“I want to see ye too.” He stroked his thumb over her lower lip and she instinctively touched the tip of her tongue to the pad of his finger. He gave a short groan on the exhale of his breath, as though her action pained him.
She knew better now. There was no pain, save from the force of desire.
She turned her back to him and swept aside her hair, revealing the laces of her gown. Cool air graced the back of her neck and sent a ripple through her that was equal parts pleasure, excitement and anxiousness.
He was careful as he worked the laces of her gown, not with the lust-blind enthusiasm she'd expected from a lifelong warrior, but with the care one would expect of a troubadour. The surcoat loosened around her and his fingers lightly stroked over the exposed skin. First against the exposed top of her back, just over her girdle, a whisper of a touch that drew a gasp from her lips.
Then his caress teased higher, over the sensitive skin of her neck. Marin tilted her head to the side to give him better access. His hands slid over her shoulders, pushing aside the heavy dress and girdle as he did so. His breath fanned over the dip where her neck connected with her shoulder and the place between her legs went hot with longing.
“Ye're so verra lovely.” His whispered words swept over the delicate line of her neck. She shivered.
He pressed his mouth to her there, once, twice, three times. Dear God, four and five times. Her skin burned with his touch, eager for so much more. His hand shifted to her chest where it slipped beneath the gown and cupped a breast with his palm. His fingers played over her sensitive nipple until a needling pleasure left her crying out.
He nibbled the area just below her ear and a moan made its way from her throat. The more he kissed and licked, nipped and sucked, the more she wanted. His hands moved over her as he sampled her, carefully peeling the gown from her body, unveiling her, one lover's kiss at a time. He pulled the ribbon on her chemise, and she did not move to stop him.
She wanted to be naked against him, to feel the heat of him against her, the strength of his body. The hardness of his phallus.
She drew a shaky breath at the thought of where that would go—an idea that had repelled her when first she'd heard of it years ago. An idea that now left her aching with curiosity.
The chemise fell away. Bran's chest pressed to her back and the hard column of male flesh she'd been considering fit snuggly against her rump. She arched her back against him in hungry instinct rather than thought.
His hands were around her, fondling, touching…everywhere. Skimming the sides of her breasts, holding them, over the length of her upper thighs, across her flat stomach. Everywhere except the place burning for his attention.
He caught her earlobe gently between his teeth as his fingers crept toward the most private place between her legs. Before she could even register through the lust-hazed fog of her mind what he might do, one finger delivered a long, stroking sweep, and elicited a pleasure so white hot and brilliant, she couldn't help but cry out.
“Ye're so damn wet,” he growled against her neck.
No thoughts of embarrassment reached her with his assessment. Not when her dampness brought forth such hunger, and not when he was touching her so intimately.
His fingertip glided over her sex once more, firmer this time, more possessive. Marin opened for him as his solid body braced her back, keeping her upright when she might have otherwise fallen. Her hips lifted to greet his touch in desperate anticipation.
He probed gently inside of her. Marin leaned her head back against his shoulder and panted at the welcome exploration. His hand cupped her, his fingers slipping through the slickness of her sex, the desire in her pounding to a point she feared she might somehow erupt into flames. One of his fingers eased up the line of her slit and settled over the concentrated center of her lust. It was a simple graze of a touch, but it left her crying out again, her voice husky.
He groaned in her ear, his breath coming faster now. She arched back against the hardness of him, rubbing her bottom up and down.
“My God, ye’re going to undo me, woman.” He spun her about and lowered his head to hers. Their mouths met with hungry, slanting kisses, their tongues stroking and teeth bumping with desperation.
He eased her backward, walking her slowly while his hands roved over her body until she met the bed with the backs of her calves. He guided her to the mattress and her heart slammed in her chest. This was it.
His gazed fixed on her, watching her watching him. He put his hands to the belt of his hose and unfastened it from his waist, letting it fall to the floor with his braies and hose. He was fully naked, with his powerful thighs and the thick column of flesh jutting from a nest of dark hair at the apex of his legs.
Her heart caught and beat wildly in her chest. He came to the bed, leaned over her, pressing flush against her. Hot skin and prickling dark hair and the thickness of his phallus brushed against her thigh. He caught her face in his free hand and kissed her with the passion of a man about to lay claim to his woman.
The uncertainty nipped at Bran's mind once more, a clear line of unease in the haze of passion. Marin’s body was a beautiful blend of feminine curves paired with the surprisingly sensual lines of strength. She arched her pelvis toward him in a hungry rhythm, evidence she wanted him with equal lust as he wanted her.
Except she was a virgin.
He longed to draw out their pleasure despite the insistent throbbing in his cock. He wanted to take his time exploring her, his lips and tongue teasing over her petal-soft skin until he got to her center, where he would lap until she reached her crisis against his mouth.
But she was noble born, a woman who had never even been kissed before meeting him. And she was his wife, worthy of the greatest respect.
He moved his hand between them to slide against her slick opening once more. She drew a sharp breath and her hips flinched toward him. Aye, she was ready. So damn ready, it made him groan in anticipation. He curled a finger inside of her and rubbed at the source of her pleasure above it with his thumb.
