Quinn chuckled. “Close my eyes? Never!”
“But...”
He rolled closer, letting his fingertip rise to her cheek. As before, his gentle touch seemed to disarm her or at least halt her protests. She stared at him, her eyes wide. He let his finger trail down her throat and surveyed her, liking that the line of her lips had softened slightly. “If I am to be condemned to only one night of lovemaking for the rest of my days, then be assured, my lady, I shall not keep my eyes closed.” He leaned closer and touched his lips briefly to hers. “And I pledge to do my utmost to ensure that it is not an ordeal.”
“After this, you will await an invitation,” she said, breathless.
“Then you cannot fault my scheme to be persuasive.”
Melissande pulled away. “I know that you will not sleep in a cold bed, even if mine is forbidden to you.”
Quinn sat back in surprise. “On our nuptial night, you are convinced that I will be unfaithful to you?”
“Like sire, like son,” she said. “Your father seldom slept alone, should the number of his bastards be any indication.”
“I have already told you that my father and I have naught in common. I left Sayerne because he and I did not agree. On that day, I vowed that I would not return while he drew breath and so it has been.”
Her lips worked as if she would ask a question of him but did not have the courage. He knew what question it must be, yet he did not have the urge to speak of his father’s crimes in this moment. “You offer only sweet words to see the deed done. Once you have had your way and your possession of your holding is secured, you will not be so sweet.”
His father had left a long shadow, indeed.
“Nay, Melissande,” he whispered, willing her to believe him. “That is not so. I will always treat you with dignity and honor, but I can only do as much if you grant me the opportunity.”
“If I surrender.” She bit out the words, her opinion of that most clear.
“If you meet me halfway,” Quinn countered and she met his gaze anew. “This is our wedding night. You cannot in fairness ask me to close my eyes. You cannot accuse me of infidelity before our match is even made. All I ask of you, Melissande, is a chance.”
She said naught.
He leaned toward her and she closed her eyes.
“If this is to be the only time we couple,” he murmured. “I would make the mating sweet. And I would look upon your beauty, if only this once.”
Melissande swallowed.
“I do not mean to hurt you.” Quinn lifted her fingers from the linens and took her hand within his. Her fingers were cold. “But you know that this task cannot be avoided on this night.”
She took a deep breath then she nodded, a decision clearly made. “You speak the truth,” she said. “Come to bed, husband, and do your deed.”
With that, Melissande flung back the linens and lay back against the sheets. She closed her eyes and placed her hands at her sides, her hands locked into fists.
She might have been a corpse.
Quinn’s astonishment was not enough to keep him from noting either her slender perfection or the ripe curve of her breasts.
It was certainly not sufficient to keep him from being insulted. A man of merit did not inflict his desire upon his wife—and he had told her that he would not. Quinn shoved to his feet and paced the width of the chamber.
“You do this apurpose,” he accused, shoving a hand through his hair.
“Apurpose?” she echoed, then sat up. Her eyes were bright with indignation. “Of course, I submit apurpose!”
Quinn found her vehemence reassuring. He understood her better when she was annoyed.
“Is that not what Tulley and now you want of me? I simply do your bidding from this day forward, like any dutiful wife.” This last was spat with a vigor that Quinn might have heeded under other circumstances.
“A dutiful wife!” he replied instead. “Now there is something I am not destined to enjoy!”
“Oh!” Melissande bounded from the bed to shake a finger beneath his nose. “If obedience in every matter is what you desire of me, then you should forgo Tulley’s test and let the match be annulled! I submit to this deed, sir, but I will not surrender every measure...”
Quinn barely heard her words, so transfixed was he by the cloud of gold that followed her leap from the bed. Melissande’s hair hung loose to her hips, fair gold with the sheen of the finest silk. It shimmered as she moved as though it possessed a life of its own, and in that moment, Quinn could think only of touching it.
He had never seen the like. Since he had left the Continent fifteen years past, Quinn had not glimpsed any sight so fine.
