Celeste Bradley - [Royal Four 02]

by Surrender to a Wicked Spy

  14

  Dane found it very difficult to sedately eat his dinner. He kept seeing Olivia with her head thrown back, fully dressed with only her nipples revealed, clutching his shoulders and giving her all to him without reservation.

  The fact that an entire such night stretched before them only made the fork shake more so in his grip. He sat there, his cock still half-erect, his palms sweating, thinking of what more heights he could bring her to tonight.

  That was not all. His own dark fantasies had begun seeping into his “education” of her. He wanted to command her to fall to her knees and take him into her mouth. The fact that his sensually obedient wife might just do it only further inflamed his imagination.

  He let his gaze rest on Olivia’s bosom across the table. The pale green gown showed off her soft pink skin to perfection, but the bodice was a mite too snug. Her abundant flesh pressed upward, as if she were going to overflow her neckline with a bounty of womanhood.

  Dane’s erection stiffened further. He’d once heard of a prostitute who would press her large breasts together and—

  “ … don’t you think so, Dane?”

  Dane jerked his head around to stare blankly at Marcus. “What?”

  Marcus flicked a knowing glance at Olivia and her amazing bosom, then grinned. “Nothing. Never mind.” He put down his fork. “Shall we skip the usual formalities and kick me out now? Or shall we play a few inattentive rounds of cards first?”

  Olivia slammed napkin to tabletop with lightning speed. “Oh-so-sorry-you-must-go. Do come again soon!” She stood.

  Dane leaped to his feet so abruptly his chair teetered behind him. “It was a pleasure to see you, Marcus.” He never took his gaze off his wife’s sparkling, eager eyes. “Go home now, if you please.”

  Presumably, Marcus left on cue. Dane neither remembered nor cared. All that counted was that in a matter of seconds he had Olivia alone in her bedchamber, the door shut and the green gown on the floor.

  “Not the floor,” she protested indistinctly—probably because his tongue was in her mouth. “It’s my best.”

  Dane only growled and kicked it away. “S’too tight anyway,” he muttered as he sucked on her neck. “I’ll buy you ten more.”

  She shrugged and grabbed his shirttails. “You can buy a new one of these while you’re at it—” She ripped the shirt up and off him, careless of the torn seams.

  “I like your chest,” she panted, stroking her spread hands over his pectorals. “You’re like a stone wall, except where it ripples under your skin.”

  “I like your chest more,” he said, panting as he divested her of everything but her stockings and garters. “No, leave those on,” he said when she reached for her garters.

  “Where’s the box?”

  “Did you lock the door?”

  “I’ll build up the fire.”

  “Why are you building up the fire? Come here!” Olivia blinked in surprise when Dane tossed the bed pillows to the carpet before the fire and stretched out there.

  He looked like a decadent pagan god, lounging there with the orange firelight licking his golden skin and hair, wearing only black trousers. The room suddenly felt unbearably chilly where she stood clad in nothing but her stockings and garters.

  She grabbed up the carved case and dropped to her knees on the carpet before him. “You must remove your clothing as well,” she said primly. “’Tis only fair.”

  He drew back, his inviting smile beginning to fade. “Olivia, I don’t think—”

  “No, I don’t think you do.” She crossed her arms.

  His eyes nearly crossed. She was beginning to get a glimmer of how her bosom affected him. Tit for tat, after all, since his entire body affected her that way. A body she would very much like to see all of.

  “If we are going to surmount—” Her own choice of words halted her. “I mean, rise above—” Oh dear, the image that provoked! She pressed the back of her hand to her heated forehead. Blast her ridiculous tendency to redden! She took a breath and tried one more time. “If we are to breach this—”

  Dane fell back on the pillows, laughing. “You can stop now,” he said with a smile. “I think I understand.”

  She tilted her head, smiling as she watched him laugh at her. She didn’t care as long as he was truly laughing in this easy way, without a shred of his lazy, genial facade in evidence.

