Happily Bedded Bliss: The Rakes of Cavendish Square

by Tracy Anne Warren

  Fire flashed through her, searing her veins.

  “Oh!” she said.

  “‘Oh’ is exactly right.” His voice was low and throaty. He met her eyes and smiled as if he were enjoying every one of her naive responses.

  And she realized in that moment that he was.

  Gabriel was the teacher and she the pupil, an acolyte learning from the master, who was nothing less than a virtuoso of all things carnal and impure.

  She twisted, trying to move her arms. But he’d imprisoned her neatly inside her nightgown, leaving her utterly at his mercy.

  Her breasts quivered and she moaned as he repeated his trick of blowing on her wet flesh. He did it again, swirling the tip of his tongue around the tight bud of her other breast before teasing it afterward with a draft of cool air.

  A moan sang from her as he continued to lavish her breast with the kind of attention he’d applied to the first. Hums of pleasure came from deep in his throat as he drew on her with a powerful intensity.

  She shifted her legs beneath the sheets with a sudden restlessness, her body burning and feverish.

  As if he knew exactly how she was feeling, he flung back the bedclothes, tossing them all the way down to her feet.

  “Better?” he asked.

  She nodded, unable to find the strength to reply aloud.

  He leaned up and kissed her for the first time since he’d come into the room, claiming her mouth in a series of long, sultry, openmouthed kisses that made her head spin and her heart speed even faster.

  Before she had so much as an inkling of his intentions, he pushed the skirt of her nightgown up around her waist, leaving her completely exposed.

  He began touching her, one big hand moving in a slow exploration of her thighs and knees and calves before gliding upward to settle on the delicate skin of her stomach. He splayed his hand wide, rubbing her in a tantalizing circle before he dipped his little finger into her belly button and gave it a wiggle.

  Her toes curled, her legs sliding upward and slightly apart as if they had a will of their own.

  And that’s when he shocked her again as he slid his hand down and settled it over the mound of dark curls between her thighs. He cupped her there with undisguised possession, as if he were letting her know that this part of her belonged to him.

  That every part of her now belonged to him.

  Her blood beat in a wild rhythm as he reached a finger inside her. It felt tight, too tight, and he stopped with only a knuckle at first. But then he continued, pressing inexorably onward until his finger was lodged fully inside.

  She drew a sharp inhalation, then another, as he teased her inner flesh with gentle but insistent strokes. Leaning over, he kissed her again, muffling the helpless little whimpers that were coming from her throat.

  Then he added another finger and began stretching her more.

  An embarrassing moisture formed as she turned slick against his hand. Instinctively, she clamped her thighs tight, trying to force him out.

  But he burrowed deeper, his fingers scissoring open like a fan as he insinuated his thumb into her outer folds to find a spot that made her convulse and cry out.

  “There’s a girl,” he said against her lips, his fingers moving insistently below. “Spread those pretty thighs and let me make it even better.”

  But she didn’t know how it could get better, as a clawing hunger built inside her that demanded appeasement.

  He stroked faster, deeper, and she was lost—his to command, his to please. Her thighs fell wide, as she gave him permission to do whatever he wished.

  He leaned up next to her and watched. Watched as he continued moving his fingers inside her with deft strokes. Watched as her breasts heaved and her hips bucked, taking his fingers into her now with a kind of grateful supplication.

  And then light and heat spread through her in an astonishing burst, pleasure radiating out from where he cradled her and into every inch of herself.

  She lay stunned, half-giddy and giggling as she wondered why in the world she’d ever been nervous about this.

  About him.

  This was wonderful.

  This was heaven.

  When, please, could she have some more?

  He eased away and stood up, his hands going to the belt of his robe. When he turned back, her eyes went wide and a warning glimmer of her fears returned.

  She’d seen him before, there at the lake. Seen him in all his glorious masculine beauty.

  But she hadn’t seen him aroused. Hadn’t known he would look so powerful, so strong and tall, or that his shaft would be so large.

  He was a big man, in every way.

  Good heavens, she’d had trouble taking his fingers at first; how was he ever going to put that into her?

  “You’ll never fit,” she blurted out as she tried to scoot off the other side of the bed. But she was still bound inside her infernal nightgown, her arms incapable of helping her stand.

  Before she could go so much as another inch, he caught her around one ankle. “No,” he admonished, “you’re not going anywhere.”

  Settling a knee on the bed, he joined her. “As for fitting, you’ll take me just fine. We’ll just have to make sure you’re ready first.”

  What does that mean? She frowned.

  He reached up and rubbed the spot between her brows, then kissed her, taking his time to gently reclaim her mouth.

  “You’ve liked what we’ve done so far, have you not?” he said a minute later.

  “Yes,” she admitted on a whisper.

  “Then trust me to make the rest of this good for you. I can, you know.”

  And suddenly she realized that of all men, he was likely the best she could possibly have found to take her innocence.

  “It’s going to hurt, though, isn’t it?”

