by Jen YatesNZ
‘I want you, Sher. Very, very much. I want to make love to you, take you to that place of bliss you reached last night—over and over. I want to feel your hands on my body, your mouth, driving me to the point where I surrender my bliss to you also—and perhaps make our first child together. Do you want that too, Sher?’
He expected her to talk when her heart was pounding like galloping horses, her mouth was dry with longing and other parts of her were hot and wet and she didn’t know whether that was good or bad?
Holding her hands against his chest, he slid his head a little closer to hers on the pillow. ‘Tell me you want it too, Sher,’ he murmured, his breath warm and with a hint of brandy against her lips. He was going to kiss her, but she had the sudden fear he might not unless she said she wanted it. She could scarce remember her own name, let alone how to speak, but she wanted his mouth on hers more than she wanted her next shaky breath.
Savoring the texture of his skin beneath her palms, she slid her hands from his grip, cupped his jaw, leaned closer and pressed her mouth to his, showing him what she couldn’t hope to voice.
‘Ah, Sher,’ he breathed against her lips, then his tongue delved to find hers and Sheri knew she’d arrived in paradise.
…
Her hands caressed his face, held him as if she’d control their first real kiss as husband and wife, as if showing him she’d not be a passive partner in their marriage bed. Used to virgins who had no idea of making any move he hadn’t orchestrated, he was stunned to note her forwardness fired his blood. He’d thought control, his, was important to him in making love to a woman, even an experienced woman. And there had been many of those in his thirty-seven years.
But the soft, oddly confident caress of Sheri’s naked fingers on his face, over the scar he knew on occasion gave him the aspect of a marauding pirate, had an effect he was totally unprepared for. He’d realized in the last few days this woman had become more precious than any other ever could or would. What he hadn’t understood was what that would do to him.
If he’d needed any further proof Jassie had not touched to this depth, the sudden and totally surprising welling of emotion in his chest at Sheri’s touch, evidenced it. Last night, which in itself had showed him he could still learn something new about himself as well as about making love to a woman, had been about quite ruthlessly leaving Sheri with no choice but to marry him.
Tonight would be about showing her why there’d been no other choice for either of them. He speared his fingers into the silken warmth of her hair. The reality of this woman, his wife, was so much more than the glorious icy perfection she’d so cleverly portrayed to the ton for so long. The truth was, Sheri was more Earth Goddess than Ice Queen and he realized he should be on his knees thanking whatever deity had opened his eyes wide enough to claim her.
He, Master of Virgins, who’d prided himself on his judgement and discernment where women and all things sexual were concerned, was achingly aware his understanding had been of the most rudimentary, most superficial. By simply taking the initiative, surrendering her brittle, ladylike façade to him and showing the passionate, real woman she was beneath that perfect mask, she’d shown him he could be nothing less in response.
Shown him she didn’t need or want the practiced, well-rehearsed moves of the Master of Virgins. She didn’t want Wolf, who’d paraded as the debonair, romantic, crossed-in-love guise of a pirate for at least as long as the Ice Queen had reigned, and longer. She wanted the real Dominic Beresford, who was as much a stranger to himself as he was to the rest of the world. She deserved no less.
And, in that he was as much a novice as she.
The pirate, the Master of Virgins, might well have seduced her into allowing him to set the scene, to bind and blindfold her, and then to ravish her until she abandoned her whole self, her every last secret—mental, emotional and physical—into his keeping.
Dominic Beresford wanted all that too, but he also wanted her to offer it to him because it was what she wanted; because she chose to offer it. Even more, he wanted to offer her all of his most vulnerable, most private self too.
He would give her honesty in his responses to her artless attempts at seduction—if that’s what it was—he’d—
‘Dom.’ Her sweet breath whispered across his lips. ‘Show me—how—um—how to love you!’
Then there was no thinking, scarcely even awareness; just instinct.
Chapter 13
Maggie’s best advice when Sheri had admitted she really wished she knew what to do to please a man, had been to follow her instincts. Dom’s reactions would soon tell her if those instincts were good or not.
The breathless stillness of him when she cupped his face and dove for his mouth had suggested maybe she’d been too forward, that he was shocked. But he hadn’t pulled away; had taken a second to consider her move and his own counter-move which, when his tongue delved past her lips in search of hers, was intensely reassuring. Then his hands were in her hair, no doubt loosening the careful plait Maggie had created so it wouldn’t be in a terrible tangle in the morning. If it meant having his fingers gripping her skull in that urgently sensuous way, she’d happily sit for hours tomorrow while Maggie tortured it back into some semblance of order.
For now she would revel in the strange exhilaration of breaking free of the careful restraints behind which she’d lived so much of her life, would give herself permission to simply enjoy the moment, absorb every nuance of joy to be had in Dom’s arms before—before he—saw—
Focus on his mouth and how long she’d waited for this! Dom’s mouth possessing hers, roaming down her throat. Of its own volition her head tipped back, inviting him to nip and suckle.
‘Gardenias and satin,’ he murmured. ‘Sher, you’re exquisite. I’d begun to hope, though scarcely dared believe, it’d be like this. You would be like this!’