  She flipped the catches on the case and let it roll open away from her. “Very well then. Time’s a-wasting,” she said crisply. She unwrapped the first rod. “I take it that this is the usual size?”

  He blinked. “How would I know?”

  She paused, caught by something carved into the rod. “Heavens, I think these are little people! And they’re—” She looked up him with her eyes wide. “Can we do this?”

  He snatched the rod away from her and held it close to the fire, peering at it. “Ah. Well, ah …” He swallowed hugely. “Yes, if you like.” His casual air was not convincing at all. “I suppose so. Someday.”

  He cleared his throat, his laughter flown before the dark hunger that now sparked in his eyes. “You know, my lady, I’m striving very hard to pay attention to what you’re saying, but …”

  “But the night flies by.” She flopped down on the pillows beside him. “Have at, then.”

  “Have at?” Dane leaned over her, stroking a finger down her cheek. “No need to be so dispassionate about it,” he said softly.

  She arched her neck, excited by the fierce desire gleaming in his blue eyes. “You know,” she said dreamily, “when I’m with you, I couldn’t be dispassionate if I tried.”

  His slow, knowing smile sent shivers through her. He had her in the palm of his hand and he knew it. She let herself be there, willing and trusting, for he was Dane. Strong, gentle, masterful Dane, who she knew would never hurt her, nor desert her, nor deny her.

  That warm, protected place in the palm of her husband’s hand was her home.

  Dane smiled down at his willing bride. Her face shone with just the right amount of wifely affection. He’d done well, keeping matters amiable and light, attaching her fancy using her body’s responses and not her heartstrings.

  He took the ivory rod, warmed from his hand, and stroked it down the center line of her body, between her breasts and down over her belly. “Open,” he commanded softly.

  Her eyes widened in surprise, but she did so, letting her thighs fall open compliantly. She obviously thought he meant to thrust the rod directly inside her. She would allow it, too, but that wasn’t his intention at all. He suspected that the raised carvings of the rod had another use than merely instructional.

  He slid an arm beneath her to raise her breasts high—his reward for his restraint. He took one softened tip deep into his mouth, the way she liked. Her answering gasp fueled his lust, but he had to hold back. It was up to him to bring her along patiently. If this wild plan was to work, he must keep his distance, within and without.

  He held the tip of the rod poised just at the top of her slit, not quite touching her sensitive button. As he sucked and teased first one nipple, then the other, she began to writhe, unconsciously straining her pelvis upward against the blunt tip of the rod.

  He let the rod slip down a bit, letting the length ride slowly over her little bump, following her crease down like a guide. He let the rod dip into her dampness, using her own desire to wet the ivory, making it slip most sensuously against her.

  There was a way to use the carvings, and he had an inkling of how. As she began to feel the effects of the carvings sliding fluidly over her swelling clitoris, her breath began to quicken sharply, tiny cries reflecting the rise and fall of smooth ivory on her sensitivity.

  He rotated the rod, watching her face. “Do you like this side?” He twisted it again. “Or this?”

  Finally, he turned the rod the way a man’s cock would press if he lay between those sweet thighs—soon, by God, someday soon!—and slid it smoothly up and down.

  She went mad
in his embrace.

  Olivia reached out, grasping for balance against the wild sensations radiating from her center. In response to her reaction, the rod slid more quickly. Up and down, again and again, the bumps and lines in the ivory caressing and kneading her nub into violent ecstasy.

  Ascend and descend, on and on, sweet, sharp pleasure, until the now-familiar bubble of bliss began to grow within her. It swelled, expanding sharply. The rod rose and fell. Fighting the dizziness, she opened her eyes a slit to see Dane watching her, power and satisfaction on his face.

  I am yours. She was owned and cherished and his. She could fly free within the protective circle of his hold. He wouldn’t let her fall.

  He bent to take her nipple in his mouth again. That was all she needed.

  The bubble burst in a thousand shimmering threads, sending white-hot shivering ecstasy radiating through her. As she floated down from the heights, her body still throbbing, she felt Dane change the angle of the rod.

