She returned, her hair unbound, in the off-white nightgown he had purchased. It was modest, unlike the public garments he had given her, its neckline high, its long sleeves demure. She looked lovely. “Would you like some Madeira?” he asked, then remembered earlier conversations. “Or . . . or brandy?” He took his eyes from her by force.
She shook her head.
He sat with jerky movements in the chair, but she did not climb into the high bed. She stood, wavering there before him. He could see her unbound breasts move beneath the loose silk fabric, so fine it was almost sheer. Her dark nipples were taut. His throat grew tight. “Shall I put out the candles, or shall you?” he asked stupidly.
“It is a shocking waste,” she said, “but I like the light. Let us leave them lit a while.”
“As you wish.” He threw back the brandy and turned to reach for the decanter. He must turn away or she might see a very obvious sign of the effect she was having on him. How, in God’s name, was he going to sleep in a chair in her bedroom tonight or other nights? He repeated his vows in his mind. “Well, I shall just take this extra quilt. . . .” He kept his back turned as he sidled over to grab the white embroidered coverlet laid across the foot of the bed. He turned to make a dash to the chair, and she was there, close, looking up at him with those luminous eyes. The weight of her breasts beneath the silk made his loins tighten further.
“Must you sleep in the chair?” She flushed.
“Our bargain did not include. . . . any obligation on you of a more . . . intimate nature.” His throat was so full he could hardly speak. He cleared it, then wished he had not.
“Oh. I was not sure.” She looked daunted. He saw her gather herself. “I was hoping we could discuss that bargain a little more fully.”
“Of course.” He pulled the quilt between them. What would she think if she saw his erection? He was not a slightly built man. It would be distasteful to her. He would give anything he could name to suppress it. But that was not likely. “What did you wish to . . . discuss?”
She took his brandy glass, sipped, and made a small face. She took a breath. “It is just that if you are to be my husband and you will live a very long time, then, if I am true to the vows I have made today and they do not include a . . . consummation . . . well, then I shall never know the joys of the marriage bed.” She flushed. “I find that hard.”
“Fidelity was not included in your obligation.” He did not like that thought.
“Oh, you mean I should take lovers?” she asked, her eyes searching his face.
He started to answer, thought better of it, and took the brandy glass back. He gulped and felt the liquid warm his belly. Why not? The rest of him seemed to be on fire.
“But . . .” she mused, and took the brandy glass. She sipped. Her lips were right where his had been. She had turned the glass to be sure of it. Was that on purpose? “If I take lovers, would they not expect me to be an experienced woman? How will I get experience if not from you?”
“Blast their expectations, Miss . . .” He colored. “Elizabeth.” The sound of her name in his mouth was intimate.
“I prefer Beth . . . Ian.” Her voice was husky.
He managed a lopsided grin. “At least I know not to call you Lizzy.”
She smiled. Her eyes crinkled when she smiled. “That is wise.”
“Beth, then.” It was like breathing. Beth. Where was he? What had he been saying?
“So, it isn’t possible to renegotiate the bargain?”
“You want to include . . . carnal . . . experience then?” He was not sure he sounded calm.
“I have nothing left to sweeten the pot. I have already said I would help you, whatever you need.” She sipped the brandy and stepped even closer. Thank God for the quilt.
He cleared his throat again. She was bargaining to give up something precious to a woman. “I am not sure you understand what you would be relinquishing.”
“I am a married woman. What need have I to be a virgin? Who would expect it of me? No, if I am to be of the married state, I think I had better have it all.” Her color suddenly drained away and all her boldness with it. “Of course, it would need be just the once, just to show me how one goes on.” She looked down at her bare feet. “If you found you could not bring yourself to it, why a bargain is a bargain nonetheless, and you have already fulfilled your part.”
The silly chit thought he could not bring himself to lie with her when he was burning for her to the point of pain even as they sat here talking so inanely? God, he had vowed he would never thrust himself on her, but he had counted on her never volunteering. He had no right . . . with what he was.
But she knew what he was. She must know what she wanted. She had even asked Beatrix about children. He found that the quilt had dropped between them, and he was gripping her upper arms through the silk and searching her green-gold eyes for guile or for demanding. She had demanded once. She had said, “Love me,” when she was half out of her mind with fever and loss of blood. Now she asked, and with so little self-confidence it was endearing to a fault. She tried to be casual—certainly she spoke as no woman he had ever heard before. He thought he would burst, and whether his heart or his cock would burst first he could not be sure.
He leaned down and brought her so close her breasts pressed against his ribs. He should not. . . . She would feel his need. She lifted her mouth, that fulsome mouth.
Beth felt the urgency in him and the hardness at his loins as he drew her in toward his body. Her breasts brushed his ribs. The scent of cinnamon and ambergris was both familiar and exciting. Her own breathing alternately stopped and came so fast and shallowly she thought she might faint. He wanted her. Of that there could be no doubt. He might not love her, but he would lie with her tonight. Her own body was almost in pain between her legs. Was that desire doing that? She certainly wanted him. She lifted her mouth to his. He bent above her. His lips trembled against hers as his grip on her arms grew harder. He would leave bruises. She did not care.
