by Emma Wildes
“It only hurt a little.” Her voice was tinged with a hint of breathlessness and tiny muscles clenched around his invading finger with tantalizing eagerness.
He recalled the droplets of blood on his sheets. “You bled.”
“Wasn’t I supposed to?”
“A bit,” he acquiesced.. Deflowering young maidens was definitely not his area of expertise. “As long as that’s all it was.”
“That’s all it was.” Her hips lifted slightly so his finger slid in a little farther.
She definitely liked what he was doing. However, there was something he thought she might like even more.
“Let me make amends,” he whispered in her ear, inhaling the light floral fragrance from her hair.
That she had absolutely no idea what he intended when he shifted lower and lightly kissed her thigh was not in question. Her reaction, when he slid his finger free and replaced it with his mouth was utter shock.
“Ross!”
He slipped his arms under her knees, lifting her legs and keeping them open as he ignored her outraged struggles. She tasted of female arousal and he pressed closer, savoring the soft sweetness of her sex with his mouth and tongue, feeling her body suddenly go very still as he licked and parted the soft female folds.
She moaned in both enjoyment and surprise and it was a more seductive sound than any practiced sigh he had ever heard.
Ross took his time, teasing and caressing. Gently bringing her higher and higher, he registered the increased slide of her fingers through his hair, the way her thighs opened wider as she climbed toward orgasm, and the subtle, liquid movement of her hips. Cassandra gave a small inarticulate cry when she peaked, her slender body twisting and shuddering.
With a last kiss on her damp pubic hair, Ross slid off the bed and took off his breeches. Cassandra looked more than tempting in post-orgasmic languor, her nude body gleaming in the low lamplight. Tangled gold tresses spilled across the coverlet and full ivory breasts quivered as she caught her breath. Her thighs were still parted and the cleft between them was wet and glistened with the evidence of her readiness and recent climax.
“Are you supposed to do that?” she asked in a shocked throaty whisper.
His laugh was low and soft. “Sweetheart, the number one rule in bed is that there are no rules. Yes, I’m supposed to do that if you like it. It seemed to me you did.”
She didn’t deny it. Her gaze focused on his erection. “Oh.”
There was no doubt about it, he was on fire. His cock was stiff against his stomach, the hard pulse of sexual need making his whole lower body ache. An experienced man, his impatience surprised him as he climbed on top of her and pushed her slim legs open wider so he could position himself. “You’ll like this too,” he promised her with a dark smile.
“I did that first time.” The confession was ingenuous.
“Did you?” He asked the question softly, unexpectedly affected by her candid admission.
The need to be inside her was so intense, he felt his heart pound. Her green-gold eyes were veiled by her long lashes, and her hands came lightly to his shoulders, even just that light touch making his muscles tighten.
Damn, he was never like this. Making love was a light-hearted game, an extremely enjoyable pastime of heated sighs and different bedrooms and delectable perfumed bodies of all varieties. He was an expert at gauging what a woman wanted, how to touch her, what gave her the most pleasure. As lover, he could be all things, gentle, a little rough, generous, selfish…it didn’t matter. Whatever the scenario, he had played it.
Only this was no game. The beautiful woman beneath him with her legs spread so erotically for his possession was his wife. It was hard to tell if it frightened him, or he found it uniquely arousing.
All he knew was he needed to have her. Now.
He kissed her as he entered her, a long slow pressure of his lips on hers. She was exquisitely tight, the heated walls of her vaginal passage giving slowly to his penetration. When he was fully embedded, he lifted his head, watching her expression as he slid backwards and thrust back inside wet, satin heat. Her cheeks flushed and her lips parted in a small gasp of pleasure.
Oh God, an urgent voice in his brain whispered as she lifted her hips to match his rhythm in a sensual movement that had to be instinctive. Her nails dug into his shoulders. He might have been intoxicated the night he seduced her, but he knew it was damn good. Too damn good. He hadn’t lasted very long which was embarrassing as hell. The trouble was, that just might happen again. Fevered rapture flowed through his blood and bone and he drew on every bit of his usually easy control to keep from coming too soon.
To his surprise, he needn’t have worried.
Cassandra was inexperienced, it was true, but apparently she made up for it with an innate sexuality that matched her gorgeous, desirable body. Before long Ross realized she was going to climax again, the small tremors unmistakable as her inner muscles tightened around his surging cock. Throat arched, she clung to him as the storm rushed in, her slender body trembling and a small low cry echoing outward.
Jesus.
Ross went right over the edge with her. His release was explosive, mind-numbing. His cock buried inside her silky heat, the rapturous rush of ejaculation tore a groan from deep inside his chest. Their fused bodies shook. Her arms tightened around him, and all coherent thought fled for what felt like a blissful eternity.
When reality returned, he couldn’t help but wonder when was the last time he had climaxed so fiercely and with such abandon.
He smiled, his face still buried in Cassandra’s silky hair. His young bride might be the antithesis of what he pictured in a wife, but she certainly was enchanting in one very important way.
