His Stolen Bride BN

by Shayla Black

“Nay,” he interrupted. “Not with an innocent.”

  Surprise floated across her soft face. “If I feel pain, I will tell you.”

  With a nod, he placed gentle hands on her hips and slowly drew himself inside. Tight and moist, she began to close around him in an exquisite joining that brushed the bounds of heaven. He fought to stifle a groan, knowing he must still break her barrier gently while his entire body clamored to thrust himself to the hilt.

  Drake dragged in a deep breath and surged forward. Beneath him, Averyl gasped and tensed. He felt her body give way and open slowly for his passage. Shuddering, he sank down into her honeyed depths, completely within her, then gazed into her face.

  Pain did not reside there. Surprise, perhaps, but no more.

  “Averyl?” he asked, despite the strain he heard in his own voice and the sweat bathing his chest.

  She touched his face, branding him softly. “I am not hurt.”

  “You are certain?” he asked one last time, though the delay began to feel like brilliant torture.

  Beneath him, she rocked her hips, inviting him further within her silken body. Drake did not hesitate. He withdrew to stroke her again. Once more. Over and over until Averyl rewarded him with her responses, until he knew naught but her scent, her feel, her moans, her need.

  About his waist, her thighs tensed and trembled. Her sheath gripped him without mercy, and he thought he might lose his mind. She clutched him tighter, demanding his mouth upon hers as her pleasure peaked and scattered over his senses, which felt already saturated with her.

  Before he could stop it, satisfaction surged upon him. A shattering release consumed him, even as her pleasure-filled cry echoed in the cottage, cleansing him of all but rapture, infusing him with a blinding bolt of something bright and warm.

  Long moments later, he clasped her against him in exhaustion and awe. She placed tiny kisses on his face. Absently, he stroked her hair, oddly reluctant to let her go in the face of his sated bliss and her amazing sensuality.

  Never had he wanted to hold a woman after partaking of her body. Such requests always irritated him for the intimacy they implied. Averyl asked for nothing, simply falling naturally into his arms when he willingly opened them.

  This coupling somehow felt different, almost binding in its intensity, though the act itself was the same. Why?

  Shaking away the odd thought, Drake lifted his head to ask Averyl if she hurt. He found her eyes peacefully closed, her breathing the even rhythm of sleep.

  Into the lengthening shadows of darkness he smiled and held her. Tomorrow, this awe, this feeling of connection would die. Tonight, though, he would forget all the reasons he could form no lasting attachment to her and enjoy the delight of his wife’s body as many times as she would have him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Eyes still closed to the morning, Averyl yawned before her mouth curled up in a languid smile. She felt thoroughly touched, so wanted, her body pleasantly tender. Her mouth curled up further upon realizing she was truly Drake’s wife.

  She blushed with remembrances. He’d awakened her thrice last night to make love. Thrice! Each time, she’d fallen into his arms eagerly, basking in his single-minded attention.

  ’Twas a surprise to Averyl to open her eyes and find herself alone in their cottage.

  Reminding herself that Drake often rose before the sun, she shrugged away disappointment and set about her morning ritual. Between the time she braided her hair and chose a dress, Drake entered the cottage, golden filters of sunlight at his back.

  A welcoming smile spread across her face. “Good morn.”

  Drake nodded, silent, his hot gaze sweeping over her chemise-clad form, resting finally on its low neckline. Though the garment covered the essentials, Averyl felt decidedly naked under his penetrating stare. Her cheeks heated as she felt her breasts tightening in response.

  He wanted her. Again. Though she could scarcely comprehend such, she did not question the desire she felt, too. Instead, she raised her gaze to his, smiling in shy invitation.

  He raised a dark brow. “Be careful, else I will accept what you offer.”

  “Surely that would not be bad,” she teased.

  “Later, when your body has rested,” he said, his voice low.

  Part of Averyl thrilled at his words. He did intend to take her into his arms again, and only concern for her prevented him from making love to her now. Certainly, she misunderstood his lack of expression or attention.

