by Reid, Stacy
Her hands fluttered to her throat as she stared at the part of him that jutted out toward her, so hard and rigid. And huge.
Good heavens.
She snapped her gaze up and met his eyes. They smoldered with something primitive and predatory that took her breath away.
In two strides he was directly in front of her. Then he reached out, hauled her into his arms. And he took.
His fingers locked into the thick coils of her hair as he angled his head and crushed his lips over hers. He was not slow and seductive as he’d been earlier, instead he devoured. The intensity of his kiss shook her enough that fear once again slammed through her stuttering her heart.
She gasped into his mouth, and his tongue plundered, entwining with hers, lashing her with unexpected pleasure. She moaned as that same unfamiliar fire swept through her body. A strange buzzing whipped through her and she whimpered as he pressed her back into the icy cold wall. Need pulsed between her legs, melting her and creating sensations there that left her weak and stunned.
She felt as if everything was happening too fast. A sharp rip sounded, and her sheer nightgown parted down the middle. She let out a yelp as he hoisted her, and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. She felt hot and restless, her skin painfully sensitive. His hands moved over her, caressing her buttocks, then cupping her breasts. He dragged his thumb across her nipple, and the rough caress slammed pleasure directly to her core. His kisses and nips stroked over her lips, her throat, her collar bone, and she arched in a stinging ache of pleasure as his mouth clamped over her nipple and sucked. She gripped his dark head tight as he pulled strongly with his mouth, destroying her with the electric sensations he sent flooding through her entire body.
The hand not pinning her to the wall sent flames of heat streaking up her thighs and between her legs. Shock and excitement vied for equal attention when he parted her curls and ran his fingers though her slit. She was mortifyingly wet there, and she desperately wondered if she should be. Her thoughts derailed as he plunged a long finger inside her while circling his thumb just above, touching a knot of agonizing pleasure.
She splintered.
Her scream was muffled as he captured her lips, kissing her in time to the fingers that continued to torment her between her legs. She felt delirious with the unbearably hot desires twisting within her. She shook with the pleasure, the lightening that struck her, and the fever that invaded her limbs, too wrapped in the overwhelming physical sensations to care about the liquid that wetted his hands and slickness that ran between her thighs.
He plunged a second finger inside, and she cried out at the bite of pain. He did not give her time to adjust to the invasion before he continued thrusting. Sweat slicked her skin and she was dazedly grateful, for it seemed to cool the fire that burned so hotly in her veins. The room spun as he tumbled her down on the bed.
His lips left hers and created a wake of scalding heat as he licked down to her breasts, dipped in her navel, and continued down.
Shocked embarrassment stormed through her as he replaced his wet fingers with his mouth and tongue. She shrieked, her back bowing under the riotous sensations that gripped her. His tongue speared inside her and fiery tingles coursed through her body. She gripped a fistful of his hair and yanked. She was surprised when he came up easily, his muscled framed poised over hers as he stared down at her, his eyes glittering with heat.
She gasped raggedly and stared back at him with her heart jerking and thundering painfully.
She could not stop the tremors that shook her, try as she might.
“Ah, Jocelyn.” The softest of kisses brushed her swollen lips. “I have not lost so much control since I was an untried boy.” His lips gentled even further as he kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, and back to softly fluttering over her lips.
Instead of his hands burning her with pleasure, they now ran languidly over her, gentle and teasing, but with a focused intensity that wrung soft moans and gasps from her. The sharp, desperate edgy feeling eased, replaced by languorous pleasure.
“It surely must be wicked and immoral to feel so good,” she moaned against his lips, her focus blurring at the feel of his skin rubbing sensually against hers.
He chuckled softly. “We haven’t even begun to be wicked and immoral yet, my duchess.”