He didn't know these noble’s rules. He didn't know if the kind of passion he enjoyed was something she might find offensive, especially on their wedding night.
Her sheath was tight around his finger, gripping with enough pressure that he knew he would not last long within her. He slowly inserted a second finger, stretching her. She paused only briefly before moving with him again.
His cock was nearly bursting. Her sighs, the flush of her cheeks, the way her eyes sparkled beneath half-hooded eyes, he could scarcely take it. He withdrew his fingers from her, practically driven wild by her natural musk, the perfume of her arousal. Without thought, he licked his fingers and relished the taste of her.
Marin sucked in a breath of surprise at the action.
He wouldn't apologize, not when he intended to do so much more at a later date.
He held his cock in his hand, his fingers still glistening from her center, and guided himself to the triangle of downy blonde hair, stopping just at her entrance. She spread her legs wider, the delicate muscles of her inner thighs straining with her need.
He gritted his teeth and silently cursed the need for women to be virgins for their husbands. He gently eased his hips forward when he wanted to thrust, settling a scant inch within her when he wanted to sheath the full length in one hearty thrust.
She was so wet that he could easily do so.
He pushed another inch inward and she gasped. The pressure gripping him tingled from his bollocks and spiraled through him. Again, he pushed deeper, though now the grip of her turned to a blend of pleasure and discomfort. She was too tight. He strained forward to push deeper inside of her.
Her brows flinched and her starry-eyed gaze of passion firmed into one of determination.
“Am I hurting ye?” he panted.
She shook her head stiffly.
His entire body ached from holding it with such rigidity. He'd never been one for bedding virgins, and now he knew why. He
started to press in deeper when she wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed with incredible strength, impaling him the rest of the way into her.
The pressure around his cock made stars wink and dance in front of his eyes. Too tight, aye, but still hot and wet. A low groan rumbled in his chest and he gripped the coverlet beneath her.
He stared down at her, at the set of her mouth. “Are ye—”
“Stop treating me like I'm delicate.” Her tense expression eased. “Please.”
“It will feel better soon,” he said, hoping he was right. He didn't know much about virgins, or how long it would take one to start enjoying the act. He only knew he liked women who were lusty, who enjoyed hours of pleasure and teasing.
And he knew it was awkward as hell having a conversation with his cock lodged inside her, tense with the need to release. His heartbeat pounded through his whole body, demanding he take his pleasure. The need was so bloody intense, it left his brain foggy. The obvious discomfort written on her face, however, told him he had a lot to make up for with this inferior performance.
Rather than move in her again, he bent over her, body shaking with restraint and painful need, and delicately licked the narrow line of skin between her breasts.
“What are you doing?” she breathed.
He brushed his lips over her nipple before opening his mouth and drawing in the pert bud. He arched his back, beginning to withdraw from her slowly while he did this and nearly shuddered at the bliss tingling through his body to move within her again.
Marin shifted underneath him. Resolute, he braced his weight on one hand and slipped his other between them where they were joined. He found the swollen nub of her pleasure and carefully rolled his thumb over it while switching his mouth to the other breast, to love the other nipple with his mouth and tongue.
Carefully, he pushed into her once more and found that the tension squeezing him in a merciless grip relaxed somewhat. The pleasure without the pain nearly undid him.
He played his thumb over her sex and moved his mouth from her nipple to her sensual lips. She wrapped her arms around him and met his kiss with the same ready delight as earlier. He thrust faster now, sliding in and pulling out, only to plunge in once more while their tongues mated together, and his thumb rolled and rolled and rolled over her.
Her breath became lusty pants between their kisses and her obvious enjoyment of his loving heightened his pleasure. His cockstand wasn't painful anymore; it was hot and throbbing with an overwhelming pleasure that left his bollocks drawing tight with the need to release.
Marin's body tensed beneath him and he sensed her nearing her crisis.
He drove in harder and increased the stroke of his thumb. She shuddered and threw her head back, crying out, her face a complete story of every indulgent emotion exploding through her.
Bran's own climax overtook him as he witnessed such pleasure, and his hips jerked against her with primitive action rather than thought. His seed poured into her and stars flashed once more like winking fireflies in his vision.
They remained joined together while their breathing calmed, and their lust cooled. Once his heart had ceased the frenzied racing, he rose and drew a cloth from the ewer, returning to the bed to tend to her.
He gently ran the cool, wet linen over her. He'd expected blood and saw none, which piqued his curiosity.
“Isla left ye a balm.” He reached for the small jar on the bedside table and set aside the cloth.
“That isn't necessary.” Marin had already begun to pull her long legs together, closing herself off from him.
But Bran's fingers were already glossy with the sweet-smelling ointment. “It will help with any discomfort.” He frowned. “I dinna like having hurt ye.”
“Not all of it hurt,” she said in a low voice.
His cock gave a little start at the insinuation in her tone, at the obvious lust. “Enough flattering. Part yer legs for me, wife.”
Marin watched him carefully and widened her knees, revealing her sex to him once more, still pink and swollen with the aftereffects of their loving. He swept his fingers over her opening, spreading the balm over her.
