Gently Tom tugged at the bow. “You looked like a queen when you came into the chapel,” he said. “You took my breath away.” After he’d untied the satin cord, he stroked the placket that ran along her spine and felt the outline of tiny flat buttons. He searched for the miniature hooks that held the placket closed and unfastened them even more adeptly than a lady’s maid. As each button was undone, the satin bodice loosened and began to slip downward from the weight of the skirts.
Cassandra pulled her arms from the sleeves and let the heavy garment drop to the floor. After stepping out of the shimmering pale heap, she picked up the garment and went to set it in the cabinet. She turned to find his gaze drinking her in, every detail, from the ruffle trimming the top of her chemise to her light blue shoes.
“A superstition,” Cassandra said as she saw him staring at the shoes for an extra moment. “The bride is supposed to wear something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue.”
Tom scooped her up, set her on the bed, and bent for a closer look at the shoes, which had been embroidered with silver and gold thread and embellished with tiny crystals. “They’re lovely,” he said, removing them one at a time.
She flexed her stocking-clad toes, which ached a little after the long, busy day. “I’m so glad to be off my feet.”
“I’m glad you’re off them too,” Tom said. “Although probably for different reasons.” He reached around her to loosen her corset laces, and carefully lowered her to her back, to unhook her busk. “I smell roses,” he said, inhaling appreciatively.
“Helen gave me a flask of perfumed oil this morning,” Cassandra replied. “It contains the attar of seven kinds of roses. I sprinkled it in my bath.” A quiver went through her as Tom bent to kiss her midriff through the crumpled linen chemise.
“Seven is my favorite number,” he said.
“Why?”
He nuzzled gently at her stomach. “There are seven colors in a rainbow, seven days of the week, and …” His voice lowered seductively, “… seven is the lowest natural number that can’t be represented as the sum of the squares of three integers.”
“Mathematics,” she exclaimed, laughing breathlessly. “How stirring.”
Tom smiled and pushed away from her. He stood to remove his coat, waistcoat, and neck cloth, then took up one of Cassandra’s feet and began to rub it. She squirmed in surprised pleasure as his strong thumbs stroked up her sensitive arches.
“Ohh,” she said, lying back more heavily on the mattress as he gently kneaded up and down the sole of her foot, finding every sore, tender spot. She began to dissolve in bliss as he wiggled her toes and pulled at them, one by one, through the silk of her stockings. It felt nicer than she could have imagined, pleasure zinging up to all different parts of her body. “No one’s ever rubbed my feet before. You’re so good at it. Don’t stop yet. You’re not going to stop, are you?”
“No.”
“And you’ll do the other foot?”
He laughed quietly. “Yes.”
As he found a particularly sensitive place, she writhed and purred, and stretched her arms over her head. When her eyes opened, she followed the direction of Tom’s gaze, and realized the open crotch seams of her drawers were gaping apart. With a gasp, she quickly reached down to conceal the fluff of blond curls.
There was a flash of deviltry in his eyes. “Don’t hide it,” he said gently.
The suggestion shocked her. “You want me to lie here and expose my … my … fanny to you?”
Amusement deepened the faint creases at the outer corners of his eyes. “It would provide an excellent incentive for me to do the other foot.”
“You were going to do it anyway,” she protested.
“Think of it as my reward, then.” He bent, and she felt his mouth touch the tip of her big toe, his breath filtering hotly through the silk of her stocking. “Let me have a peek,” he coaxed. “It’s such a pretty view.”
“It’s not at all a pretty view,” she protested in an agony of shyness.
“It’s the prettiest view in the world.”
It would have been literally impossible for a human being to blush any harder than Cassandra was at the moment. While she dithered, Tom continued to rub her feet. His thumbs worked up her arch in a ladder of pressures that sent tingles from her soles all the way up to the top of her spine.
Closing her eyes, Cassandra recalled what Pandora had advised her yesterday.