  Yet uneasiness tugged at her. Of late, she had rarely seen Drake so remote.

  “Is aught amiss?”

  “Nay,” he answered solemnly, turning away to start a fire in the hearth.

  Averyl frowned as anxiety rose again. Why was he behaving as if naught had happened last night? True, he had vowed never to love her, but today ’twas as if she were a stranger. Did he not remember what they had shared? Even now she felt his soft kisses on her nape, the scent of his musk on her skin, his soft words in her ear. All night as he had held her, making her his wife, she felt a warmth in her chest spreading through her for this perplexing, troubled man.

  Perhaps she made too much of her fear. His was not a tender nature, and she’d known better than to expect avowals of love. Though somehow this morn, her heart wanted them.

  “Have you broken your fast?” she asked. “I will be happy to make you—”

  “I ate earlier.”

  His curt reply did not comfort her. Knowing not what else to say, she turned away and donned her dress of muted gray, which matched her mood of a sudden. Fastening the deep blue hip girdle about her middle, she caught Drake’s eyes upon her. Again, they spoke of desire and damp skin, of midnight cries and moonlit skin. But nothing of the warmth she had seen yesterday on the beach, or even deep in passion.

  Averyl disliked this mood, for she knew he was likely to shut her out should she ask what plagued his mind. With a heavy sigh, she wondered how she, a woman who knew little of men, could coax Drake from his silence. Still, she must try.

  “Drake, is all well?”

  He shrugged, dark eyes turning impassive. “Well enough.”

  “You seem ill pleased by last night—”

  “It was pleasing,” he replied, awkward.

  Pleasing, not astounding. No mention of the silent connection, of the tender touches communicating care.

  Drake thought little of the most amazing night of her life. A wave of mortification washed over her, leaving her cold.

  “’Twas pleasing,” she agreed carefully, folding her hands together. “But I expected to be treated less like a stranger.”

  His dark eyes pierced her, accusing. “You wanted words of devotion and declarations of love.”

  How could she deny what she longed for in her heart? Given the scorn upon his face, how could she not?

  “I seek them not,” she said finally. “’Tis simply that you seem…unhappy this morn.”

  “Not so,” he answered, looking away to secure a long, thick knife to his thigh. “Now, with your leave, I must hunt.”

  Before she could reply or wish him safe, Drake was gone.

  * * * * *

  Three weeks later, naught had changed. Each night he came to her in fire, each embrace feeling somehow more desperate than the last. Just last night, he’d propelled her to their bed before dinner, before the sun even set fully. He waited not to disrobe her but lifted her skirts and took her in an ardent coupling of pants and moans, of tangled limbs and twined fingers. Then again in night’s blackest hour, he’d reached for her, his hands needy, his thrusts urgent. Responding to his magic, Averyl had given her body with ease, in trust.

  Always during those hours he was caring, seemed at ease with their joining. Smiles came her way, as did the affection in his voice.

  Then the sun would rise. Then he treated her little different than one would a civil stranger. Certainly, any hint of the ma
n who had shared his warmth, his body, and painful secrets with her was now gone, a mere phantom in her memory.

  Feeling the recurrence of this morn’s tears, Averyl willed them away. For the more she showed her pain, and the more she inquired about his solitary moods, the more Drake withdrew. She could give him no further cause to believe she cared for him. This foolishness was hers alone.

  Now, his endless dark eyes seemed not to display any feeling beyond lust. And she was a fool for hoping to see otherwise. She was no more than a convenient, if homely, body on which to slake his lust.

  Averyl doubted Drake would ever love her. Even so, she had tonight devised a test. When he came to her, and he would, she planned to seduce him, pouring her heart into each touch, her care into every kiss. If, after such a fervent display of her feelings, he still did not respond with softness of emotion, she would finally know the truth.

  What she would do then, she knew not.