She closed her eyes. “That does feel nice.”
The pebble at the top of her slit became engorged beneath his ministrations. He knew if he rubbed at it again, he might have her coming once more.
But she was no seasoned woman, eager for multiple love sessions in one night. He began to withdraw his hand when she reached down and settled hers over his, fastening his touch between her legs.
Her hips rolled in sensual undulations. “Don’t stop.”
He continued to spread the balm, keeping from her entrance and focusing mainly on the bud as it swelled and swelled and swelled. Her breath came in little pants and her cheeks went red with pleasure as they had when he’d been inside her. Dear God, she was going to climax once more.
He gritted his teeth and moved his thumb faster over her sex until she turned her face into the pillow and muted those beautiful cries of pleasure. He pulled his hand away as her body relaxed. She rolled her face from the pillow and gave him a sheepish smile.
“Forgive me.” She sank her teeth onto her bottom lip. “It felt so good…”
“Dinna ever apologize for enjoying what we do.” He set aside the jar of ointment and willed his cock to calm before he settled in beside her. Climaxing twice was one thing but having him inside her when she was likely still sore was another. He relaxed behind her and cradled close the body he'd only just begun to learn.
He had much more exploring to do with her. Not only physically, but also learning more of who this unique woman was. For though he'd been trying not to think on it, and despite what Marin had claimed, he knew by the absence of a barrier when they’d mated, and a lack of blood–she had not been a virgin.
19
Bran woke the following morning to an empty bed. The place beside him was cool under his palm. Some time had evidently passed since Marin had risen and departed.
Daylight streamed in through the windows. He had slept far later than intended.
He dragged himself from bed, refreshed himself with the remaining water in the ewer and pulled on a pair of gray hose and a dark doublet. He'd been about to stride from the room when he caught sight of the rumpled bed and the brilliant white of their sheets.
Her missing maidenhead niggled at the back of his mind again. He growled in frustration and pulled the sleeve of his doublet and shirt upward. With his forearm over the bed, he dug the tip of his blade into the inside of his elbow and squeezed out a couple drops of blood. The deep red droplets hit the sheets exactly where he’d aimed. He patted the mess about with his fingertips, smearing it in a way he assumed would happen naturally through the act of intercourse.
When he finished, he took care to use the crumpled linen he'd cleaned her with to remove the blood from his hands, further securing his intentional proof. It would not do to have anyone question her maidenhead.
He glanced once more at his handiwork, pulled the sleeve of his shirt and doublet down and quit the room to find his wife. Bixby sat in the hallway and leapt at Bran's arrival.
“Have ye seen yer mistress?” Bran asked the cat.
Bixby blinked up at him. The little blighter probably wouldn't tell Bran even if he did know. Bran gave him a pat on the head anyway and proceeded to the places he was most likely to find her. In the kitchen, he discovered Nan setting about the first meal of the day with clear instructions already delivered by Marin. Next, he went on the battlements where Sir Richard had the caste soldiers already scurrying about to fulfill her orders. Finally, he made his way to the solar and found her discussing the schedule with a thin, brown-haired woman.
He nodded to them both upon entering, walking closer when Marin waved him over. “Bran, this is our chatelaine, Rohesia.”
The woman had a long, narrow mouth that stretched longer still with her smile. She bobbed a quick curtsey. “Will that be all, my lady?” she as
ked of Marin.
Marin smiled. “Aye, thank you, Rohesia.”
Ah, yes, the woman who refused to even discuss cleaning and laundry with him when he first took Werrick Castle. Still, he nodded in greeting as she departed and closed the door behind her.
Marin’s hair had been plaited into long braids and wound atop her head where a glittering gold caul secured them into place. Having her hair up exposed her long, graceful neck and he found himself aching to press his mouth to her perfumed skin. To hear her cry out once more at his touch.
“Marin.” Her name came out in something of a groan.
She swallowed and turned her gaze to him. “Good morrow, Bran.”
“Ye were up early.” He closed the distance between them and ran a hand lightly down the side of her pale blue cotehardie. The silk was cool and slick, and his hand glided over her waist and the swell of her hips, easily skimming over her curves. He deemed she ought to wear silk every day for the sheer purpose of him running his hands over her.
She stepped back slightly. Away from his caress. “There is always much to do.”
He didn't reach for her again, but he couldn't tamp down the frustration at her obvious rejection of his advances. He thought the night before had burned away her hesitation.
“I believe much of the responsibility of the household ought to be mine, aye?” He gave her the half-grin most ladies went silly over.
Marin's frowned. “Do you seek to take my position as well as my castle?”
“I seek to be yer husband, woman.” He said it firmly, in a tone he hoped brokered no argument. “Ye canna take all this on yer own.”
“I have for years. I do not intend to stop now.” She spoke lightly, but he knew there was a greater depth to her words.
“Marin,” he said her name again, this time more gently. “I dinna seek to take anything from ye—”
“But you have.” She shook her head as tears burned in her eyes. “You took my castle and my people and my father’s fortune.”
Marin's Promise (Borderland Ladies Book 1) Page 16