“What ails you, husband?” she asked, halting before him.
“Your hair,” he whispered in awe.
“You are not listening to my words.”
“I am too enchanted for mere words.”
Melissande folded her arms across her chest and retreated. “It is simply hair,” she said, but Quinn knew that she was flattered.
“There is naught simple about such beauty, my lady,” Quinn said. “It is like spun gold.” He reached out a hand. “May I touch it?”
Something of his wonder must have shown in his expression, for Melissande considered him for only a heartbeat before she nodded agreement. She turned slightly and Quinn stared at the majesty of the golden tresses cascading down her back. Her hair gleamed in the firelight and bounced slightly as she moved.
He took a step closer and was surprised to find a tightness lodged in his chest. Quinn reached out, noting how rough and heavy his hand looked in contrast to his lady’s splendor.
He hesitated, but he could not deny himself the temptation.
Her hair ran over his hand like a golden waterfall and slipped over his fingers as though it possessed a will of its own. It was soft beyond soft, silky and smooth. Quinn lifted a gleaming handful to his gaze and the sweet scent of his wife rose to tease his nostrils.
His body responded with a healthy vigor that caught him by surprise. He looked to his bride, but she kept her face studiously averted, her hands folded before her like a Madonna. Quinn glanced down and saw the rosy curve of her buttocks.
Then he could not help but look. He lifted her hair away, loving the feel of it as it spilled over his fingers.
She was splendid. Her skin was fair and smooth, her curves delicate and feminine. Her flared hips led his eye to the indent of her waist and thence to the curve of her breasts, her nipples ruddy and beaded in the cool air of the room. Her neck was long, her chin held high.
Quinn had never imagined he would find such a bride, let alone be cast such a prize by fortune’s lot alone. Their argument was dismissed from his thoughts and he could not imagine why he might have even been irritated with a woman of such sweet beauty.
“Melissande,” he murmured, hearing the reverence in his low tone. She turned slightly. “You are beyond beautiful,” he said, feeling again like a rough warrior in her presence. In this moment, he could wish to be a courtier, with the right words on the tip of his tongue.
Her lips quirked in amusement. “You say that only to gain my surrender this night,” she accused, though her voice had lost its earlier sting.
It was clear that his touching her hair had managed to disarm them both.
“Nay,” Quinn said with resolve. “I say that because it is true. Deny me now and I will step away.” He smiled at her. “I would even close my eyes, should you command it now, but I am honored that you have permitted me to see you.” He let her hair slip over his fingers again, then moved his hand away.
Surprise flickered in Melissande’s eyes and, for a moment, she seemed uncertain what to say. They stood close to each other in the golden light, the chamber silent save for the crackle of the fire and the slight sound of the lady’s breath. Quinn could hear his heart thundering in his ears as their gazes held once more. He saw her gaze darken and her cheeks flush and knew she softened toward him once again
.
Quinn did not intend to let such an opportunity pass.
He took the step that brought them toe to toe. She did not flee, but only watched him, and he was certain she held her breath. He lowered his head slowly, encouraged when she only waited, then captured her lips with his. To his delight, Melissande hesitated only a moment before she placed her hand on his chest and leaned into his embrace.
It was precious little, but that was all the encouragement Quinn needed to deepen his kiss.
Melissande might have been determined to deny her reaction to her husband’s touch, but Quinn’s admiration undermined her plan. His caress interfered with her power to protest and left her hungry for more. His words, his appeal, his smile, all combined to dismiss her resistance. All her life, her wits had been seen as her greatest asset, but when Quinn caressed her, it seemed that only pleasure was of import.
Surely it was no crime if she enjoyed her husband’s skillful touch just this one night?
Surely she had no ability to do otherwise.
Melissande was seduced and she knew it well.