  “A little. I won’t lie. You are a virgin and you’re quite small. But we’ll find a way to make it easy. All you have to do is trust me. I am your husband. Let me decide what it is you need. Trust me to know best.”

  On any other occasion she might have taken exception to his statement, since she wasn’t the sort of woman who could blindly obey a man. But he was right in this instance. He was her husband and he was going to consummate their marriage tonight no matter what she said or did. And he was right as well that she had liked everything he’d done so far. So why not trust him?

  She nodded. “All right. But could we at least take off this nightgown?”

  He laughed. “We can tonight. There’ll be plenty of occasions later for that sort of play.”

  Before she had time to consider his remark any further, he reached out and freed her from her gown.

  After tossing it onto the floor, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, parting her lips to thoroughly plunder the inside of her mouth. He coaxed her to join him, her responses growing more open and eager, natural and easy.

  “Touch me,” he said, as his mouth moved to her throat and his hands to her breasts, where he began toying with her nipples in the most stirring of ways.

  “Where?” she whispered.

  “Anywhere. Everywhere.”

  She was tentative at first, careful to confine her hands to his arms and shoulders and the top of his back. But when he started suckling her breasts again, she grew bolder, letting her fingers wander over his chest to thread into the light thatch of hair that grew there. She found one flat nipple, and with a daring she didn’t know she possessed, she flicked it with her fingernail.

  He shuddered and groaned, much to her delight.

  She roved more freely after that, tracing the lean plane of his stomach, the curve of his hip and the hard, muscled length of his thigh. She located the slight hollow at the base of his spine and the firm roundness of his buttocks.

  He liked that, especially when she stroked down to the
clef where his buttocks met his thighs.

  Suddenly, as if he could stand it no more, he reached out and took hold of her hand, moving it between them. With his large hand guiding hers, he wrapped her fingers around the hard length of his arousal.

  She startled at the sensation, marveling at the contrast between his warm velvety skin and the rigidity of his shaft. He moved her fingers, showing her what he wanted, compelling her to tighten her grip far more than she might have imagined he would want.

  Then he left her again to explore, while he continued his own sensual wanderings.

  She was stroking the head of his shaft, moving her thumb over a curious bead of moisture that formed there, when he pulled her hand away and rolled her onto her back. Without preamble, he parted her thighs with his hands, then buried his face where she least expected.

  “Ahh, ahh, ahh,” she cried as he began licking her core as if he were enjoying some particularly savory dish. He parted her nether lips and feasted more fully, spearing her with his tongue before finding a nub of flesh and suckling in a way that made her writhe in abandon.

  Thoughts slid away as her entire world narrowed to the place between her legs and the sharp, aching need he was building with relentless determination. She had no control, her body growing increasingly slick as his every touch coaxed forth more of her feminine moisture.

  But he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, it seemed as if his actions were specifically designed to elicit that effect, as though he wanted that part of her as wet and needy as it could possibly become.

  She ached with a violent yawning desire to be filled, to be taken in ways she didn’t even understand. The yearning grew, driving her half-mad and desperate, until she wondered if she might die were it not assuaged. He drove her to the brink, but just when she prayed to be cast over into blissful oblivion, he stopped.

  Her eyes popped wide, a half scream of frustration issuing from her lips.

  But she realized he wasn’t being cruel moments later as he rolled onto his back and lifted her so that she was straddled over him.

  “Take me inside you,” he told her, his words harsh with need. “Take as much of me as you can manage; then I’ll see to the rest.”

  Take him?

  “I don’t know how,” she cried.

  “It will come naturally—you’ll see. Here, I’ll help.”

  Reaching between them, he guided his shaft so that the head rubbed against the entrance to her femininity. “Press down. Feed me into you.”

  She tried, leaning forward with her hands braced on his chest to urge him deeper.

  But he was large and her own untried passage so narrow that she could barely take more than the tip. She realized now why he’d tried to make her so slick, so she could accept him more easily, more fully.

  “Rise up,” he said, teeth clenched, “then come back down. Hard.”

  She did, lifting herself up, then bouncing down.

  The move gained him another inch. She did it again and was rewarded by a bit more. But then it began to hurt, his intrusion leaving her stretched and uncomfortable, though he was still barely inside her.

  “Rest a moment,” he said.

  She shook her head, her long hair tumbling over her shoulders and across his stomach. “Gabriel, I don’t know if I can do this. Maybe we should stop.”

  “No, sweetheart, not when we’re nearly there.”

  Reaching up, he swept back her hair, then cupped her cheeks with his broad palms and leaned up for a kiss. The move pushed him a fraction deeper, her cry lost against his mouth as he ravished her with his lips and tongue.

  He deepened their kisses, distracting her with such sweet pleasure that before she had time to consider, the pain began to dull. Without thinking, she wiggled closer to kiss him back, to kiss him mindlessly, and as she did, he slid in a little deeper.

  His hands moved to her thighs and spread her wider, then clutched her hips and buttocks to hold her tight.

  Kissing her all the while, he raised her up so that he almost pulled free, then brought her down again, forcefully and without mercy.

