There was nothing tender, careful, or polite about this man.
But despite that, there was no fear in her, not where he was concerned. There was only ardor.
“Mr. Sutton,” she began, then paused, uncertain of what to say.
She had read so many tales. Mirabel had attempted to give her an edifying talk prior to her marriage. Neither had prepared Octavia for this moment.
“Jasper,” he reminded her. “I don’t give a damn how proper married couples carry on in your world. I am Jasper, and you are Octavia, and I am going to kiss you now.”
Perhaps it was a warning, but those words felt more like a promise.
She tipped her head back, eager for his mouth, forgetting her uncertainty and vexation. And he fulfilled her every expectation. Here was the kiss she had waited for following their vows. His mouth, like the rest of him, was hard and yet persuasive. Skilled. He angled his lips over hers, and she opened to his tongue.
How easy he made it to forget the resentment she held, the worries over what her life would be as his wife. With his lips moving with such decadent proficiency, her own name evaporated into the ether. But as quickly as the meeting of mouths had begun, he drew back, putting an end to it.
She was left breathless, wanting, staring up at him, her lips tingling.
“Say it,” he growled.
For a moment, her longing-fogged mind struggled and failed to comprehend. She did not know what he wanted of her.
“My name,” he elaborated. “Say it.”
“Jasper.” Suddenly, she was overcome by how much she wanted him. Her nipples ached, her breasts felt heavy and full trapped behind her stays and the confines of her bodice. Between her legs, she throbbed.
She was restless. Aching. He was the cure.
For now.
But she cast all caution to the wind. Her worries could wait.
“What am I?” he asked next, his long fingers playing with the strand of pearls at her throat.
“My husband.”
His grin was sudden. He was so handsome and harsh and forbidding all at once. She had never known another man like him, and she knew with a clarity that seemed to come from another realm itself that she never would.
“I like the way that sounds on your pretty lips,” he said.
So do I.
Octavia bit her lip to keep from uttering the revelation. She was not entirely lost to her needs. Today was but the first of their union, and if he thought she had abandoned her hopes of beginning her own scandal journal just because he had cleverly forced her hand in marriage, he had underestimated her.
“Say it again.”
His voice was not harsh. Rather, it was almost tender. Coaxing.
“Husband,” she repeated, because he wanted her to say that word and because, heaven help her, she wanted to say it as well. She wanted to please him.
His fingertip brushed over the place where her pulse dwelled. “So fast. Do I frighten you, minx?”
“No.” The answer was swift. She did not believe he would harm her. If she had harbored a moment of doubt, she would have consigned herself to a life of drudgery as a companion instead.
“Good.” His head dipped, and he pressed a kiss to the place his finger had abandoned, mouth open and hot. He sucked her flesh in a way that made her shiver. “I don’t want you to fear me. I want you to want me.” His mouth coasted along her eager flesh, finding her ear. “I want you to want me desperately.”
To her shame, Octavia could not quell the moan that rose from her. His lips were learning the shell of her ear. One of his hands remained on her waist, and the other slid down her bodice to cup her left breast. They were fully clothed, nary an article of clothing removed.
But she wanted him as he had said.
Desperately.
Kisses and whispers and caresses were not enough to sate her.
His thumb rubbed tantalizing circles over her nipple, which was trapped behind her stays. And then his hand moved, traveling to her back, to the tapes fastening her gown. They loosened with ease as he sucked the fleshy lobe of her ear into his mouth, then nipped it with his teeth.
His head lifted and he pulled the sleeves down her arms with slow, efficient motions. Her dress pooled on the floor in a puddle of satin. He kissed her again as he removed her petticoat. Her fingers had a mind of their own, pulling at his coat. Needing to feel him. As if he understood the wild force of desire careening through her, Jasper helped. He shrugged out of the garment, then broke the kiss to work on the buttons of his waistcoat.
His gaze was hot and hungry on her, as potent as a touch. “Christ, look at you. So beautiful.”