“You may as well toss your dignity overboard right away,” Pandora had said. “It’s dreadfully awkward, your first time. He’ll want to do things involving body parts that really shouldn’t be keeping company. Just remind yourself the things you and he do in private are secrets only the two of you will share. There’s nothing shameful about an act of love. And at some moments, it stops being about bodies or thoughts or words, it’s only feeling … and it’s beautiful.”
At some point during Cassandra’s pondering, the train had started, and was now accelerating smoothly. Instead of the usual rattles and jolts, the railway carriage proceeded with liquid ease, as if it were suspended over the tracks instead of rolling along them. Her childhood home, her family, everything familiar, were slipping away. There was only this rosewood bed, and her dark-haired husband, and the train wheels conveying them somewhere she’d never been. This moment, and whatever else happened tonight, would become secrets between the two of them.
She bit her lip and surrendered her dignity, letting go of the open seam of her drawers.
Tom continued massaging her foot, his thumbs and fingers pressing exquisite little circles at the base of her toes. After a few minutes he moved to her other foot, and she relaxed with a little moan.
The rain-sifted light was weaker now, coming in through the transom windows in pallid silver and dark rainbow dapples. Through heavy-lidded eyes, she watched the play of muted color and shadow across Tom’s shirt. Eventually his long-boned, eloquent hands slid up over her knees and beneath the legs of her drawers. He untied her white lace garters and rolled her silk stockings down into neat circles. After dropping them to the floor, he unfastened his shirt and discarded it, taking his time, letting her look her fill.
His body was beautiful, built with the long, efficient lines of a rapier, every inch wrought with tough muscle. A light furring of hair covered his chest and narrowed down toward his midriff. Cassandra sat up on the mattress and touched the black fleece, her fingertips as shy and fleet as a hummingbird in flight.
Still standing by the side of the bed, Tom reached out to gather her against his chest.
Cassandra shivered at the feel of being surrounded by so much bare skin and body hair, so much hardness. “Did you ever imagine we would be doing this?” she said in a wondering tone.
“Sweet darling … I imagined it about ten seconds after we met, and I haven’t stopped since.”
A bashful grin tugged at her lips, and she dared to kiss his bare shoulder. “I hope I won’t be a disappointment.”
Gently Tom guided her to look up at him, his palm cradling her cheek and jaw. “There’s nothing for you to worry about, Cassandra. All you have to do is relax.” He drew her blush-heated face closer to his, and stroked the wild pulse in her throat with light fingertips. His faint smile held a sensual edge that dismantled her thoughts completely. “We’ll go slowly. I know how to make it good for you. You’re going to leave this bed a happy woman.”
Chapter 23
TOM’S HEAD LOWERED, AND the light, erotic pressure of his mouth sent pleasure coursing through her. Every time she thought the kiss would end, he found a new angle, a deeper taste. Her body turned hot from the inside out, as if he were pouring sunlight into her. Dazed with pleasure, Cassandra slid her arms around his neck. Her fingers sank into the heavy, close-cut locks of his hair, as rich as black satin against her palms.
Without haste, he reached down to the hem of her chemise and gripped handfuls of fabric to pull it upward. She lifted her arms to help him, gasping at th
e feel of cool air on her naked breasts. He eased her back onto the bed and ran a gentle hand down her body before beginning on the fastenings of his trousers. Her heartbeat hammered violently as he removed his clothes. For the first time in her life, she beheld the sight of a naked man, aroused and splendidly healthy. She couldn’t help staring at his robust erection, swollen to a prominent angle.
A brief grin crossed Tom’s face as he saw her expression. He was entirely comfortable in his nakedness, whereas she was a collection of inhibitions all held together with a blush. Climbing into bed like a prowling cat, he lowered himself beside her, one hairy leg settling between hers.
She wasn’t sure where to put her hands. One of her palms came to the taut row of muscles at his midriff, her fingertips resting at the edge of a rib.
Taking her hand in a light hold, Tom guided it down to his groin. “You can touch me,” he encouraged, a new huskiness infusing his voice.