Chapter 5
Randolph Babcock leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowed in surprise. “That’s an interesting twist, by God.” He pressed his fingers into a steeple. “That bastard Winterton got married, eh? My darling whore of a wife will be devastated, I am sure, at being denied exclusive rights to his infamously busy cock. Of course, considering the price she has already paid, I somehow doubt she’d make that mistake again.”
Across from him in a leather chair, his younger brother, Harold, gave a small nervous laugh and tugged at his cravat as if it felt too tight. “Exactly. Danielle would never dare even look his way. Surely, now, you will forget about this need for revenge, Ran.”
“I thought you knew me better than that, Harry. If anyone should, it would be you. Winterton will pay for making me a cuckold, and even more, a laughing stock.”
There was no mistaking the sudden compression of Harold’s thin mouth, or the way his lanky body shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Randolph noticed both mannerisms with complete contempt. With his penchant for dice and cards, he was in constant debt and Randolph held the purse strings. The nice part about having a weakling dependent on you to support their habit was that they would do just about anything to please. Also addicted to drink, Harold’s hands trembled and his eyes looked rheumy and watery. His brother stammered, “Why…why bother to kill him? It’s a risk you don’t have to take. The slight is past and long forgotten by society. A duel will bring it all back, even if you should by chance manage to best him and satisfy your tarnished honor.”
“That’s true enough.” Randolph settled back comfortably and smiled at the thought of Ross Benson dead, preferably his demise both painful and lingering. “I’ve had almost a year to think it over. No, in retrospect, I won’t face him. The issue isn’t worth any possible harm to myself. Not over that scheming harlot. You’re going to arrange it all for me.”
“I’m a terrible shot,” Harold said in a thin squeak of open alarm. “And he is reputedly one of England’s best with a pistol. Besides, why would I challenge him over your wife, and nearly a year later, at that?”
Irritation rose, and Randolph scowled. “You idiot, you are not going to challenge Winterton. It’s quite true, he could blow your fool head from your shoulders if he want
ed in a duel. I just want him dead. I don’t care how. Be discreet, that’s all I ask. Surely in those nasty hovels and gambling hells you frequent you can find someone to do the job.”
Harold seemed to consider it, relief that it didn’t fall to him personally etched in his features. With a sneaky smile, he responded, “Perhaps, but it will cost.”
“I’ll pay, don’t worry.”
“It could be quite steep. A man’s life doesn’t come cheaply.”
“If you are even thinking of charging me more than what your assassin asks and keeping the rest, I advise you to reconsider, brother,” Randolph warned with a snarl. He had seen that obsequious look before and it disgusted him. “Just make the arrangements. Now that our hot-blooded young lord is back within reach, I want him crushed as soon as possible.”
“What about his bride?”
Randolph chuckled. “What about her? Dispose of her too, if you wish.” That angle suddenly seemed to come into focus very sharply. Thoughtfully, he added, “No, better yet, give her to whatever creatures you drag out of the gutter who agree to eliminate our amorous target. If Winterton married her, she is bound to be beautiful. Make it part of the bargain. They can use her as they will, and either sell her to a brothel or get rid of her body. Their choice, but make it clear his lordship stays alive long enough to see her defiled. I like the idea of a brothel personally, for perhaps I could pay her ladyship a visit and return the favor Winterton paid me. Once a woman is sold into servitude in one of those places, she does not escape, no matter who she says she is.”
Even as debauched as Harold had become, he looked slightly horrified. “Your quarrel isn’t with her. That seems a bit extreme, even for you.”
Randolph’s brows shot together in ungoverned annoyance. He asked lethally, “What do you mean ‘even for me’? Are you implying I am unbalanced in some way?”
Harold got to his feet so quickly his chair nearly toppled over. He swallowed visibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his scrawny throat. “Not at all. I’ll get on this matter at once.”
* * * *
The carriage bumped over a rough patch of road and Cassandra put out her hands to keep her balance as her bottom bounced on the seat, stifling a small wince.
The man sitting across from her barely shifted his weight, his long legs sprawled so his booted feet actually brushed her skirts. Broad shoulders against the upholstery, he was engrossed in reading several documents. Ross frowned over the papers in his hand, a faint furrow between his downy dark brows. Dressed more casually than usual, he wore no cravat.. His snowy white shirt was slightly open at the neck, though his jacket and breeches were perfectly tailored and his boot polished to a glossy shine. His impeccable appearance was no doubt the work of his efficient valet. Her new husband had already informed her that he would be hiring a lady’s maid as soon as they arrived in London.
Cassandra’s first reaction was to object, but she had reminded herself quickly about what Timothy had told her, and simply nodded. The last thing she wanted was someone hovering over her all the time, invading her privacy and fussing with her hair and clothes, but she had a sinking feeling he would insist.
Concessions.
It felt a little unfair that they came all from her side, but then again, no matter who she married, she would have been forced to accept her husband’s wishes and desires.
At least some of her handsome new husband’s desires were of the most pleasurable kind.
They rolled over another rut and she felt again that slight soreness between her legs. Maybe it was her inexperience and having led in general a sheltered life, but she had no idea men and women made love more than once in a night.