Octavia had never felt beautiful before. After many disappointing seasons before settling herself firmly on the shelf, she knew she was no diamond of the first water. But there was something about the way Jasper Sutton kissed her, the reverence in his voice, the ferocity in his stare, the worshipful nature of his hands, that made her feel different.
Lovely. Powerful. Desirable.
How potent it was to feel wanted by this man.
He untied her stays, and they too fell to the floor, the wooden busk hitting the carpets with a thump. Her nipples were hard and aching, the stiff points visible beneath the fabric of her chemise. She was almost nude, clad in nothing but a whisper of fabric and her stockings.
“Beautiful,” he repeated as he hooked a finger in the knot of his cravat and pulled it loose before moving to the three buttons at the neck of his shirt.
He no longer looked like a gentleman. The elegant trappings fell away as he hauled the shirt over his head. And then, there was no coherent thought. Words were insufficient. Only her hands would do. They were on him. Touching his bare chest.
How hot and sleek and smooth his flesh, the tightly leashed strength of him never more apparent than now. Muscles corded his abdomen, his upper arms. There was a light dusting of black hair on his chest, and this intrigued her too. How different his body was from hers. And there was more. Her questing fingertips found imperfections. Puckers and slashes, places where new skin had replaced old.
She lingered on a scar at his side. “What happened to you?”
“Battle scars,” he said.
She wanted to know more. Everything. She never wanted to stop touching him.
“Does it pain you?” she asked, tracing the wicked-looking line with her forefinger.
“No, minx.” He caught her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the knuckles and staying further examination of his torso. “You look as if you’ve never seen a man before.”
Her cheeks went hot. “That is because I have not seen one without his shirt before now.”
“Damn.” He released her hand, his gaze intense on hers. “Never?”
She shook her head, wondering if he was pleased by her lack of experience. “Never.”
He lowered his head and released a vicious oath. And then he cupped her face and kissed her soundly. As if he were voracious. Claiming her. She kissed him back, pressing her body to his, and felt the thick ridge of his desire against her belly.
Then they were moving together. Backward. Slow steps as one, over the carpets. Toward the bed.
Her innocence both astounded and inflamed Jasper. He had never bedded a virgin, and of all the times he had imagined Octavia naked beneath him, somehow, his overwrought mind had never stopped to consider she was a neophyte. Or that she would touch his scarred body with such worshipful caresses. Nor had he imagined the untutored stroke of her soft fingertips on his chest would nearly make him spend in his trousers before he was ever inside her.
His cock was painfully rigid, demanding more than the frustrating friction of his smalls as he guided her backward. Her lips were warm and silken, her tongue daring to play with his. If her kisses were any indication of what sort of lover she would make, his new wife was going to be the death of him.
But what a sweet death it would be.
He tore his mouth from hers, his breathing harsh
, his heart thundering in his chest, and took a moment to drink in the sight of her, face flushed, mouth swollen from his kisses. Those golden-brown eyes were shielded by the fall of her lashes, as if she were in a daze. The mounds of her breasts pressed against the nearly transparent chemise, her hard nipples standing out like offerings.
He caught fistfuls of fabric and lifted over her head. And then she was bare save for her stockings. He took a moment to admire the full swells of her breasts, the pink tips straining toward him. The curves of her waist and hips, the mound at the juncture of her thighs, shielded by onyx curls.
His. All his.
And he was ravenous.
Lightheaded with the wonder of his Octavia, naked and beautiful and elegant.
The remainder of his clothes could not be removed with enough haste. He did not even pull back the counterpane, just urged her to the bed and joined her there, covering her body with his. The feeling of her, small and feminine and so much more than he had dreamed, had him nearly wild.
He kissed her everywhere he could. Lips, jaw, throat. The curve of her shoulder. One breast’s swell, then the other. He sucked a stiff peak into his mouth and she made a sound of need, arching her back. Her nipples were sensitive. Something to remember. He swirled his tongue in circles, then flicked it over the bud.