The edgy uncertainty and fear she had felt earlier fled completely, and a tentative trust formed, allowing her to relax into the pleasure he bestowed upon her body. She trusted him wholly when he eased her over so that she lay on her stomach, and she could only purr deep in her throat as he kissed and nibbled her neck, over her shoulder blades, and down her back, stopping at her buttocks. He nipped sharply. Her hips rolled and arched up, loving the heat of his tongue as it soothed the sting. She purred, squirming under his sensual touch. His chuckle vibrated against her, and his crooning words of encouragement as he licked a sensitive spot behind her knees had almost as strong an effect as the fingers that continued to thrust so steadily inside her.
She shivered, moaning weakly, helplessly craving the pleasure he tormented her with. His powerful hands gripped her hips and spun her to face him. She swallowed at the dark sensuality that marked his features. Without breaking their gazes, he drew her under him, lifting her legs to hook at his hips.
She ran her hands over his arms and chest, reveling in his strength and power. Her hands drifted down his roped abdomen, then hesitated.
His breath fanned over her lips as he exhaled. “Touch me, my duchess. Do not shy away now.”
He gritted his teeth and groaned as she circled his hard length with her fingers. He felt like hot iron.
“Sebastian.” Her moan was an entreaty to fill the emptiness that clawed at her.
He growled in answer.
His movements were rough when he parted her thighs and started to push into her. His lips captured hers, claiming her tongue in a teasing foray as he slowly thrust, deeper and deeper. A burning pleasure-pain consumed her, bowing her back, and had her bucking and moaning in his mouth. He held himself taut above her, his body shaking as he waited for her to adjust.
She felt stretched, wonderfully full, and excited by what was happening. An excitement that tunneled into amazed wonder at the sensations that gripped her as he started a powerful lunge and retreat.
The sharp pain had been fleeting, and now the sweetest pleasure she had ever felt spiraled from her center and ignited within her. Her hips instinctively arched, undulating to the rhythm of his powerful thrusts. She could not contain her moans or the strength with which she clutched him as sensual pleasure held her in a vise. She wrapped her legs higher around his waist and was rewarded as he plunged deeper. She screamed as the pleasure roared through her, fierce and sweet, and she exploded in a conflagration of delight. Sebastian’s harsh groan rumbled against her lips as he kissed her, plunging with increased power and speed until the pleasure overtook him, too.
“Bloody hell,” she whispered against his lips long moments later, her frame still trembling from the mind-numbing pleasure.
“I should have known that cursing was part of your repertoire,” he mumbled with a chuckle.
He rolled with her so that she splayed on top of him. She reared up to look at him, searching his face. She followed the scar that ran from his temple and across his cheeks so savagely. Instead of giving him a grisly mien, it hinted at rakish danger. She smiled at her thoughts.
“Not many see my scar and smile, Duchess.” His voice was still husky from their lovemaking, and an answering thrill surged through her.
“I like it.” When his eyes shuttered, she lowered her face so less than an inch separated their lips, and asked, “Disappointed? Did you expect me to scream or cry?”
A warning growl rumbled from his chest. “I have had young ladies faint at the sight of my visage, Duchess.”
“I find you devastatingly handsome, and I simply don’t believe anyone fainted from this little scratch.” She brushed her lips across his scar, trailing
soft kisses over the crescent shape. She halted her movements when she realized how still he had become. The hands that had been loosely wrapped around her waist had tightened painfully. But she did not protest. She raised up, observing his expressionless face. “What?”
“Being hidden away from society, you obviously have not had a chance to look upon many handsome faces to judge accurately, Duchess.”
Even though said with a smile playing at his lips, she had a feeling he was not amused. The curve of his mouth held no warmth, and she could glean nothing from his cool gaze.
“I disagree,” she said quietly.
Suddenly she wished for the privacy of her own chambers, unsure how to deal with her husband’s changeable moods. Especially while splayed over him, naked. Heat rushed through her and her discomfort grew.
“You’re blushing, Duchess. I believe I would give you one of my finest studs for your thoughts right now.”
“Indeed?” She raised skeptical brows. “Many would only offer a penny.”