  Her eyes flew open and locked with his. He gazed down at her, his expression somber. “This should be me,” he whispered.

  She raised her arms to wrap about his neck. “It is you,” she whispered back. “It is ever you.”

  He bent to kiss her softly, possessively, as he slowly pressed the rod within her.

  Olivia closed her eyes and waited for the pain. Mother had made it very clear that there would be pain.

  The rod was warm and slick and hard. The bulbous head pressed her open, the length sliding in behind to fill her. She felt a pressure. Dane stopped at her tiny protest.

  “I think that is your maidenhead, sweeting,” he said softly. “Once broken, it will bother you no more.”

  She blinked up at him. “I’m ready,” she said, tensing her body in expectation.

  Dane smiled at her. “I think I’ll kiss you more, first.” He bent to kiss her, a long, sweet wet kiss that made Olivia sigh with delight. She relaxed, going soft and pliant in his hold.

  He thrust the rod deep.

  She cried out, clutching at him, ready for the agony to overtake her. There was only a sharp sting, like the pricking of a finger.

  She relaxed again, letting out a breath of relief. Dane slowly pressed the rod deeper, then smoothly withdrew it. “Yes?”

  “Yes,” she breathed. He continued the motion, once more twisting the rod until he found the best aspect The carvings slid in and out, pressing here, drawing there, exciting small tugs of pleasure deep within her. “Oh!”

  Dane paused the motion. “More?” he teased.

  She clung to him. “Oh yes, please.”

  He took his time, first slowly, until she writhed against him. Then carefully faster, letting her wetness ease his speed. She bucked, gasping, helpless in her pleasure.

  He found he enjoyed watching her take her pleasure. Sometime he might have her do it herself as he looked on. Let her perform for him … quivering at her own hand … in the bath … .

  Lecher. He was most base, he decided. She was already giving him such a gift, bearing this outrageous invasion for him. The fact that he could probably convince her to do it notwithstanding, there was a line he could not pass, a level of sexual debauchery he could not ask of her—

  “Oh yes!” she cried. “Oh, please, more.”

  Or perhaps he could.

  He watched in wonder as she arched her back and tossed her fair hair on the pillows, her lips open as she gasped her pleasure, her breasts quivering with the tension in her body. He threw his thigh across her nearest leg to hold her still and drove the rod in deeply a final time, sure it would drive her over the edge.

  It did.

  She bucked wildly in his hold. Her soft body writhed and tortured his imprisoned erection, making him shake as well. She called his name out loud, her broken cries husky and abandoned.

  He nearly lost his own control, nearly spilled himself right there like a randy lad. If she kept that up—

  She went limp, her breath leaving her in a wordless sigh. He withdrew the rod and set it aside. Thankfully, he’d held his seed—or perhaps he wasn’t all that thankful. His tormented body ached for release, any release. He wanted to undo his trousers and have her put her hands on him, to stroke him as she had the night before, with her soft hands directly on his sensitized flesh.

  He could not do it. He could not reveal himself to her in all his abnormality. He still did not trust her nerve, it seemed.

  Memory assaulted him. Good God! Get that ’orrid thing away from me! He didn’t know what was worse, honest revulsion or horrified fascination. His aching cock subsided at the memory. He’d experienced both and he wasn’t willing to go through it again. There was time.

  They had the rest of their lives, he and Olivia.

  He found that thought very comforting. As he pulled her soft body close and drowsily tucked her head beneath his chin, it never occurred to him to worry about how comforting the thought was.

  15

  Dane rolled over, sleepily reaching for his bride.

  She wasn’t there.

  He started.and sat up, blinking about him. He was disoriented at finding himself on the floor until he remembered it was his idea.

  Olivia sat tailor-fashion nearby, the reddish glow of the coals on her skin, still clad in nothing but her stockings and garters. She held another of the rods in her hands, peering closely at the pictorial carvings. She turned her head and smiled as he sat up.