Hesitant but willing, she stroked the silky, rigid length of him, discovering unexpected pulses within drum-tight hardness. She blinked in surprise as she encountered a slick of moisture at the tip.
After taking a ragged breath, Tom explained, “That … happens when my body is ready for yours.”
“So quickly?” she asked, abashed.
His mouth clamped into a firm line, as if he were struggling not to smile. “Men are generally much faster than women.” Lazily he sifted a few locks of her hair through his fingers. “It takes a bit more time and effort to make you ready for me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not at all—that’s the fun part.”
“I feel as if I might be ready now,” she ventured.
Tom lost the inner struggle, a grin breaking out. “You’re not,” he said, pulling the drawers down over her hips and legs.
“How will you know?”
For one heart-stopping moment, his fingertips swirled over her abdomen and down into the triangle of private curls. He smiled into her dilated eyes. “I’ll know when you’re wet here,” he whispered. “I’ll know when you’re trembling and begging.”
“I’m not going to beg,” Cassandra protested.
His dark head bent over her breast, his breath like steam against the tender skin. After catching the budded peak with his lips, he raked his velvet tongue over it, and caught it gently with his teeth.
“Or if I do …” she added, squirming beneath him, “it will be very brief, and … it will be more like asking …”
“You don’t have to beg,” Tom murmured, gathering her breasts together and kissing the deep valley between them. “It was a suggestion, not a requirement.”
He slid lower down her body, his mouth browsing in lazy paths, brushing, tugging, licking, tormenting.
The train’s smooth clickety-clack raced through nightfall toward the last splinters of sunset. Her husband was like a dream figure in the darkness, his powerful form cast in silhouette as he moved over her. He pressed her thighs apart and settled between them. Every hair on her body lifted as she felt his warm breath on her stomach. His tongue touched the delicate rim of her navel, tracing it all the way around. Desire tightened her insides and coiled her muscles until she felt her knees drawing upward. She gasped as he licked inside her navel, a hot, silky wriggle. His tongue swirled and stabbed softly, and she couldn’t help squirming.
A trace of amusement thickened his voice. “Be still, buttercup.”
But as his tongue flickered again, her body twisted at the ticklish sensation.
His hands closed around her ankles, warm manacles to keep her in place, and the small, private muscles inside her throbbed and clenched in response. To her amazement, he moved even lower, tracing the verge of soft skin and fleecy curls … and she began to have an inkling of what her sister had meant about body parts that shouldn’t be keeping company. His mouth and nose nudged through the curling hairs, inhaling the intimate scent.
“Tom …” she said, her voice plaintive.
“Mmm?”
“Should you … oh, God … should you be doing that?”
His reply was a muffled but emphatic affirmative.
“I only ask because … you see … I thought I knew what to expect, but …” She stiffened as she felt the wet upward stroke of his tongue, parting the lips of her sex. “No one mentioned anything about this …”
Tom didn’t seem to be listening to her with anything close to his usual attentiveness. All his focus was centered on the soft place between her thighs, his restless tongue swirling through intricate folds and petals as if it couldn’t decide where to settle. He nibbled lightly on the swollen edges of the outer lips, tugging softly.
She struggled to breathe, her hands fluttering down to his dark head as the delicate but insistent exploration continued. He found the entrance of her body with teasing wet strokes, the brush of his shaven beard prickly against the tender skin. As his tongue came to soothe the temporary irritation, a moan resonated in her throat. He was dismantling her self-control, seducing her into some mindless version of herself. The sinuous length of his tongue slipped inside her. Unimaginable. Irresistible. Each time it thrust in and out, a shot of pleasure went up her spine. Her inner muscles contracted in a helpless rhythm, as if trying to catch and hold the slick intrusion.
He built the tension slowly, relentlessly, while sensation washed over her until she was shaking. Helplessly she tried to angle her hips to bring his mouth where she most needed it. He made her wait, his tongue dancing and tormenting without mercy, never quite touching the little peak that ached to be caressed. She was so wet … was all of it from her, or was some from him too?