“I did not think a penny would entice you to reveal the unladylike thoughts that have you blushing so becomingly and averting your eyes from mine.”
She smiled hesitantly, heating even more. “In truth, I was thinking of all the wicked and immoral things we just did.”
Laughter burst from him. “Ah, Duchess, you have much to learn. We have done nothing wicked or immoral. Yet,” he added with a sinful smile.
She sucked in a breath. “Show me.” The words came out as more of a moan than the demand she had meant it to be.
His hands had cupped the curve of her backside and one slipped lower, his fingers teasing her wetness. “My pleasure, my incorrigible duchess. My pleasure.”
…
The early fog that rolled in through the windows Sebastian had opened sometime during the night obscured the soft rays of the rising sun.
He shifted in the bed, the unfamiliar feel of a female body curved so trustingly into his side startling him for a moment. He had bedded many women, but never had he slept through the night with one. Not even Marissa, his only mistress, as she had belonged to another.
His gut tightened as he recalled the many ways Jocelyn had surrendered to him, over and over through the night. She made love as she did everything else, with boldness and fire. If he had not breached her maidenhead himself, he probably would have doubted her innocence. After the first wave of loving, her unguarded responses had almost bewitched him. She was a fast pupil, and at one point he had felt as though he was the student and she the teacher as she licked and caressed him with a natural sensuality that had drowned him in sensations he had never felt before.
A derisive smile curved his lips and he grunted softy. A simple memory of her hot mouth over his cock had him forgetting how perfidious women were. He must take care with this woman. She could so easily make him want to let down his guard.
He gently eased her head from his shoulder, moving silently to stand before the windows. He drew open the drapes that were only slightly parted. The fog rolled over the hills, casting gray shadows over the land. A soft moan came from the bed and he turned to observe her. She wriggled, murmuring in her sleep. His gut clenched when his name whispered from her lips on a loving sigh, then she settled into deeper slumber.
He was annoyed that he wanted to join her. Instead, he forced himself to turn away, and opened the door to his dressing room. He could not admit his valet to dress him—not with his duchess splayed so wantonly on the sheets. He had not given a thought to how tearing down the walls that separated the two master chambers would affect the logistics of daily life. He only knew he’d wanted no closed doors between him and his future wife. His mother had used the connecting doors like an ice fortress his father had been unable to breach. He’d sworn he would never allow himself to be in such a situation if he were to ever marry. A locked bedchamber would not become a weapon between him and his duchess, ever. And if that meant dressing themselves, so be it. He wanted no other eyes but his on Jocelyn in her present state of undress.
He did not choose to analyze the feeling. He also ignored the yearning to return to the bed and wrap himself around her. He did not possess one of the biggest fortunes in England because he lay abed. He had much to do. His solicitor should be on his way with documents outlining the settlement that would be paid to her father, the sum that he would settle as dowries on his new sisters-in-law, accounts to be opened for Jocelyn at the milliners and modistes, and an amount set for her allowance.
There was no time for idle pleasures.
No matter how much he wanted to return to the unexpected warmth of his new bride’s arms.
Chapter Six
When Jocelyn awoke, she was certain she was in love. The chill in the bedchamber could not daunt her spirits as she untangled her limbs from the linens. The massive drapes were drawn, and the sun poured its rays through the several windows. The panes were closed, but she saw that the fireplace had died to low embers, accounting for the chill in the air.
She felt the most glorious smile lift her lips along with her spirits. Sebastian had been magnificent. She could not fathom why her father told her to be brave, or why Mrs. Winthrop thought anything could be immoral.
But it was true, Jocelyn certainly felt wicked.
The feelings Sebastian roused in her were a surprise, to say the least, but she welcomed them. He was sinfully sensuous, and all hers.
