by Anna Bradley
She didn’t hesitate. Her warm mouth opened over his taut flesh, her lips and tongue kissing and teasing and nipping until Ciaran was writhing with mindless pleasure. He caught her hips in his hands, grasping handfuls of her shift, desperate for the feel of her bare curves against his palms. “Want to feel you.”
She let out a low laugh. “Then take it off me.”
God, where to begin? He was dying to touch her. He wanted all of her at once, yet there was one thing he’d thought about over and over again—one thing he had to have before they went any further.
“Keep still,” he whispered as he raised his hands to her hair. His fingers found the first pin and he slid it loose. One by one he pulled the rest of the pins out, his breath catching as her wild red curls began to tumble free. Her hair was longer than he’d thought, nearly to her waist, a waterfall of burnished copper in the firelight. His breath came quicker as the thick tendrils fell like heavy silk into his hands. Once the pins were scattered across the floor and her hair lay loose over her shoulders he gathered handfuls of it and, groaning, brought it to his lips.
“Beautiful,” he choked, burying his face in the fragrant waves. “Nothing could be more beautiful, Lucy.”
“Nothing?” She gazed up at him shyly, her dark eyes shining.
He leaned down to drop a kiss onto the corner of her mouth. “Well, one thing, maybe.”
“What?” She dragged her nails lightly down his chest, making him shiver.
Ciaran’s heated gaze lingered on the smooth, creamy expanse of her neck, the curves of her breasts, the hint of the dark shadows of her nipples under the thin, white muslin shift. “Your hair against your bare skin.”
A faint flush rose in her cheeks. Ciaran followed it with his fingers, laughing softly. “Is that a blush, Lucy?”
He reached down, his fingers curling into the hem of her shift. Lucy trembled as he dragged it up the long line of her body, inch by torturous inch. He sucked in a harsh breath when at last she stood bare before him.
“Lucy.” He went still, staring down at her, all tormenting curves and flushed, creamy skin. “Look at you, sweetheart. So perfect.”
Her breasts were full and lush, her hard nipples a tempting, rosy red. His gaze roamed over her, lingering on every curve, swell, and hollow. Her waist was slender, her hips rounded, her legs long, her skin like ivory silk.
Lucy’s own gaze wandered over his bare chest and lower, taking in the flat plane of his stomach. “I’ve seen you bare once before, you know. Or nearly so.”
A sly little smile crossed her lips, and Ciaran couldn’t resist tilting her head back to take her mouth again, his tongue tracing the plump curves. “I don’t recall ever stripping for you before,” he teased, dragging his thumb over her lower lip.
“You didn’t have to. The first day we met, on the beach in Brighton, you dove into the water in just a shirt and breeches, and…” Her cheeks went even pinker. “Well, white shirts are transparent when they’re wet, you know.”
“I do know. Did you look at me that day, Lucy?” Heat flared low in his belly at the thought of that dark gaze moving over him, secretly taking in the sight of his bare skin.
“Yes.” It was a husky whisper, barely audible. “I’d never seen a man’s body in such detail before. I remember thinking…”
“What did you think, sweetheart?”
“That I’d never known a man who looked like you. I never even realized a man could look like you. Your shoulders and chest, the ridges in your stomach.” She reached for him, trailing her fingers over his lower belly. “I didn’t see this, though.” She was staring at his breeches, seemingly fascinated.
Ciaran bit back a groan. “See what, lass?”
“This.” She traced a finger over the faint line of hair just visible at the top edge of his waistband.
Ciaran’s lips parted, a small, hungry sound escaping.
Lucy raised her gaze to his face, and then, very slowly slid her fingertip under the edge of his breeches. “I think…I think the hair grows thicker lower down, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.” And it wasn’t the only thing growing thicker.…
Ciaran’s cock was hardening, straining for the teasing touch of her finger. She’d never seen a man before, never mind an aroused man. He wondered if it would shock her, and for one fleeting moment he thought of drawing away from her.