‘Dom, show me. Teach me,’ she whimpered.
His mouth nuzzled at the hollow in her throat.
‘I can feel your heart beating against my tongue, Sher. Tell me you’re excited, not afraid.’
‘B-both, I think!’ she confessed. ‘Yes!’
This last was in response to his fingers untying the ribbons of her night-rail. Briefly her eyes flew open, for even in the heat of her need, in denial of that part of her longing to be courageous enough to stand naked before Dom, she still needed to reassure herself it was really dark.
‘Ah, Sher, I have so much to show you, teach you.’
The words, his breath, were hot against the soft upper swell of her breast. Her fingers clung to his for a moment as he began pulling the material down over her arms, and then she reminded herself how badly she wanted this, how desperately she wanted Dom.
She couldn’t panic and breathe at the same time. She had to breathe! Therefore she must quell the constant need to analyze and control, give herself entirely to instinct and the passion Dom could arouse in her with just a glance. Loosening the lower ties herself, she ripped the garment urgently down her arms. Naked to the waist, ingrained need made her check one more time. Still dark—and Dom surely couldn’t see when his mouth was—dear God—feasting on her! Suckling like a babe at its mother’s breast.
Her shoulders lifted and her whole body strained towards him. She’d always known Dom’s mouth would be her nemesis.
‘Please. Oh, Dom!’
Incoherent, garbled sounds issued from her throat; her hands couldn’t get enough of the beautiful male strength and muscle of his shoulders; found a ridged scar running through the soft flesh of the left side of his chest and across his upper arm.
She’d not noticed it as he stood at the side of the bed—probably because her eyes had been riveted much lower down.
She wanted—to see, know—all of him—
He was dragging the tangled silk of her night rail down her body inch by delicious inch and tasting every one of those inches as he bared them.
‘Dom!—Oh, God!’
‘What, Sher, my love?
Tell me what you want.’
‘I—I don’t know what—Yes, I do—you—in-inside me—like last night!’
A soft rumble, almost like a chuckle vibrated against her navel.
‘And do you, perhaps, want to touch me?’ he asked, his voice sinfully dark and tempting.
‘Please! Yes!’
Heart pounding with joy, she allowed him to place her hand at his groin. The nest of hair there was soft and springy but the organ jutting from it was hard—and yet curiously soft and satiny to touch.
‘Oh. Dom, that feels—’
‘What, Sher? How does it feel? Feels damned good to me!’
He reared up on his arms and thrust his lower body hard against her thigh, trapping her hand around him.
‘It feels—like it wants to be inside me, too,’ she muttered, glad he couldn’t see her blush.
‘He does—but you’ll be screaming in ecstasy and begging desperately before he gets that wish, my love.’
‘Someone might hear!’ she whispered in horror.
‘Did you dismiss your maid?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then all staff are downstairs and Broughton had orders to make sure all guests are where they should be after we came up, and to lock the doors to the east wing.’
‘We are locked in?’
‘I have a key. Now stop worrying and let me show you other things to do with your mouth!’
Molding his body the length of hers, he joined their mouths in a dance both hot and hungry. Her nipples were gently and pleasantly abraded against the hair on his chest; their legs entwined, his sinewy, muscular and hair-roughened, hers smoother, softer and trembling in anticipation. Against her hip, his erection pressed long and hard, and she found her body thrusting spasmodically to feel the imprint, the promise of it.
Screaming and begging, he’d said. She wouldn’t have been able to imagine it, even if she’d been able to string two thoughts together. Screaming and begging were a totally alien concept to the Ice Queen. Then his mouth was back at her breast, eliciting a tiny cry of shock and excitement.
Deep suckling and gentle kneading, first of one breast and then the other, sent strange trails of fire down every nerve path in her body. Mindlessly clutching at his head, she whimpered incoherent little sounds of need. She seemed to have lost any control she might have had over her body and its responses, was simply sensation and reaction, trying to drag Dom into herself, desperately seeking a release from the terrible burning need he’d built within her with just his mouth.
Then with deadly precision, he moved his assault lower. Wet, suckling kisses trailed down her belly and into the puff of hair at her feminine portal.
‘Dom!’ she tried to remonstrate. Tried to pull his head away. ‘What are you doing?’ she cried hoarsely.
‘Loving you, Sher.’
His voice was husky and even that sent shivers across her nerve endings.
Taking her hands in his, he pressed them firmly to the mattress beside her hips, rose up to kneel between her legs and spread her knees with his.
‘Dom!’
Her mind was embarrassed, but her body—! Her wanton, shameless body was still twisting and straining, begging for more.
He dipped his head and dragged his tongue up through her slit and the hair covering it. Lightning streaked through her body.
Sheri screeched.
‘Dom! What—? You can’t—!’
Wrenching her hands from his grip she tried to cover herself. His hands were faster, stronger, and he pressed hers to the pillow above her head.
‘I can. I will, Sher. Keep your hands above your head!’ Then he stretched them higher up the pillow until her fingers touched the carved struts of the bedhead. ‘Hold on,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t let go, Sher, or I will stop. And you don’t really want me to do that, do you?’
