Bride Ball

by Brenna Lyons

  He eased his mouth away, his breathing ragged, his arms flexing against her ribs. Without a word, he eased his chin under hers and urged hers up, baring her neck.

  His breath taunted her, and she knew what he intended next. The stroke of his tongue against the sensitive flesh at the join of neck and chin nearly folded her knees a second time. It was slow, silken, warm even in the warmth of his rooms.

  He didn’t hesitate, moving on minutely to stroke again. The overlapping touches moved steadily downward, wrenching sighs and sounds that should have been pleas for more from her.

  The first lick at her collarbone succeeded in weakening her knees. Amber crumpled, and his hands tightened at her waist to stop her slide. One retreated. She was abruptly in his arms, vaguely noting movement as she laid her cheek to his chest. Her hands slipped from his neck to his shoulders, and the delicious feel of his muscles undulating beneath her fingertips forced a moan from her.

  Amber didn’t question that the piece of furniture beneath her was a bed. She didn’t care that it was, either.

  His body eased away from hers, and the bed shifted. She opened her eyes, noting his concern with a twisting in her gut.

  “Water?” he offered.

  She shook her head.

  “Are you well?”

  Well? Her body sang in pleasure. She nodded.

  His smile made her stomach flutter, and the pulse beat of need picked up tempo.

  The smile faded into an expression Amber didn’t recognize but her body did. It was something potent that stepped up the tension between them.

  He lowered his head, nearly retracing the last lick he’d laid, stroking the suede of his mask against her as he turned his head and suckled lightly at her skin. She arched up off the bed in the intensity of sensation, slight pain mixed with pleasure. It seemed she’d urged him on; he suckled harder, until the area numbed in a disconcerting series of bursts and points.

  His mouth retreated, fanning warmth over the spot as sensation returned. It throbbed with the same rhythm as her sheath, a primitive cadence that seemed to drive her every move.

  His movements became more feverish, less meticulous, as if he knew they didn’t have to be now. Every stroke of his tongue echoed over her body. Amber fisted her hands in his hair, squeezing her eyes shut, moaning her protest as he paused.

  He turned slightly, snaking his tongue inside one satin cup of her bustier, missing the nipple but finding the circle of darkened flesh that surrounded it. Just that teasing touch had her panting, shaking, needing more.

  Her sopping panties rubbed uncomfortably against her. Her skirts felt heavy and hot, and the damned bustier was in the way of what she wanted from him.

  He straightened. His hands circled her, lifting Amber slightly. His fingers teased at the top hook and eye at the back, silently asking permission to open them.

  “Yes,” she gasped. “Oh, yes.”

  Each movement was painstakingly slow, a hook or two at a time, until half the row was undone. Then he pushed the bustier down, uncovering her breasts.

  “Oh, Goddess,” he breathed.

  His tongue traced the edge of the nipple bed. He moved inward, spiraling slowly, finally reaching the nipple at the center.

  There was a moment of stillness, an unbearable taunting. Amber arched her back, crying out sharply as she forced her nipple to his upper lip.

  His tongue retreated, rasping against it. His lips parted, and he suckled at her. Just when Amber thought she could feel no better, he took more of her, all of the nipple bed and a portion of her breast, as well.

  She barely noted the hooks and eyes sliding open, as he sucked at her breasts in turn. He followed her down to the bed, sliding the bustier from her body and tossing it away.

  His head came up slowly. Amber opened her eyes, curious to see what he was doing. He surveyed her half-nude body, his expression hungry.

  “All of me,” she breathed.

  He nodded, starting at the lower swell of her breasts. It was sublime, yet it was torturously slow. Amber wanted to hurry him along; she wanted it to last all night, at the same time.

  No. Not all night. She had to be home before Mora and the cackling hens, or there would be more than animosity to deal with, and Amber didn’t care to put up with that sort of hostility and abuse.

  He paused. “I did something wrong? Something you didn’t care for?”