But that’s not what he did. Instead he brought her hand to one of the buttons of his falls, closing her fingers around it. He kept his hand over hers as she slid the button free, then dragged her hand across to the other button. “See for yourself.”
His breath caught hard in his chest as she loosened the second button and his falls dropped open. He was painfully aroused, his cock hard and arching against his belly.
Lucy sucked in a quick breath, flushing as she stared down at him. She didn’t look shocked. She looked amazed, and…
Eager.
It was too much for Ciaran. His cock twitched, and a drop of hot moisture rose to the tip. His knees went weak, and a tortured moan fell from his lips.
“Oh.” Lucy darted a quick look at his face, taking in his flushed cheeks and parted lips.
And then…
Then, dear God, she touched him.
Ciaran’s hips jerked forward as her soft fingers stroked over him, her touch too gentle to satisfy, but just enough to torment.
He groaned again, and she snatched her hand away. “Ciaran?”
“Like this, sweetheart.” He took her hand in his, pressed it against himself and showed her how he liked to be stroked. When his hand dropped away she kept up his rhythm, her mouth opening in wonder as he grew hotter and harder against her palm.
“You, ah…you seem to enjoy this.” Lucy’s gaze darted between his face and her hand moving over him.
Ciaran let out a shaky laugh. “I do.” He reached down and covered her hand with his again, but instead of drawing her away, his fingers tightened over hers. “Harder. Yes, just like…ah, God. Lucy.”
She was staring down at her hand as it moved over him, her breaths quick. He helped her stroke him once, then again, broken sounds tearing from his chest. Another stroke and he was going to release, spill into her hand—
“Stop, Lucy.” He jerked away, shuddering. He tore his breeches down his legs, then caught her up into his arms, crossed to the bed, and lay her gently down in the center of it.
“Ciaran?” She levered herself up on her elbows, her anxious gaze finding his. “Did I hurt you?”
Was that what she thought? Ciaran drew in a deep breath. He only had one first time with Lucy, and he was rushing it, letting his desire for her turn him savage.
She deserved better than that. She deserved everything.
“No, sweetheart.” He reached down to stroke her cheek. “I’m just…I want you so much I’m being greedy with you, trying to have everything at once.”
“Oh.” She gave him a hesitant smile. “I don’t mind.”
He let out a quiet laugh, then climbed onto the bed. He stretched onto his side, facing her. “Are you nervous, Lucy?”
She bit her lip. “Maybe a little.”
Ciaran settled his hand on her hip, but he kept it still, though a part of him wanted to explore every one of her tempting curves. He lay quietly with her, stroking his hand over her shoulders and neck, down the center of her body to rest on her stomach. He touched her this way for a long time, easy and unhurried, until he felt her relax, her limbs going heavy against the coverlet.
Then, he kissed her. Her lips, her neck, the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. He was gentle with her, careful, building her passion slowly with light strokes of his tongue over her satiny skin. Lucy lay quietly at first, but as he continued to tease her, her body grew restless.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, squirming closer, pressing her
hips to his.
“Not yet, sweetheart.” Ciaran stilled her with gentle hands, keeping her pinned to the bed as he nuzzled his face into the soft skin between her breasts. Lucy let out a quiet whimper when his tongue darted out to taste her. He cupped one of her breasts in his palm and teased his thumb over her hard nipple.
“Ciaran.” Lucy’s body jerked a little at the caress, and she slid her fingers into his hair.
Ciaran dragged his thumb over her sensitive nipple again, and then again, his breath held. He waited until she was writhing against him, pushing herself harder against his hand.
Then…then he did what he’d been aching to do.
He closed his mouth over the tip of her breast and sucked.
“Oh.” Lucy’s body arched sharply, her fingers pulling hard at his hair as he licked and teased, abrading the tender peak before he moved to her other breast, sucking and nipping until the straining tip was wet under his tongue.
When he finally drew back his heart was pounding in his chest, each of his breaths strangled and desperate. He stared down at her with heavy-lidded eyes.