  A sharp pain stabbed through her as she was impaled, and she cried out, aware that her maidenhead had been breached. He was lodged deep and thick within her, so close she could feel his erection throbbing against her tender inner flesh. For a moment, she wasn’t sure she could bear it, overwhelmed by the sensation, stretched beyond her capability.

  Quite suddenly, he wrapped her inside his arms and rolled her over so she lay on her back beneath him. He’d managed the change in positions without losing any of the advantage he’d gained. Taking her mouth again with his, he slid his palms under her buttocks and shifted her up and into him so that, quite improbably, he went deeper. With a hand, he urged her to lock her legs around his waist, her arms around his back.

  He pulled back, nearly all the way out, then thrust in again, his movements stealing her breath. She hung on as he set up a rhythm—in and out, then in and out again.

  Closing her eyes, she steeled herself to endure, knowing he needed this no matter how painful it might be. Knowing she would bear it as his wife.

  But then he bent his head again to her caress her breasts with the sweetest of suction and slid his fingers between them to tease the nub of flesh that gave her such delight.

  Suddenly she was straining beneath him, inviting him in rather than resisting, drawing him deep, as deep as he could go, as desire flared back to life. The pain eased, all but forgotten as pleasure took its place.

  He thrust harder, faster, as she kissed him wildly and urged him on, instinctively moving her hips up to meet his own, to take everything he had to give. Time spun away, this moment all she knew, as her yearning escalated, hunger turning her wanton as she strained closer to a promised kind of bliss.

  The air filled with keening cries that she scarcely recognized as her own, her body damp and shaking, need tormenting her as her blood boiled hot and her lungs labored for breath.

  She held him tighter and let him lead her where he willed, giving herself to him, trusting he would see her safely to shore.

  And then suddenly she was flying, breath sobbing from her throat as waves of delight burst free and spiraled outward, everywhere. With his touch, he’d promised her heaven, and he hadn’t lied.

  She floated on an ocean of bliss, holding him as he claimed his own shuddering satisfaction, the heat of his release warm and wet inside her.

  Then he lay quiet in her arms.

  At length, he rolled away, separating himself from her. He didn’t speak as he drew the sheet up over her and left the bed.

  She wanted to call him back but didn’t.

  Was he leaving her? Already?

  Turning her head away, she fought a sudden, inexplicable urge to cry. She missed him already and had no earthly idea why.

  But to her relief he returned, a basin of water and a towel in his hands, which he set down on the night table.

  He eased back the sheet again, exposing her to his eyes and the night air, which felt unexpectedly cool. Vividly aware of her nakedness and her puckered nipples, she covered her breasts with her arms.

  “Don’t,” he said, his voice raspy. “You are beautiful, every inch of you. Don’t ever hide yourself from me, particularly when we are alone. Never when we are together in our bed. Is that understood?”

  She nodded and slowly lowered her arms to her sides.

  After saturating the cloth in the water, he wrung it out, then laid it up high between her thighs. It stung for a moment, then began to soothe some of the soreness from her intimate flesh.

  She gasped as she caught sight of the sheets for the first time. Blood was smeared across the white cotton and over her thighs as well. Gabriel was bloody as well, his flaccid shaft coated in the remains of her maidenhead.

  “I’ll wash after I’ve seen to you,” he
said, noticing the direction of her glance.

  To her surprise, his shaft stirred under her gaze, as he grew partially aroused from nothing more than a look.

  He rinsed and wrung out the cloth, then applied it to her again. “Don’t worry. I know you’re sore. I won’t take you again tonight.”

  She noticed he didn’t say anything about tomorrow.

  Then again, if he pleasured her as thoroughly as he had tonight, she knew she wouldn’t mind, even if a little discomfort was involved.

  No wonder he had women throwing themselves at him. She better understood now the whispered comments she’d overheard about him in London. Realized why he was so successful at luring even the most virtuous of females into his bed. For once they had a taste of Gabriel Landsdowne, why would they ever want any other man?

  Yet he was her husband, not theirs.

  But would he cleave to his pledge to be faithful to her? Or would he grow bored once the novelty wore off and his interests turned elsewhere?

  She closed her eyes, not wanting to think of all the reasons why she would never be enough.

  When he’d finished wiping away her virgin’s blood, he dried her, then carried the basin with its pink-tinged water over to the slop.

  Pouring clean water for himself, he washed and dried himself as well.

  Naked and clearly unashamed of it, he padded back to the bed and slid in next to her.

  “Sleep,” he commanded as he tucked her close to his side, one long arm slung over her shoulder. He curved a hand around her right breast and drifted off.

  She shifted into a more comfortable position and felt him tighten his hold on her.

  He was possessive, she realized, even in his sleep.

  She knew he’d had carnal relations with a great many women, but had he ever actually loved one? And if he had, could he ever do so again?

  Not that she wanted him to. Theirs was not a love match, whatever rumors to that effect her family was determined to circulate. So long as she and Northcote got along without quarreling, she would be satisfied.