  Through the cottage’s lone window, she noted the setting sun and lit two candles, setting them on the table behind her. Drake would return within the hour, and still she had not garbed herself for this eve’s test. The dress, a scarlet gown with rich gold braiding about the waist and low neckline, was among her best. She laid the garment across the bed, checked on their simmering stew, then braided her hair.

  Drake entered the cottage well before she expected him. He’d bathed in the pond outside, judging from the rivulets of water that ran from his damp hair, down the golden skin of his hard, bare chest. He wore a hungry expression on his face.

  Averyl swallowed, trying to force down her desire. ’Twas nothing short of witlessness on her part to yearn for him so. Yet when his heated eyes traveled from her coifed hair, down the slope of her shoulders, to take in her form beneath the transparency of her smock, his very stare singed her.

  “Supper is nearly ready.” Her hands trembled suddenly as she retrieved her gown. “As soon as I dress, I shall—”

  “Nay.” He was across the room in three steps. “Forget supper,” his voice enticed. “Forget your gown.”

  He took the garment from her fingers.

  Averyl held fast and opened her mouth to rebut, but Drake held up a hand to stay her.

  His bawdy smile nearly stopped her heart. “’Tis not your good cooking or pretty clothes that interest me.”

  Drake tugged on the dress again, and it fell from her fingers. After he tossed it across the bed, Drake turned her to the small mirror, fitting her back against the heated length of his body. The candles behind them illuminated their figures, from head to thigh, man and woman.

  Against her buttocks, she felt the hard heat of his desire. Even as the answering flame ignited within her, she panicked. What of her plans to seduce him? She could not allow him to melt her from them. Yet as he glided one feathery finger across her jawline, down her throat, then descended into the valley between her breasts, Averyl felt her breath catch.

  Determined to take control, she made to whirl about. His thumb brushed her distended nipple before she could move.

  Averyl closed her eyes, fighting another wave of mind-numbing desire. Why did he always have this affect on her? No matter how great or small the stroke of his hand, she felt it all the way from her womanly core to her heart.

  Nay, this could not happen. She must have her answer!

  Turning to him, she opened her mouth to speak. Drake silenced her with a blistering kiss that seduced her, sapped her of fight. His tongue swirled, his lips possessed. He tasted of water and need and something so elementally man. And she felt herself melting against him like a candle too long lit, the scarcely covered mounds of her breasts pressed against the velvet steel of his chest.

  When she moaned, he broke the kiss and turned her toward the mirror. The face that greeted her was nearly a stranger’s. Her lips were swollen and berry red, her cheeks flushed, her eyes heavy-lidded. Her braid lay untwined about her shoulders.

  Slowly, she turned to Drake in question. Inexorably, he turned her back toward the reflective glass.

  “Nay,” he whispered against her ear. “Watch. See what I see when we lay together.”

  His intent became clear to her when he cupped her breasts through the thin smock, rolling her nipple between his fingers. Her stomach clenched, both at the feel of his touch and the sight of his large golden hands upon her. The flesh in his grasp tautened to hard pebbles. She arched into his hands.

  “Aye,” he encouraged, reaching inside her smock to withdraw her breasts.

  Averyl stared at the dusky rose of her nipples and Drake’s fingers teasing them. Heat curled deep in her belly. By the saints, how she wanted him. More than she had last week. More than she had last night.

  The gentle play of his fingers tormented her with one last shiver before drifting down the smooth plain of her abdomen, to the juncture of her thighs. Through the smock, his thumb made tight circles upon her moist flesh. Averyl reminded herself of her plan, even as she gritted her teeth to hold in a cry. Drake must be made to feel the depth of her emotions in their joining.

  Her resolution held until his teeth nibbled on the sensitive skin of her neck and her first release crashed over her senses. Averyl’s eyes slid shut. Her control slipped, for Drake knew how to touch her, had spent these last weeks learning to play her as a musician would his lute. She drew in a deep breath, struggling not to allow the waves of desire to submerge her in their depths.

  The sound of rending fabric and the feel of cool air on her skin brought her eyes open once more. Through half-open eyes she noted her own nudity and her torn smock hanging about her arms in shreds. The hard core of his arousal pressed against her back.