She dragged her fingernails across the sensitive skin of his belly, her dark eyes burning. “More, Ciaran.”
He couldn’t deny that sensual command. “What do you want, sweetheart?” He traced lazy circles over her lower belly, drawing ever closer to the sweet tuft of soft red hair between her thighs with every stroke.
She cradled his face in her hands, dragged his mouth to hers, and murmured against his lips, “You. I want you. All of you.” She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and moved his hand lower until each of his strokes grazed her inner thigh.
Ciaran groaned as his cock gave a desperate surge. He let his knuckle slide over the sweet spot between her legs, another tormented groan breaking from his lips when he felt how wet she was. He lowered his face to her breasts and took a nipple back into his mouth as he sank one finger inside her. He worked her slowly, sliding over her slippery center, teasing and stroking until she was pleading, her breath hot in his ear.
He pushed gently against the insides of her thighs. “Open for me, sweetheart.”
Her legs fell open, her back arching. Soft whimpers fell from her lips. “Ciaran, please.”
“Do you ache for me, Lucy? Right here?” He dragged his body over hers, nudging her legs wider with a twist of his hips. He reached down to take himself in hand and teased the head of his cock against the wet heat between her silky thighs.
They both sucked in a breath. Lucy’s fingernails scored his back, and a soft hiss left Ciaran’s lips. He hovered over her, dipping his head down to take her mouth while he moved carefully between her legs. “I want you so much, Lucy.”
Her hand settled on his cheek and she turned his face to hers. “I want you, too.”
He kissed her palm, but held back a few moments more, thrusting gently against her until she grew more used to the rhythm of his body between her legs.
Then, with one quick, powerful surge, he was inside her.
Lucy gasped. Ciaran froze, every nerve in his body screaming with tension as he held himself perfectly still. Lucy was panting under him, her body rigid. “Ah, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” He leaned over her, murmuring soothing words as he dropped gentle kisses against her hair, her cheeks, her throat, her lips.
Gradually her breathing steadied, and her body relaxed beneath his. “I’m all right.” She caressed his cheek, her mouth opening in wonder as she shifted a little beneath him, accustoming herself to the feel of him inside her. After a few moments she arched against him, a hesitant thrust, and wrapped her legs around his hips.
“Ah God, Lucy.” He threw his head back, gritting his teeth against the pleasure. He was already on the jagged edge of release, ready to spill inside her, but he held back, his neck stiff with strain as he moved in slow, restrained thrusts until Lucy’s breaths grew ragged, and she was lifting herself against him with every nudge of his hips.
“Ciaran.” His name disintegrated into a desperate moan on her lips. “I—I need…”
He gave her what she needed, his hips plunging as he thrust harder and faster into her, urged on by her choked cries in his ears. A groan tore loose as his climax slid closer, the base of his spine tingling, tightening, his vision blurring as he held off his release, waiting for her.
“Come for me, Lucy,” he growled, his teeth grazing her neck. He reached between her legs and stroked his fingers over her. One stroke, two, and that was all it took before she was gasping, her body tightening around him as she fell over the edge into trembling, moaning bliss.
Ciaran was right behind her, his back bowing, her name an incoherent plea on his lips as he shuddered over her, his cock jerking as he spilled himself inside her.
Afterward he held her tightly against him, dazed, both of their bodies slick with sweat. He gazed down at her, brushing strands of damp hair away from her face. “I’ve never…it’s never been like that before.”
Because he’d never cared for anyone before.
Not in the way he cared for her. With all of himself, with everything inside him.
She touched his cheek, bringing his mouth down to hers. Then she kissed him so softly, so sweetly he was certain his heart was going to burst from his chest.
Ciaran didn’t remember falling asleep. He remembered rolling onto his side and gathering her against him. He remembered tucking her head under his chin, and the scent of her hair. He remembered the feel of her slender back pressed against his chest, and her soft, contented sigh before he drifted off, his arms wrapped around Lucy.