Then his tongue was searching her mouth. She had never felt the strange intimacy of a wet tongue inside her mouth. It was not unpleasant. She touched his tongue with hers, and with that encouragement he probed deeper. He took her into his arms and held her, pressed against the length of his body. She could actually feel his loins throbbing against her belly, and between her own legs the ache was becoming almost unbearable. She ran her hands over his back and felt the muscles beneath his shirt.
Suddenly he tore his lips away from hers, gasping, and held her head against his chest. “We must go slowly, so that you will have enjoyment of this night.”
“I was enjoying that,” she said, trying not to complain. She heard his deep chuckle rumble in his chest. He had never felt so male, so fundamentally different than she was. He let her go and stepped quickly to dim the lamps on the far side of the room, leaving only the candlesticks on the bedside tables and the branch near the door. This last he took and put by the bed. The flickering light was soft.
He took her hand and drew her to the bed. Her fear was drowned in the passion of his kisses. “I will show you more enjoyment,” he murmured. “After all, it is a husband’s duty.” He smiled when he said it, and the dark pools of his eyes looked deep and deeply into her. Was it only duty that drove him? He slipped the shift over her head, leaving her naked in the warm room. She wondered if she looked like the female Egyptian figures painted on the walls of tombs who always attended kings on their way to the underworld. She would like that.
He could not seem to breathe. She felt self-conscious and, in order to be busy, she tugged at the ribbon at his nape. His hair cascaded over his shoulders and she ran her fingers through it. How she loved that hair! Then she pulled his shirt from his breeches and unbuttoned the neck. He stayed her hands in his large one. “I am not a pretty sight, I’m afraid,” he said, his voice hoarse.
She looked up at him. “Your scars?” She smiled. “I have seen them, you know.” She gently freed her hands. “
Even touched them.” She ran her hands up under his shirt, over his welted back, and pulled his shirt off over his head with one smooth movement. He hastily unfastened his cuffs and drew it off. He was still a little embarrassed, she could see. She lifted her mouth for more kisses as she reached for the buttons of his breeches. She could hear the breath rasping in his throat.
He took her hands away and lifted her onto the bed. “Let me.” He looked down at his breeches. His hands were clumsy. “You’re sure you would not prefer that I wear the nightshirt?”
“Do you think I will be shocked?” she asked, amused. “I have seen men naked, bathing in the Nile, the Tigris. I have seen statues with full erections.”
“Yes, well, perhaps you will be disappointed then,” he said roughly as he finally freed the last button and slid the trousers over his hips.
“No,” she said, looking her fill and then opening her arms to him. “Not at all.”
He smiled wryly, then, and some of the nervousness left him. His body was as powerful as she remembered it but paler now. The scars did not stand out so much. And his most male parts, which she had seen only quiescent, now throbbed erect, better than any stone statue, since they promised heat as well as adamantine hardness. Her only doubt was that he was so large and she felt so small. She had never regretted her size more. Was it even possible?
He seemed to be having similar thoughts. He looked at her with such—what was it, wonder?—in his eyes. He laid her back upon the pillows. Nervously she spread her knees. That was what one did, she knew. He slid in beside her. “Time enough for that later,” he said. “First let me introduce you to some other pleasures.”
He slid one arm under her neck and lifted her, even as he bent to kiss her. His other hand cupped her buttocks, pressing her against him. She realized she was wet between her thighs. He kissed her deeply, even as he stroked her back. At last, when she could hardly breathe, he pulled away, only to bend his lips to her nipple. He sucked and pulled at her until she moaned a little; then he turned his attention to her other breast. She had never believed so much feeling could be concentrated in such a little mound of flesh. As she arched against his mouth, he slid his hand between her thighs. He seemed to control all of her body between his hands and his mouth. His fingers slid up and down her slit, and some point of feeling there wakened. Her hips began to move of their own accord, willing him to continue. Back and forth he rubbed, slick wetness sliding across pure feeling, until she was panting and gasping in his arms. He stopped. The feeling ebbed. She wanted to protest. Was there to be no more? Then he began again, faster, harder, and the feeling came back tenfold. Somewhere she realized that she was clutching at his back. The feeling in her nipples as he suckled there was sent down to the point between her legs and back again, redoubled, until she crashed through some final barrier and the feeling shot up through unbearable to ecstatic and she bucked and rocked against his hand, crying out in some gasping breath she did not recognize.
As she collapsed he moved his mouth’s attention back to hers and pressed his palm against her mound. With one wet finger, he searched inside her.
“Ohhhh,” she managed, into his kisses. “I had no idea.” She opened one eye. “You did not tell me.” An echo rippled through her, forcing a little gasp of pleasure.
“What would I have said?” he whispered, holding her against his muscled chest.
“How about, ‘This is wonderful and women who say it is only a duty are very wrong’?”
“I . . . I don’t think some women like it very much.”
She put herself up on one elbow. “How strange! I wonder why not.”
“Perhaps you have to be a little . . . open to the world to allow yourself to enjoy it.” His eyes were not serious, though his mouth managed serious quite nicely.
“I expect you are right.” She looked at him shyly and smiled. “Thank you.”