  “No.” How could he think such a thing? She’d never felt so wonderful.

  “You tensed.”

  Her face radiated heat. She couldn’t admit why she’d really tensed. Confessing that she was planning to leave while he was... Well, it just wasn’t right.

  “We can stop,” he offered. “If anything I do—”

  “No. Don’t.”

  He seemed to consider that. “A suggestion?”

  Her heart pounded in her throat. Had he already found her lacking? “Yes?”

  “Don’t think.” It was a whispered seduction in itself. “Just feel.”

  Yet, being told not to think made her do precisely that. She was inviting this man to do the most intimate things with her, and she knew nothing about him. “What is your name?” That would be enough for her.

  “My name?” The question seemed to confuse him...or to put him on edge.

  “It hardly seems right...” But how best to phrase it?

  “Go on,” he urged her.

  “To be so...intimate with a complete stranger. I would never suggest we stop long enough to become fully acqua...” She grimaced. “I suppose we are becoming rather fully—”

  “Not remotely.” There was no teasing in that. He hesitated for a moment. “Christopher,” he offered with a bow of his head. His eyes locked with hers. “And yours?”

  The truth stuck in her throat. Why, she couldn’t say. She trusted him. And yet, the thought of giving Christopher her given name terrified her. Amber was an unusual name in Lenvia. Kambry and Mora were much more common.

  What a thought that was! Amber, common by birth, had a unique name, while—

  “Mi’lady?”

  “My apologies, Christopher.” She managed a tense smile. I definitely think too much.

  He waited patiently for an answer.

  “Cinder.” If it became something more, she could admit it was a pet name her father had given her and not her true name, the one he’d chosen at her birth.

  His most devastating smile returned. “It’s beautiful...unusual, like you.”

  Her heart skipped at that. “You think I’m beautiful?” Unusual was probably true enough.

  Christopher lowered his head, pressing his lips to the soft meat of her belly. “Stunning,” he breathed.

  Amber tried to be still, but the solid touch of his lips had her moving beneath him, urging him on, eagerly seeking more.

  His fingers pulled at the tie on her skirt, undoing the double, then sliding the bow open a millimeter at a time. Her breathing hitched at that. Christopher loosened the waistline and eased it down to her hipbones.

  He moaned, running a finger under the waistband of her plain panties, tangling the tip in her woman’s curls. Amber thrust her hips up, certain she’d never felt something so enticing and even more certain that his finger circling her clit, as she sometimes did, would be enough to send her over.

  “Goddess! You are so perfect.”

  Christopher hooked the fingers of both hands into the waistbands of skirts and panties together. The stroke of fabric down her body was accented by the warmth of his breath following in its wake.

  It buffeted her tender center, and Amber spread her legs as far as the panties allowed, drinking in the sensation greedily. Her entire body vibrated in anticipation.

  Would he lick there, as well? Would he circle her nub with that silken tongue instead of her slightly-roughened fingers?

  Every finger-width on your body...

  Goddess! He was going to. Amber whimpered at the thought of it, tipping her hips up to capture more of his breath.
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br />   “Are you asking?” His voice was rough, breathless, as if he’d taken a gut shot in a fight.

  I suppose I am asking. “Oh, yes.” Amber couldn’t seem to catch her breath, either.

  Christopher turned his head, playing his tongue along the inner line of her thigh. She cried out in surprise and delight. Surely, he was teasing her.

  “You make me crazy.” His voice rumbled against her thigh. “I can barely contain myself.”

  She wondered if he meant that figuratively or literally. The idea of watching his cum shoot was oddly enticing. Would he want her to help stroke him off? She would do it, just to see his enjoyment, to know she’d managed to make it happen.

  “Then don’t contain yourself.”

  His head turned, and his tongue stroked up her seam, causing her to spasm in the depth of sensation.

  “You’re going to come for me, aren’t you?” he teased.

  “Yes.” Amber didn’t question it. He’d had her at the edges since the corridor. She licked her lips, her mouth abruptly dry.