Chapter Twenty-two
Ciaran had never given much thought to ladies’ undergarments before. Not until the following morning when he woke up and discovered Lucy’s shift was the single most seductive article of clothing he’d ever seen.
He’d taken great care to wrap her up in it before he’d fallen asleep in the early morning hours, easing it gently over her head and smoothing it down her legs until it hid every hollow and curve that had driven him to madness the night before.
As it turned out, the thin linen didn’t hide a bloody thing. Not the arch of her neck, the long, tempting line of her legs, the gentle swell of her hips and breasts, the sweet shape of her nipples, or the tantalizing shadow between her thighs.
Ciaran rolled onto his back on the bed and threw an arm over his eyes.
Flimsy, worthless bit of cloth.
Fine, then. He simply wouldn’t look. If he didn’t look at her he wouldn’t be tempted to touch her again. He was a gentleman, after all, not an animal, and a gentleman didn’t trifle with a lady who hadn’t yet agreed to marry him.
He certainly didn’t do it twice.
But then a lady didn’t invite a man to her bed unless she intended to marry him, and that meant Lucy had come to her senses at last.
He could wait until they were married to touch her again. It wasn’t as if he were some green lad who couldn’t control himself. Lucy wasn’t the first woman he’d ever had in his bed. He’d tasted smooth, creamy skin before. He’d worshipped every arc and dip and warm, scented valley of a woman’s body with his hands, his lips, and his tongue before. This was no different.
She was no different—
He let out a low, tortured groan and rolled onto his side. He propped his head on one hand and gazed down at her. Lucy was splayed out on her back, her lips parted, her hair spilling in a wild red ocean across the pillow. The useless shift had slipped down her shoulder, leaving flushed, naked skin exposed to his heated gaze.
God, how he wanted to kiss that bared neck, run his tongue over that perfect skin, teasing and licking and nipping until her eyelids fluttered open with a moan.
Ciaran squeezed his eyes closed. The truth was she could have been wearing dozens of shifts, one layered on top of the next, and it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference. He’d still wan
t her.
Ache for her. Burn for her…
There was a faint rustle of fabric, soft sheets sliding against his skin. Warm legs wrapped around his, and fingertips dragged down his bare chest. “Ciaran?”
Ciaran opened his eyes to find Lucy gazing up at him, a sleepy smile curving her red lips.
That was all it took. Her smile hit him right in the center of his chest, hurtled into his lower belly, then exploded between his legs like a lightning bolt. He reached for her, groaning when she tumbled willingly into his arms.
Her lips, her skin, her palm stroking over his chest and belly, her breathless murmurs in his ears—everything about Lucy was warm and welcoming and alive. She came to him eagerly, teasing him with soft touches and light brushes of her lips and fingers until he arched and writhed for her.
Ciaran lost himself in her then. His world went fuzzy at the edges until all he knew, all he was, was Lucy. The swells of her breasts in his palms, the hard peaks of her nipples against his fingertips and tongue, her legs tangled with his, her hands tight his hair, the sinuous twist of her body against his.
The taste of her.
God, the sweet taste of her, the slide of her silky skin like cream against his tongue.
When he couldn’t stand the torment a moment longer he cupped the curves of her hips in his hands and slid her body on top of his. She gasped when he found her hot center with his fingers, her head falling back as he circled and petted her there until her desire flooded his palm.
A hoarse groan escaped his lips when he surged upward, sinking into the warm, tight embrace of her body. She wrapped her legs around his hips and twined her arms around his neck so every part of her held him. He thought, fleetingly, that it had always been this way with Lucy. She’d been holding him tightly against her from the beginning, and she’d never stopped.
Then Lucy cried out, her lips on his as the pleasure took them, and for long, delirious moments, he didn’t think at all.
Afterward, she fell against his chest, her body limp and sated, and he buried his face in her neck, dazed. As his breathing calmed his limbs went liquid, his body melting against hers. He could have stayed like that all day, his parted lips pressed against her throat as they both drifted off to sleep, but it was a full day’s drive to his family’s country estate in Buckinghamshire.