  “Did you rest well, darling?” She went on all fours and crawled to him. What a sight! His cock shifted at the way her heavy breasts hung and the way her pert rear beckoned. She came close and collapsed into his lap, nuzzling his neck with her forehead. “I feel rather astonishing,” she purred.

  “You look rather astonishing,” he gasped. “I thought you would be in pain.”

  “So did I.” She shrugged. “Well, that was a great deal of fanfare for nothing. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

  He drew his brows together. “It didn’t hurt?”

  She shook her head. “Only a bit. Wasn’t it supposed to be much worse?”

  He blinked. “Ah … to be truthful, my lady, we are both operating on secondhand information here. I have never taken anyone’s virginity before.”

  She tilted her head back and smiled at him. “I shouldn’t think well of you if you had.” She held up the second rod. “As a matter of fact, I felt quite ‘comfortable’ with the first one.” She gave him a demurely naughty smile. “And you know what that means.”

  He blinked. “Again? Are you sure?”

  She nodded with certainty. “I realized something, you see. I am not a small woman. My mother has often pointed this out to me. It seems at last that I have found a benefit to being oversized and awkward—”

  “You are nothing of the sort!” Dane was surprised that she could even think such a thing. “You are tall and stately, with the figure of a goddess. I should not wish you to be a small woman.” He frowned. “I always feel as though I’m going to crush them.”

  Olivia’s lips quirked. “I have sometimes felt the same way.”

  Dane tilted her chin up with one finger. “You are perfect for me, just as you are.”

  She swallowed and blinked at that, and then her eyes took on that grateful gaze again. This time Dane didn’t mind so much at all.

  She cleared her throat. “As I was saying,” she continued huskily. “I am not a small woman. Therefore, it only makes sense that I would … ah, graduate sooner than someone more petite.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Or can it be that you want another such climax?”

  She lazily slid her hand into his hair and pulled him down for a hot, wet kiss. “Why, my Lord Greenleigh,” she murmured against his mouth. “What a naughty thing to say.”

  He pulled her back down onto the cushions, chuckling deeply. “I fear I’ve created a monster.”

  She rolled her naked body sensually on top of his. “Absolutely.” She growled playfully. “It’s all your fault. Now you must p
ay. I want more.”

  He flipped her over and, taking the second rod from her, pinned her roving hands above her head. “As my lady commands,” he said, and proceeded to give her just that.

  The next morning, Olivia did not have time to seek out Dane. In fact, she learned that he’d breakfasted early and left to take care of a few things before they all departed for Scotland tomorrow.

  It was packing day. The house was in a flurry, servants rushing this way and that, with a much more cheerful Mrs. Huff directing the traffic.

  Olivia glanced a question at Petty, who nodded back with a sly smile. Olivia’s cure for joint ache had worked its magic, it seemed.

  She and Petty spent most of the morning in Olivia’s bedchamber, packing up the gowns and possessions that had only been unpacked five days ago.

  Had it truly only been five days? Five days since she’d waited in this room, not knowing what to expect from the stranger she’d married?

  She held the green gown up to inspect it for damage but then only dreamily clutched it to her bosom as she recalled how Dane had stripped it from her last night.

  Goodness, what a night!

  The second rod had been an entirely different matter. She’d been fortunate to have a man like Dane, who had labored over her for what seemed hours of pleasure, purely to ensure her readiness. She sighed deeply, remembering the way he’d held her tightly when she’d climaxed again. She closed her eyes, recalling how he’d whispered that she was beautiful and amazing and strong as she’d ridden the falling pleasure to come back to herself in his arms.

  It had been a bit disappointing to wake in her wide bed without him this morning, but she supposed that was how marriage was conducted. After all, her parents didn’t share a bed. Lord and Lady Cheltenham rarely shared the breakfast table if they could help it.

  Of course, tomorrow Olivia and Dane would be traveling together. Surely they would share a room when they stopped at an inn tomorrow night. Olivia smiled dreamily at the thought. She must be sure to order a bath first thing when they arrived. It would be like a little honeymoon for them, for they’d had to pass on the traditional month together.