  Christopher knelt up, removing the rest of her clothes and her shoes in a few efficient movements. His gaze roamed her body, and he grumbled what was probably a curse under his breath.

  His hands circled her ankles and slid upward, cupping her calf muscles...then her knees. He lifted the backs of her knees, guiding them up and out, until she was open to his heated gaze.

  His cock pressed out against his trousers, wetting them with further evidence of his arousal. Amber swallowed hard, her thighs trembling at the thought of his powerful body thrusting between them, at that hard shaft filling the aching void within her.

  But Christopher was in no rush to get there. His mouth pressed to the inside of one knee, his breath firing her skin in a manner not unlike warm water in a bath might. His tongue flicked out, tasting her as he’d promised he would. He turned, repeating the exercise on the opposite knee. Back and forth, he traveled, closer to her clit with each pass, driving her crazy for the two experiences she wanted most from him.

  His hair brushed over her center, and Amber went rigid, the first whispers of coming orgasm stealing her breath. Her hand fisted against his shoulder.

  One more move... Touch me once more, and I’ll come for you.

  As if he heard her, Christopher’s mouth was suddenly there, wrapped round her clit, his tongue flicking lightly, faint sucking motions between.

  She screamed, arching up, colors swirling before her eyes, warm shocks dancing over her extremities. Christopher compensated for her movements, ruthless in his attentions now.

  Wave after wave of orgasm had her alternately begging him to stop and cycling her hips against his insistent, exploring mouth. Who was she kidding? The last thing she wanted was an end to this.

  Amber came to consciousness slowly, splayed out under Christopher, bathed by his still-stroking tongue, panting in the pulse beat of need, the space so close to his tongue conspicuously empty.

  “More,” she breathed.

  He sucked at her clit again, setting off another wave of pure delight.

  “No, no, no,” she gasped out. “More.” All of you! Goddess, I’ll go mad, if I don’t get filled soon.

  Christopher knelt up between her thighs, his eyes questioning. Amber reached out, playing her fingertips along the growing wet spot at the tip of his cock. His jaw tightened.

  “More,” she repeated, wishing she knew the proper words to ask for what she wanted without offending him, in the process. Did a woman call his member “cock” or was there a gentler word used with a nobleman? What did he expect her to call her own body? The act?

  Why had she never asked Nana? Because she’d never believed such a moment was possible?

  * * * *

  Edward’s head spun with the combination of her taste and the knowledge that she wanted all of him. Or, did she? Cinder wasn’t being clear.

  He unfastened his trousers, and her hands slid inside, stroking him with fingers that held just the edge of roughness, attesting that she was lowborn. One hand wrenched the fabric away while the other pushed him toward shooting on her smooth belly. Goddess! He’d give her every drop.

  The grip on his cock changed, and Cinder laid back, her eyes pleading. He had to know what she sought.

  Edward leaned forward, planting his hands above her shoulders, caging her upper body with his. “Is this what you want?” he asked. “Do you want me to come to your hand?”

  She shook her head, though she continued stroking.

  “Do you want me inside you?” He prayed that she did.

  Cinder bit her lower lip in a show of nerves, nodding.

  His muscles tensed in anticipation, and he lowered himself, letting Cinder guide him to her ready body. The air vibrated in ragged breathing, his and hers alike.

  “Move your hand,” he instructed. Goddess, but this was going to feel good.

  She complied, took a deep breath, and nodded her readiness.

  Edward argued that he should go slowly. Something about Cinder demanded it, despite her expertise with driving him sexually mad for her.

  Another part of him demanded a show of possession. That voice won out, and he thrust up hard, groaning at the tight channel engulfing him.

  Her cry wasn’t one of pleasure, as he’d expected...as she’d gifted him thus far. One small hand braced against his chest. The other pressed to her belly, trembling lightly.

  Edward forced his eyes up to her face, biting back a curse at her pained expression, certain now that he’d rammed hard at a virgin.