“Oh,” she said softly, a sigh of approval he felt in his ballocks.
He was going to devour her. Introduce her to pleasure in painstaking detail. Even if it killed him. He had restraint. His cock could damn well wait.
He released her nipple, glancing up at her. Impossible to believe she was his wife, this decadent creature. He wanted to make her writhe with ecstasy under him. Wanted her desperate.
Jasper kissed down her velvet-smooth belly, intent upon his course. When he coaxed her thighs apart, she opened for him, giving him a glimpse of heaven in the pink, pouty bud of her sex, the slick folds already glistening with dew.
“Jasper?” She was breathless but hesitant as she said his name.
“I am going to make you ready for me,” he managed past the rising swell of all-consuming lust.
He settled himself into place, hooking her legs over his shoulders and cupping a cheek of her arse in each hand. His fingers kneaded the soft, supple flesh. Every part of her seemed made for him. He lowered his head, traced his tongue along her slit, then moved higher. He lapped at the swollen center of her need and was rewarded by a gasp, then another moan. Her fingers slid into his hair and this time when she said his name, there was not a hint of question.
Only appreciation.
“Jasper.”
He could happily hear her moan his name every hour of every day. Every minute? Christ, he was lost. She was musky and delicious, every bit as responsive as he had hoped, her hips rocking in instinctive rhythm as she urged him on. He found himself moving with her, grinding his cockstand into the mattress in an attempt at relief. Licking a woman had never brought him off before. But he was in danger of spilling onto the counterpane like a lad tupping his first woman.
He held her to him and feasted, sucking on her clitoris, running his tongue between her folds. His face was buried in her sex, and she was slick, moaning. Close. So close. He licked into her, groaning when she pulled at his hair and thrust herself forward. He found his way back to her pearl then gently bit, working her with his teeth. She shuddered beneath him, coming undone.
Rubbing herself against him, she whimpered, seeking more. Wet. She was so wet. Drenched. In a helpless frenzy, he continued licking and laving and sucking. Giving her everything she wanted until she came a second time with a low, keening moan. Need crashed over him like a violent wave in a storm-tossed sea.
Damnation.
There was nothing else he could do. Not enough time. He rose to his knees and took his leaking cock in a firm grip. There she lay, legs open, flesh swollen and glistening and pink, lips parted. Her honey-brown gaze met his as he stroked himself. Once, twice. The pinnacle that built inside him was fierce. Weeks upon weeks of longing for her, of imagining marking her as his, coupled with the taste of her on his tongue and her erotic abandon rose to a crescendo.
With a cry, he came, his seed jetting onto her breasts.
Heart pounding, he collapsed to the bed at her side.
Fancy that. He, Jasper Sutton, had just failed to consummate his marriage.
Octavia had read forbidden, erotic works before. She had pored over nearly every caricature sold in London, many of which were quite lewd. But nothing could have prepared her for the conflagration which had just occurred between herself and her new husband.
And he had yet to even consummate their marriage yet.
The flesh between her thighs was still pulsing and alive, and she was basking in the warm glow of her release, her heart racing faster than a horse at full gallop. The memory of his handsome face pressed between her legs as he licked her…she did not think she would ever recover.
“I read about such things,” she said into the silence that had descended in the chamber, “but I never imagined it could be so wondrous.”
Jasper rolled to his side, head propped on one hand, his gaze burning into hers. “You read about them, minx?”
Her cheeks warmed. “Yes.”
“Of course you would have.” He slipped from the bed then and crossed the chamber, still naked.
She did not know if he meant those words as praise or censure, but as she admired the muscles in his bottom and the lean strength of his legs as he walked, she could not say she cared either way. Jasper Sutton was a handsome man. But in the nude, there was so much more of him to admire. Everything about him was sharp and powerful. Even without his clothes, he moved with an easy grace. Stopping before a washstand where a pitcher and bowl sat, he took up a cloth, made it wet, and then returned to the bed.