He nodded. “The least I could do,” he murmured.
“Now, it is your turn, Ian.” His given name was still so strange to her. She had a thought. “Is men’s enjoyment the same?”
He looked surprised. “How would we ever know? The . . . result is similar. Though not quite as long lasting, I think.”
“Interesting,” she declared. “Now, what must I do to give you the maximum enjoyment and length?” She snuggled into his chest. Cinnamon and ambergris washed over her. She ran her hand down his belly and touched his erect member tentatively, running her hand along it. A drop of moisture quivered at its tip and she slicked it down his length.
“You have good instincts,” he gasped.
She ran her hand downward and cupped his testicles. Yes, she thought as she felt them tighten. She wanted nothing more than to give him the pleasure he had given her. If she could, even in her inexperience, come anywhere near sharing that pleasure, then surely he would want to do it again and again, as she did even now, and their marriage would be very convenient. Then maybe he would begin to feel for her what she felt for him.
Ian lay beside her and wondered how he would restrain himself from coming the moment he entered her, if indeed he could last that long. He had never known a woman so open to the sexual experience, so innocent and yet so wonderfully eager to be pleased and to please in return. Especially as it was her first time. He had half-hoped that all that riding about on camels might have broken her virginity, but it was intact, which meant that it was his job to break it—gently, if he could. He had made sure she had her pleasure before the deed was done, in case it proved so painful she drew back. He had never had a virgin before. His early experiences were with village women glad to oblige him, and later he had graduated to fair cyprians and married women with as much experience as he had and more.
The ache in his loins was such that he knew he had better prepare her as best he could before he tried to enter her. It was like to be over fairly quickly after that. He wished he had time to take Beatrix’s advice and find a willing partner or two before he came to Beth, all pulsing male need.
He cradled her and kissed her hair. Her small hand stole to his cock and her thumb took the semen seeping at its tip and rubbed it along the length. He gasped. God, let him find strength! She cupped his balls and they tightened even more, though the pain from holding himself in had already done its share of tightening. Her hips began to move unconsciously against his, and he thought she might not need much more preparation. He eased his hand into her moist folds and found that her nub was already swollen with passion again. He kissed her and murmured, “Don’t be afraid,” as he touched the inside of her knee.
She opened to him instantly, a soft look in her eyes. “I’m not.”
He took his cock in his own hand, the better to control its entry. She was so very small! Still, he found her passage. His cock felt the barrier. Hanging above her, his weight carefully supported on one elbow, he bent and kissed her, deeply, thoroughly, to focus her attention on her mouth. Then he pushed against the barrier, once and out, again and out. She arched against him, and he pushed through. She gasped once. He slid almost out. Then she opened her knees flat and gripped his buttocks, pushing him back into her with a sigh.
She was so tight around him. He slid in and out. She pulled him down, demanding kisses. Then she kissed his neck across the scars made by Asharti, his breast where Asharti had opened him and sucked his blood. “Deeper,” she moaned.
It is not a command, he told himself.
She pulled him down against her breasts, her mouth searching for his. Her teeth scraped across his lips and down, down toward his neck.
Memories flooded him. He could smell his own blood in the stale, hot air inside the tent.
He knelt on all fours in front of her, head hanging, his knees spread wide, just as she liked them. His cock was throbbing, demanding, erect, as it hung down, vulnerable to her. She stalked around him, naked, occasionally striking him with a supple switch to make him flinch. She was haranguing him in a language he did not understand, but her tone was derogatory. He kn
ew she was reviling him. She put her hands on the welts across his buttocks and slid one down to slap his cock sharply from behind. Then she sank her sharp canine teeth into his left buttock and began to suck. He groaned. She both kept him filled with lust and bottled up his release, or he might have come with the very rhythm of her sucking. When had he come to find it . . . stimulating as well as disgusting?
After a moment she withdrew her canines, allowed the blood to seep a little, and rubbed it across his buttocks. Then she sat astride him, her own wet slit sliding over his buttocks to the small of his back. Her juices mingled with his blood. She pulled up his chin, so that his back arched and pressed her breasts against his shoulders. Then she raked her teeth over the places in his neck where she had fed before, tantalizing him with the promise of attack. She rocked her open female membranes against his back as she finally struck and sucked and sucked.
Ian rolled away with a guttural cry and pressed his hands to his temples.
“What is it?” The girl’s voice was worried. “What have I done?”
“Nothing,” he croaked. “Not your fault. It’s mine.” He rolled over to hide his softening cock and shut his eyes tight. Asharti had won again tonight. In some ways he was still her slave. His refusal to make love to a woman for all this time was because he was afraid of this, though he had not admitted it. Maybe he would never be able to come again unless the woman he was with whipped him and sucked his blood. Or maybe he would never enjoy a woman at all, because she would stand between them with her demanding and her humiliation and the fact that she had made lust into something shameful.
Beth sat up in bed, the sheets clutched to her breast, aghast. What had happened? One minute he was kissing her thoroughly while his member claimed her virginity, and the next he was clenched up tight, his delightful man-part shrunk.
Susan Squires - [Companion Vampires 0] Page 31