  “Stop,” she panted out. “Please, stop.”

  “Of course.” He’d promised to, but even if he hadn’t... “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded, heartsick at causing her such pain.

  Her voice was abruptly strong, though a touch off of hysterical. “You’re the experienced one,” she snapped. “You couldn’t tell I wasn’t?”

  “You’re right,” he conceded. “You have my apologies. I should have seen it.” He had known, on some level. That nagging voice, the one that demanded a slow approach, had warned him off. Edward had chosen to ignore it. This was his fault.

  He started to ease out of her, but her hands grasped hard at his hips.

  “I don’t want apologies. I want you to be still for a moment.” While she’d had difficulty telling Edward what she wanted in pleasure, she was clear enough in pain.

  He nodded his agreement, at a loss for the first time in years. He’d bungled this precious moment.

  Oh, but he paid the price for his folly, holding rigidly still while Cinder’s body taunted him with whispers of movement. At one instant, he swore he was about to go off from that little stimulation, but he regained control.

  “Don’t you ever go flaccid?” she asked wearily.

  “If you were still as well, I might,” he offered cordially. Unlikely, but I’ll say it anyway.

  Her hands loosened. “Then perhaps you should...”

  Edward eased back, and she whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut. He slid free of her body, and she drew her legs up, turning to her side to curl in on herself.

  He lowered himself to the bed behind her, gathering Cinder into his arms. There were no words between them. Those would come later, when she was calm.

  Instead, Edward left her long enough to pull the quilt over them both. In moments, she was asleep in his arms, her trembling easing and then stopping altogether.

  Chapter Five

  Amber woke with a start. Where was she? This wasn’t her bed in her little room, across from Nana’s.

  A sigh beside her brought her head around...and the rest came back in a flash. She was still in Christopher’s bed, with the man in question beside her, nude save for his mask, the quilt drawn up to a hand’s-width below his nipples.

  He’d allowed her to stay, probably out of a sense of responsibility for her. He expected to see her home; he’d promised to do so, and he was a man of honor.

  Surely, he hadn’t let her stay out of a wis
h for her company. Christopher hadn’t climaxed, also out of a duty to her. He’d felt it right to care for her, in her discomfort, and so he’d foregone his own wants.

  But like a man who has had his advance rebuffed, grace in defeat does not indicate joy in the outcome. Amber didn’t know much about the sexual games of the nobility, but she knew this much: men didn’t want women that failed them, sexually or in producing sons.

  She eased out from beneath the quilts, wincing at the aches and pains in her abdomen and thighs. Her hands shook, but she managed to pull on her skirt and cinch the knot. Her low shoes came next. Finding her panties and bustier took longer, and she realized the futility of trying to work the tiny hooks. In the end, she pulled on her cloak and carried the rest of her clothing.

  Amber paused, taking one last look at Christopher. A mad urge to lift his mask and take in his face pulled at her. She halted a step closer to him, coming to her senses, at last. If she did that, he’d wake. The last thing she wanted was for him to wake.

  No doubt, he’d be relieved to find her gone. It would save him the posturing and gallantry and save her the discomfort of knowing it was a duty to him to see her home.

  Moreover, she didn’t have the time to wait for him to wake...or even for him to dress and primp, if he were awake. Already, the sky was lightening. If the Goddess was kind, Mora hadn’t realized Amber was gone yet, and she’d be able to take her place without incident.

  That was assuming Keane was still there, as promised. If not...

  She couldn’t worry about that now.

  There was a balcony with stairs down to the lawn just beyond the dual glass doors. Since she couldn’t remember the way out of the wing Christopher had taken her to, she had no time to waste, and she didn’t want to chance running afoul of Lord Elmstead again, the balcony route seemed the best option.

  Amber eased the door open and slid into the chill beyond, closing it with nothing more than a faint click. She hurried down the stairs, turning toward the far end of the drive at a trot, her breath making thick clouds in the coming-morn air.