The moment reminded her of the evening he had tended to her scrapes after she had taken a tumble from the tree. Only, now, her ankle had healed. She had no scrapes to tend to. Only…
The remnants of his pleasure were on her skin, branding her as his.
Gently, he cleaned her with the cloth, taking extra care, it seemed, with her nipples. Slow, steady circles of the cloth until they were puckered and aching. He caught one between his thumb and forefinger and tugged.
“Then you know that we ‘ave not truly shared the marriage bed yet,” he said.
The disappearing h told her he was more profoundly affected by what had passed between them than he appeared.
He was teasing her nipple unmercifully now. He had finished cleaning her. There was no reason to continue with the cloth save one. He enjoyed touching her. Liked bringing her to such agonizing heights of desire. He was making her forget all the reasons she had to be nettled.
She shifted restlessly beneath the light swirls he made with the damp cloth over her skin. This was not enough. And the ache between her thighs returned, telling her that her body was ready for more. For everything.
Feeling bold, she reached for him, stroking down his chest. Following the trail of hair down the taut plane of his stomach to where his manhood was once more beginning to rise. Did she dare?
She dared.
Octavia took him in hand as he had done to himself when he had spent. He was firm and warm, the skin smoother than she had imagined. His hips swiveled into her palm and he made a low sound of pleasure.
“Harder,” he said.
She did not know precisely what he meant, but she tightened her fingers on his length. In response, he swelled, growing longer and larger. An answering ache echoed at the apex of her thighs.
“Damn it, minx, if you keep touching me like that, I’ll never be inside you.”
His low growl did nothing to deter her, but Jasper did not appear to mind.
He tossed the cloth away, and then his fingers dipped into her folds. She parted her legs for him as if it were the most natural thing because somehow, when she was with Jasper, it was. There was no shame. Only sheer, radiant pleasure
. He rubbed over the bundle of nerves hidden in her folds, the one she had only dared to touch in the darkness of the night.
She was so sensitive there from the wonders he had worked with his lips and tongue and teeth that a sound escaped her, her own hips tipping to seek more. He kissed her again, sinking a hand into her hair. Belatedly, she realized some of it was still pinned into place while other pieces had come loose of the morning’s careful coiffure.
But she was beyond caring, especially when he gently disengaged from her touch and insinuated his big body between her legs, pressing the tip of him to her folds and stroking up and down.
“You’re still so wet,” he said into their kiss.
And this, too, was praise. She had no doubt.
When he used the head of his cock to play with her bud, she whimpered with need. Her hands were on his shoulders now, clutching, nails digging into the satiny skin of his back. Trying to pull him nearer.
She wanted everything he had to give.
He raised his head as he settled himself lower. “Are you ready for me, minx?”
“Yes.” Always. Forever. In that moment, it seemed as if she had been ready for him her entire life.
The invasion was new but not unexpected as he pushed inside her. There was a slight sting as her body grew accustomed to the foreign sensation. And then he thrust forward, and she was stretched and filled. He remained still, his face a study in concentration, bracing himself over her.
The thickness of him within her was somehow…right. There was no other word that would suffice. It was as if her body was meant for his and his for hers. They had come together so perfectly. But there was more than this, and she knew it. Her inner muscles clenched around him, and he lowered his head to the place where her shoulder and neck met, groaning as he nipped the sensitive flesh there.
“You feel so damn good,” he whispered against her skin. “So tight, so hot. Fuck.”
The rawness in his voice heightened her own desire. He felt good too. Better than good. He began to move, and the sensations changed. Slowly, he swiveled his hips, withdrawing almost completely before sinking inside her again. Each thrust brought new fire. The place where they joined was the center of her world.
Sutton's Spinster: A Wicked Winters Spin-off Series (The Sinful Suttons Book 1) Page 9