Much less four, five, six…she wasn’t sure exactly how many times they had engaged in sexual congress the night before, for it all became a haze of pleasure and sensation. His hands and mouth had touched her…everywhere. The memory of his mouth between her legs made her cheeks flush predictably, and she bit her lower lip. It had felt glorious, as had every single thing he had done to her. Cassandra had no idea if most brides felt so pleasantly exhausted the day after their wedding, but she certainly had a general feeling of both lassitude and physical contentment. She couldn’t have slept more than a few hours.
“You’re blushing.”
Those soft, amused words made her glance up in mortification. Ross had set aside the business papers he’d been looking over, and his arms were folded over his chest as he watched her. The corner of his mouth was lifted a little in the ghost of a small smile. One ebony brow arched. “Can I venture a guess as to why?”
“No.” Her voice sounded a little strangled, and she cleared her throat. “I was just thinking.”
“About last night?”
“No.”
He laughed out loud, his smile holding a slight masculine smugness. “My dear, you are the very worst liar in the world. Quite frankly, I’ve never known anyone who so openly shows every emotion.”
Oh God.
She knew she was not exactly skilled in concealing her feelings, but then again, she had never seen reason to try. “I’m sure you find it very boring, my lord,” she said stiffly, “when you are more used to the subterfuge and intrigue of your usual…” she searched for the right word, refusing to say “lovers.”
“Companions,” he supplied with an ironic smile.
“As you wish.” She tried for a similar cool, unemotional tone. “On the contrary, I find your honesty refreshing, and quite frankly, arousing. Especially in bed. When you moan in enjoyment, I know it is genuine, not artifice.” He added with a wink, “And you moan quite a lot.”
Did he have to talk about it?
She had absolutely no idea what to say to that. “I don’t mean to,” she muttered defensively, and at once felt supremely embarrassed at that particular admission.
Ross grinned wickedly. “I’m very glad you can’t help it. I agree wholeheartedly. It feels very good indeed when I am buried deep inside you and you are enjoying it every bit as much as I am.”
A little shocked he would be so blunt, she asked in a hushed voice, “Can we discuss something else, please? The subject is a bit indelicate.”
“We are husband and wife, Cassie. We can talk about sex if we want.”
The fact that he was so openly laughing at her made her all the more unsettled. “I don’t really want to talk about it,” she said tartly.
“As you wish.” His gaze still reflected amusement and he indicated the papers he had set aside. “Forgive me for having to look over a few business matters and neglecting you, but my attention is all yours now. What does my beautiful bride wish to discuss?”
“How long will we be in London?” She hoped she sounded simply curious but her fingers clenched in her skirts and she had to consciously relax them.
“You’ll like it when you get used to it.”
That evasive response wasn’t precisely reassuring and told her he knew exactly how she felt. “I hope so,” she said, trying to not sound forlorn.
“The London house isn’t as big as Winterton Hall, but there’s a library, a music room, and a garden. Yes, things will be different, but you can still amuse yourself with your familiar pursuits, I promise. During the day I am usually tied up with business affairs, so you will have some free time then to do whatever you like.” Ross added succinctly, “Your evenings are mine, of course.”
That announcement, made with such arrogant assumption, was a little irritating. Cassandra bit back a sharp reply, and took a small breath. “I suppose you will want to attend some social events. I expected that.”
“You suppose correct. The opera, balls, theater, parties…I usually am quite busy when I am in London.”
It sounded awful, but Cassandra had a suspicion he was trying to test her in some way from the speculative look in his blue eyes. She said merely, “I see.”
“I do not want us to quarrel over it, Cassie.”
“It doesn’t seem to me we are quarreling.”
She lifted her brows a fraction. “I realize that, Ross. I was also there yesterday in the church.”
“Yes, you were, and you agreed to obey me. I will do my best to please you if it is possible, but I am not as indulgent as Timothy.” His handsome face was bland, but there was an implacable set to his mouth. “As my wife, you will appear on my arm at any event I decide to attend. If that is understood between us from the beginning, we will avoid conflict later. I do not think I am asking very much.”
Maybe not of some women, but he was asking a great deal of her. Cassandra absolutely loathed crowds and insipid parties. “I have every intention of doing what is expected of me as your wife, whether I enjoy it or not.”
A muscle in his cheek tightened momentarily at her falsely sweet tone, before he suddenly laughed and shook his head. “That’s not exactly eager compliance, my dear. Timothy warned me you could be extremely stubborn.”
“How odd. He warned me you would be autocratic.” She caught the strap hanging by her head to steady herself as they jounced over yet another bit of uneven road.
“You enjoy some of the things I expect of you as my wife.”
Those softly said words brought her gaze up abruptly. He smiled, a seductive curve of his sensual mouth that made her breath catch in her throat.
Her resentment melted under the power of that smile and the heated look in his eyes. Cassandra felt a small curl of treacherous excitement in her stomach. “Yes,” she admitted. “Some aspects of marriage are appealing, I suppose.”