Sweat broke on the surface of her skin. Her breath came in broken cries. She felt his finger enter her … no, two fingers … She shrank away from the uncomfortable fullness, but he slid them deeper every time her flesh pulsed and relaxed. It began to hurt, especially when his knuckles gently stretched the entrance. He fastened his mouth over the stiff bud, his tongue flicking softly, quickly, and then there was only pleasure. She strained and panted, her hips riding upward on a flare of euphoric heat, her body clamping on the gently invading fingers, again and again, each contraction stronger than the last.
Relief flooded her, shuddered through her in waves, until she was limp and calm. His careful touch withdrew, leaving her flesh to pulse and close on emptiness. She made an inarticulate sound, reaching for him, and he gathered her against his chest, murmuring how lovely she was, how she pleased him, how much he desired her. The hair on his chest felt delicious against her bare breasts, a softly teasing abrasion.
“Stay relaxed,” Tom whispered as he settled into the cradle of her thighs.
“I have no choice,” Cassandra managed to say. “I feel as if I’ve been run through a washing mangle.”
His husky laugh caressed her ears. Carefully his hand shaped over her vulva, stroking the quivery wetness. “Sweet little wife … will you let me inside you now?”
She nodded, entranced by his gentleness.
But he hesitated, laying the side of his face against the streaming locks of her hair. “I don’t want to hurt you. I never want to hurt you.”
She reached around his back, stroking the long plane of muscle. “That’s why it’s all right.”
Tom’s head lifted, and he stared down at her, his breath shaking a little. She felt pressure centering against the vulnerable opening of her body, hard and yet so slow, easing forward by millimeters. “Easy,” he whispered. “Try to open for me.”
The pressure filled her with a slow and ruthless ache. He reached down to spread her thighs farther apart, and pressed back the lips of her sex. Gently, repeatedly, his hips rocked forward, easing deeper into the tight clasp of untried muscles. Despite her discomfort, she relished the signs of his pleasure, the erotic tension on his face, the heat-blurred gaze that, for once, had lost its alertness. Eventually the careful progress halted, and he held still, half buried inside her. His mouth came to hers in a sweetly wanton kiss, until she
began to feel not quite so lethargic, her nerves tingling with renewed excitement.
“Is that as far as you can go?” she asked hesitantly when their lips parted, wincing at the thick inner pressure where they were joined.
“It’s as far as your body will let me in,” he said, his fingertips stroking back the strands of hair that clung to her damp forehead and temples. “For the moment.”
Cassandra couldn’t hold back a little sigh of relief as the invading hardness retreated.
His hands coaxed her to lie on her side, facing away from him. He spoke slowly, as if it were difficult to form words. “My beautiful Cassandra … let’s try this … if you’ll … yes. Rest against me.” He had pulled her back so their bodies fit like two spoons in a drawer. She felt him lift her top leg and ease it back to rest over his. He adjusted her position, his hands caressing her intimately. “I’ve wanted you for so many nights … God, I hope this is real. Don’t be a dream.”
The head of his sex slid along the tender cleft between her thighs, back and forth, before lodging in the sore opening again. He pressed forward only an inch and held, a hard presence inside her. As she lay cradled in his arms, he caressed her front, his clever hands finding new places of sensation, chasing quivers across her skin. By the time he reached the place where their bodies were joined, the full flush of desire had come over her again, and she strained and fidgeted against him. He played with the soft lips of her sex and every tender place within. Moaning with frustrated craving, Cassandra tried to press closer to those tantalizing fingers, following every light caress.
Tom wasn’t breathing at all well, panting unevenly at her ear. Deep inside, she felt the hard, heavy weight of him, and she realized she’d writhed and pushed herself all the way down the length of his shaft. His fingers massaged the swollen nub with maddening skill, somehow knowing the exact rhythm she needed. Her body gripped him in rapturous spasms as she went over the edge, lost in the pulsing intensity of feeling. His breath caught, and then he made a sound low in his throat, a velvety growl, while the heat of his release spread inside her.
Chasing Cassandra Page 23