His voice was little more than a raspy whisper, but somehow it held her in thrall. No answer would form on her lips. How could she say yes to something so—so wicked? And yet any negative response was impossible.
‘Tell me what you felt, Sher.’
He crawled back down her body.
‘Hold on!’ he growled again when her grip loosened. Settling between her knees again, he spread her soft moist petals with his thumbs. ‘What did you feel, Sher?’
‘I don’t know!—Heat—a shock—like a huge spark flying off the smith’s anvil and landing on my—landing there.’
‘Did you like it?’
‘Dom!’ she protested.
‘Answer me, Sher,’ he grated, removing his hands from her body.
‘I—yes!’
‘Thank God!’ was all he said, then lowered his head and took her way beyond any feeble sparks, to the center of the fiery forge, where her body writhed and burned and exploded with spectacular volcanic splendor that had her screaming and begging.
Just as he’d promised.
Then he joined their two bodies, taking her on an incredible rhythmic ride to that place where stars burst and showered about them, the bright shards mingling with their cries of ecstasy; and fear—of anything—was unknown.
…
Her own whimper of pleasure woke her from a dream she didn’t want to relinquish only to realize there was nothing dreamlike about Dom’s naked body closely entwined with hers and his strong, clever fingers playing, gently teasing, at her woman’s most secret place. And she really had moaned out loud.
‘Dom?’
‘Hush, my love. Let me love you.—Are you sore?’
‘No. I—oh, Dom! I—had no idea!’
She felt his mouth smile against the back of her neck.
‘I should think not, indeed!’
‘Oh—should you! But you did! How is that different?’ she said, trying to sound indignant and pull away from his teasing hand.
‘One of us needs to, Sher. Else we would never know. Imagine not knowing—this?’
His fingers delved deeper while his thumb pressed firmly into that spot she’d swear was the birthplace of fire.
Her moan of delight was louder this time and all thought of denying him fled. She’d worry later about the fact he’d not only enslaved her heart, but her body as well.
Mama had suggested, while blushing furiously, if she found any of this distasteful, she should just remain passive, let him have his way and it would all be over very quickly. Then her husband would leave her to return to his own chambers. Dom hadn’t left—and there was no way she could remain passive under his ministrations. Mama hadn’t really had any advice to offer in the case of her being so unladylike as to actually enjoy this part of marriage!
Maggie’s advice, vague though it was, had been much more to her liking. Follow her instincts. In fact, she seemed incapable of taking any other course, with Dom’s lithe, muscular form at her disposal and his mouth and hands inciting her once more to heights of wanton response that would shock her come the light of day.
But he’d enjoyed her touch last night, almost as much as she was enjoying his now. Of that she was sure.
‘I’m very glad you know these—things!’ she ended in a small scream as he playfully bit a nipple then sucked it deeply into his mouth to soothe it with his tongue.
‘Your breasts are perfect, Sher,’ he murmured, shaping them with his hands. ‘You taste like nectar.’
Oh God—her eyes flew open. Still dark.
Needing to distract him, or maybe herself, she pushed suddenly on his shoulders so he lay back on the pillows.
‘Can I—suckle you—like that? Does it feel—good—for you too?’
‘God, yes!’ he rasped, his hands tangling in her hair and drawing her head closer. ‘Sher, you delight me.’
As she lowered her mouth to where her searching fingers had already found their goal in the dark, his hands settled more firmly about her head, guiding her. His nipples were hard, flat nubbins and even delicate swipes of her tongue elicited small groans of appreciation from him.
When she began to suckle in ear
nest excitement burgeoned within her. She too, had power. Her touch, her ministrations could bring him to the point of exquisite implosion also. Amid restless writhing and harsh gasps he took her hand and slid it over the soft trail of hair down his abdomen until her fingers encountered his staff, thrusting upright and rigid.
‘Feel what you do to me, Sher.’
‘I—Dom—I want—’
‘What?’ His voice was rough, strained, which acted like a quirt on a horse’s rump, goading her into action.
‘You. Inside me.’
‘God, yes! On top!’
With a strength she’d think about later, he lifted her astride his body.
‘Take me into you. Guide me,’ he rasped, pressing her hand back around his shaft.
He—? She—? She’d not think about it. Just do what he said. He must know it was possible. With a little fumbling she positioned him at her entrance, and gripping her hips, he pulled her home.
‘Sweet heaven, Your Grace! You were made for me.—Ride me!’
When she lifted her hips, he pulled her back down, hard, over and over; pulling her home and guiding her back up, setting a rhythm both forceful and exciting.
It was building again, and now knowing what she strove for, what they both strove for, she allowed her body to take control, to find its nirvana of the senses.
Then his hand slipped between them, seeking that spot he’d showed her worked like a trigger if she was perfectly primed. Dom was the expert at that kind of priming. She was beginning to spasm, crying out to him, begging, pleading.
Suddenly Dom was above her, his body pumping, thundering down into hers and with a long cry of ecstatic release she tipped over into that place where there was nothing but Dom and the incredible power of love. Please God, some day she could tell him.
For a moment he slowed the rhythm.
‘Dammit, Sher, I love feeling you do that! It—drives—me—crazy.’