Indeed, she was already attuned to Quinn’s touch. His hand cupped her nape and the heat of his palm there weakened her knees. He was so powerful, and yet he was so tender with her. Melissande felt cherished. The wonder in Quinn’s expression when he touched her hair had startled her. He had shown a weakness, if only for her hair, and Melissande found herself suddenly more willing to surrender.
To experience all that Quinn could show her of this new pleasure.
It was clear that lovemaking was not new to Quinn. If they were compelled to mate this one and only time, she should make the most of the opportunity.
Unable to resist temptation, she spread out her fingers, exploring. His skin was warm yet unyielding, and she felt the pulse of his heart beneath her hand. It quickened its pace, right below her fingers. The sign that he was affected by their embrace encouraged her and Melissande dared to lean closer.
What if she could stir him as he stirred her? That was a most intriguing notion.
She moved closer, ever closer, even as she parted her lips for his kiss. He made a sound of pleasure that reminded her of a growl, then his other arm wound around her waist. Her breasts brushed against his chest and that touch made her nipples tighten. She slid her hand into his hair, opening her mouth to his kiss, and gripped the hair at his nape.
Quinn bent and swept her off her feet, swinging her into his arms. He spun around, never breaking his kiss, and Melissande found herself on the bed. He loomed over her, his lips on her cheek, her jaw, her earlobe and trailing down her neck. She gripped his shoulders, liking how the hard strength of him fit beneath her hands. Quinn trailed a row of burning kisses along her collarbone, across the swell of her breast, then captured her nipple within his lips.
Melissande gasped in surprise. She clutched at his hair as he teased her with his lips and tongue. She felt something new fire to wakefulness within her, something marvelous.
Quinn’s hand slid lower and Melissande caught her breath as his fingers slipped between her thighs and she felt their warmth. She gasped but Quinn lifted his head and smiled slowly, the intent in his eyes nigh stopping her heart.
“Leave this matter to me, my lady,” he whispered. “I swear upon my very soul that this will not hurt.”
Melissande did not even think to question her trust in his word. She had lain back for only a moment before his fingers sent pleasure flooding through her. She parted her thighs, wanting only more of what he could give. Quinn chuckled but then his fingers continued their sweet assault and Melissande was lost to sensation. She closed her eyes as Quinn kissed her other breast. Heat rose beneath her skin and she marveled that she had not known of such desire.
And that she had tried to avoid it.
Quinn touched her with increasing boldness, his caress making her writhe on the fine bed. It was too hot in the room and there was too much tension beneath her flesh, yet there was no escape from the pleasure he was determined to give. She both wanted immediate release and wished the sweet torment would last forever. Her very blood simmered with newfound need.
Melissande grasped Quinn’s hair and drew him back for her kiss, her embrace demanding as it had not been before. She felt her own kiss turn fiery and her own hands caress him boldly. She slipped her tongue into his mouth and explored him with abandon.
Melissande felt his hardness nudge against her hip and felt a sense of triumph that Quinn was aroused as well, even though she was just learning how they could please each other. Though she had not looked upon a man before, there were horses bred at Annossy and she had watched.
Quinn’s fingers were relentless, just as his kiss demanded even more. Melissande arched against him, rubbing herself against his chest like a wanton. She was too aware of him, of every sensation, of the velvet of the coverlet beneath her back, of the soft mattress beneath them, of the strength of the warrior who claimed her as his wife.
“Drift with the tide, my lady,” he whispered. “Do not fight it.”
The fan of his breath made Melissande shudder from head to toe, then he dragged his teeth across her tight nipple. The heat radiated through her and still it grew hotter. She tangled her legs about Quinn until they were entwined, his strength only feeding her pleasure, and wanted some release she could not name.
“Follow it, follow it,” he urged. “Trust it.”
Melissande did. She rode the pleasure and let it take her wherever it would; she let Quinn do with her whatever he would, trusting that she would find satisfaction beneath his touch. It was a wondrous surrender, a moment in which she realized the cost she had borne in managing every detail herself, in administering Annossy alone, in having complete responsibility for all matters herself. She surrendered to her husband, believing he knew best, letting pleasure take its due.