She laughed as she jumped from the bed, ringing the bell for her lady’s maid. She did not have to wait long for Rose, and she bathed and dressed with her assistance. Jocelyn did not want her hair pinned up, but instead she left it uncoiled, brushing against her hips with every sway. She dressed in her very finest yellow muslin morning dress. It was from last season, but it complemented her complexion and the dark luster of her hair.
Curious about the household, she went in search of her husband.
Within a few hours, Jocelyn was sure of two things.
First, she doubted that the glow she’d had when she awoke was love. The feeling had burned away too quickly in her disappointment and anger.
She breakfasted alone in the morning room, having learned that the duke had eaten much earlier and was now ensconced in his library dealing with business matters. She had been undaunted after being warned by the housekeeper, and had entered his private domain without invitation. He had been so cold and remote at her simple query as to how he fared that morning, that she had been completely flummoxed. He had summarily dismissed her, indicating the depth of work he had waiting, and that he would see her for supper.
Supper!
Where had the teasing lover of last night gone? She felt miffed, and more than a little hurt that he had not deigned to speak with her after the wonderful experiences they had shared on their wedding night. Their wedding night. If this was an indication of things to come, things were bound to get tumultuous, for she could not accept such coldness after their firestorm of passion.
She paused on the way to the parlor as a shocking thought occurred to her. What if feeling those incredible things was a common occurrence to the duke, nothing to be in awe and amazement over?
She banished the thought, hating the ugly jealousy that griped her at the mere notion. After a tour of the large, stately manor and speaking with Mrs. Otterbsy, the head housekeeper, Jocelyn realized that the estate ran with a grim efficiency that needed little to no input from her. Everything Mrs. Otterbsy presented to her had been in proper order, and she could find no fault.
The second thing Jocelyn realized was that she was completely and utterly bored. The concept so stunned her that for a few minutes she did not know what to do. She was always occupied at full tilt running Stonehaven, so to now be a duchess who sat on a luxurious cushion with her thumbs twiddling and nothing else to do—it would soon drive her mad.
When she could stand it no longer, she had launched into motion, ordering up the carriage.
She now stood in front of her old home.
The
door flew open before she had a chance to ring the knocker. “Milady.” Cromwell did not look surprised to see her.
She sailed inside, loving the feeling that swept through her as Emma and William spied her from the parlor. Their shrieks rang joyously in her ears as they tumbled into her arms.
“Come now,” she said, laughing. “Have you turned into little barbarians after only a day?”
“I fear they have, Jocelyn.”
She glanced up at the teasing reply of her sister, Victoria. Only a year separated them, and Victoria was her dearest friend. She could see the concern in her sister’s eyes, and Jocelyn smiled at her in reassurance.
“Where is Papa? I will see him first, then visit with you,” she said, shooing the twins.
Victoria went with her as they strolled toward the library. “Are you truly well?”
Jocelyn glanced up to see her searching her face with her expressive hazel eyes—eyes that reminded her so much of their mama. “Yes, I am truly well.”
There was a slight pause and then her sister asked, “Were you brave?”
The surprised laughter that spilled from Jocelyn had Victoria laughing with her. “Oh, goodness, Vicki.”
“You must tell me, sister dear.” Victoria gulped. “Please do not fear for my delicate sensibilities. I must know what happened.”
“Oh, I fear your sensibilities are in for a treat. It was glorious!”
“Was it wicked and immoral?” The question was spoken in a hushed whisper.
Their gales of laughter were cut short by her father opening the library door. He arched his bushy brows at her. “I see you have suffered no ill effects from your evening trek to Norfolk, my dear.” Her father brushed his lips against her forehead in greeting.
“I will have Mrs. Winthrop bring tea and cake, Papa,” Victoria said. “And I will tell Emily you are here, Jocelyn. She has been ensconced in the schoolroom all morning with some medieval text, completely enraptured.” She hurried away, leaving Jocelyn alone with her father.
Jocelyn groaned as she sank into the library sofa. She turned toward her father, loving that he sat beside her instead of behind his desk.