  “The garment is not as important as this,” Drake whispered against her ear, just before his fingers began delving the slick flesh between her thighs again.

  Her knees buckled as she watched her own ecstasy envelop her once more. Her breasts stood taut, her flesh turned damp and rosy as he sent her closer to heaven. Her pale hair hung behind her shoulders, tangled, wild. She knew her dilated eyes no longer resembled her own.

  And Averyl found that she could not care, not when fulfillment began to sluice and tingle its way through her body. Vaguely, she heard her own cry above her heartbeat roaring in her ears. Held upright by the strong support of Drake’s arm, she let the waves of pleasure crash into her, one after the other, until she felt limp and warm and spent.

  Behind her, Drake’s face reflected hot triumph. The searing ebony of his eyes moved over her body. To her shock, Averyl felt an answering note within her belly.

  After removing the vestiges of her smock from her, he guided her to the bed, then followed her down to the mattress. He reached to remove his hose. Somehow, she found the strength to grab his hand and stay him.

  Tonight, Drake had shown her how easily one’s emotions could be revealed during an ecstatic loss of control. She’d seen her own face and knew now she could never hope to learn Drake’s true feelings for her when he maintained such command over his body and mind. Nay, she must drive him to the madness he’d sent her tumbling into moments ago.

  “Let me,” she whispered into Drake’s questioning face, as she rolled him to his back and reached for his hose.

  His burning expression told her he found the suggestion pleasing, but when she grasped the edge of the garment and pulled down slowly, he grew tense. She moved her fingers tentatively over his hard male flesh. Drake clenched his jaw, appearing the picture of pain.

  Averyl bit her lip in indecision. Did she stop?

  Uncertainly, she removed the garment from his feet and tossed it to the floor. Drake answered her confusion by bringing her hand back to his shaft. Curling her fingers about his thick length, he guided her in an up-and-down motion.

  Following his lead, she was soon rewarded with a toss of his dark head and a groan. She smiled. Aye, he could lose himself like this to her.

  She moved fas
ter. Drake’s fingers curled around her thighs, clutching, biting.

  Gratified, Averyl refused to relent but watched his face. Cheeks taut, eyes shut, jaw hard, he looked magnificently aroused. She clenched her fingers around him more tightly.

  “Look at me,” she whispered.

  Upon her command, his eyes flew open. The heat of a thousand infernos raged within their depths. She sent him a sultry smile.

  “Nay,” he rasped. “I will endure this torture no more.”

  Before Averyl could protest, Drake loomed above her and sent her onto her back. He entered her completely in one hard thrust, pushing, fingers grasping her hips as if to make his way deeper. She gasped as sensations washed over her and she wrapped her legs about him.

  “Now look at me,” he said, voice strained, eyes probing.

  Averyl met his gaze as he withdrew and entered once more. The connection of their stares she felt into the depths of her soul. The answering flicker in Drake’s eyes filled her with yearning and hope.

  Boldly, she kissed him. He answered with a sweep of his tongue and a thrust of his hard body. ’Twas as if he wanted to be upon her, inside her, in as many places as he could at once.

  He seared her with another lunge of his tongue, his body. She gripped his shoulders, nails cutting into his flesh as the pressure-peak of pleasure rushed upon her again.

  With another push of his hardness, she exploded around him. Averyl fought to keep her head, even as the honeyed sweetness of her release lulled her mind, dulled her thoughts.

  But her eyes remained open, enough to see the bright need in Drake’s glowing eyes as he found his own pleasure. His hoarse cry and stiff body did not surprise her. ’Twas his eyes she looked to for answers. She saw a flash of something anxious and needy, warm yet vulnerable. Something that reached out to her and wrapped itself around her heart. She smiled in relief.

  Moments later, she laid a soft hand to his cheek to give comfort. Instantly, his shoulders and back turned stiff at her touch. He closed his eyes to her searching gaze, ground his hips against her once more, then rolled away.