growing ever more insistent. “Hand in hand, we are…walking along the shore, cool water beneath our feet, wet sand between our toes…”

  The waves pounded her insides, seeking a way out. And as she continued thrusting herself against the stimulating strokes Nicholas delivered, the dam did break, the tight coil of passion reaching a pinnacle on a heartfelt sigh of pure bliss…pure release…

  Eventually the frothing waves settled to a gentle, soothing lap.

  “Ahhh.” Isabella exhaled, so languid and heavy-limbed, it was a wonder she didn’t sink through the mattress to the stone floor. “That was…” Remarkable. Stunning. Fun.

  Aye, fun. But the gentle lapping hadn’t stopped.

  In truth, the churning had started up again before it ever fully settled. Her stomach tightened. The muscles in her abdomen clenched and quivered, began to ache anew.

  Her breasts ached too, feeling heavier, weightier than she could remember. And her chest felt surprisingly chilled. She brought one unsteady hand to the dampened, previously sucked-upon tip to find it puckered into a tight knot. An exposed knot—one not covered by warm lips.

  And still the lapping continued on.