And she was rewarded.
A mere heartbeat later, Melissande felt Quinn’s fingers brush against her with greater force. She cried out as pleasure thundered through her and gripped his shoulders in the tumult. She was both free and sheltered in Quinn’s protective embrace, and she could imagine no better place to be.
Then there was only Quinn angled over her, the steady rhythm of his heart against her own, a gleam of satisfaction in his golden eyes.
It was more than sufficient. She stared at him, filled with awe, and he smiled slowly.
To be sure, it had not hurt.
He had kept his pledge and she should see him rewarded.
But for the moment, Melissande was spent. She curled against his chest, sighed, and dozed against his warmth, content.
Five
Quinn propped himself on his elbows and studied his new wife. The fingers that had dug into his shoulders rested on his upper arms. Her eyes were closed, her lashes delicate on her cheeks. Her lips were parted and her cheeks flushed. The glorious golden tangle of her hair spread itself across the linens beneath her, glinting in the light. Quinn could feel its silkiness wrapped about his fingers. He wanted to kiss her to wakefulness again, but let her doze instead.
The scent of Melissande’s release was intoxicating. Quinn was glad that she had been pleased—and against her every expectation.
Indeed, it had even been against his own.
She stirred and her lips parted, and Quinn could resist temptation no longer. He bent and brushed his lips across hers. Melissande’s eyes flew open and he feared what she might say.
To his relief, she smiled. “That did not hurt,” she whispered and stroked his upper arms. He liked that she seemed to want to explore him and smiled back at her. “You kept your vow.”
“As is my inclination in all matters.”
“But it is not done, is it?” There was a wistfulness in her tone.
Quinn shook his head. “Nay, my lady, we have only half done the deed.”
She nodded, though her smile was less confident than it had been. “I do not know what to do next.” He recognized that she had braced hersel
f for the inevitable and wished he could ensure that it did not hurt, even the once.
“Fear not, my lady, for I do.”
Her smile was fleeting but she did not recoil.
Quinn eased his weight over her, glad that she parted her thighs for him. “I shall try to be gentle.” He caught his breath and closed his eyes at the promise of their union, willing himself to proceed with caution.
It had been so very long.
Melissande’s grip tightened on his arms and he heard her breath catch.
Quinn leaned lower, crossing his arms beneath her and cupping her shoulders within his hands. He smiled down at her and kissed her again, feeling some of the tension ease from her. He must proceed slowly, regardless of how long he had been alone, regardless of how much he wanted to hasten. He had to be slow and careful, so that Melissande might taste the pleasure mating could bring.
Quinn closed his eyes in pleasure as he eased inside her. She was warm, like satin left in the sun, and unbearably soft. He moved and heard her gasp.
He froze, his eyes flying open.
Melissande smiled. “Just a twinge,” she whispered and he was glad that she wanted to reassure him.
Quinn eased deeper, watching her closely, and she inhaled sharply. Her gaze was unswerving, though, and her eyes began to sparkle with newfound confidence.
“It is not so bad as that,” she confessed, to his relief. Her smile turned impish. “I want more, husband.”
Her demand thrilled Quinn, though he still moved slowly.
Her smile broadened and she lifted her knees, welcoming him as he had never expected. Quinn froze.
“You like that,” she murmured.
Quinn could only nod.
“Tell me how to please you, husband,” she whispered. “It is only fair that we each have some pleasure this night.”
Quinn could not find the words.
Evidently, his silence tempted his bride to guess.
Melissande arched against him, pressing her breasts against his chest. She rubbed them there, a move that she clearly found pleasurable, then ran her hands over his shoulders and chest with proprietary ease. She explored him more boldly and Quinn welcomed her touch.
All's Fair in Love and War: Four Enemies-to-Lovers Medieval Romances Page 10