Wayward One

by Lorelie Brown

  “Please,” she whispered, but she wasn’t sure what she was begging for. That he’d actually do something with that hand that hovered over her mound, or that he’d stop putting her on such a pedestal.

  She wasn’t any of the things he said. She knew she was passably attractive and always well-intentioned. Occasionally she could be very short-tempered, leaving her with the eternal struggle of keeping it under wraps. It was a far cry from the perfection he claimed.

  Even as he bent to kiss her, he had a look of near wonderment, with his pale eyes more starry than she’d ever seen. It wasn’t right that such a vital man be unmanned by her. She wasn’t worth it.

  She pulled his head down to hers and let his mouth cover her. Her hands spread wide over the flex and play of his thick back. She danced her fingers down the channel of his spine, explored the tiny striations that spread round to the deep swoop of his ribs.

  When she spanned his chest, rubbing her pinkies across the flat discs of his nipples, she earned his growl in her mouth. A rush of hot satisfaction overwhelmed her. Maybe now he’d realize she wasn’t some paragon.

  After what felt like years of torment, he ceased his too-light brushes over her mons. He traced over her slit and delved into her quim. The entry was smooth and welcoming, and she became unfettered. Open to whatever he wished to take. Her secrets were all his if he’d only find them.

  He dipped into her, then stroked her own wetness over a nerve-rich bud at the top of her sex. Sharp-toothed pleasure streaked through her body to clench every single one of her muscles. Her toes curled against the still-unfamiliar assault.

  “Fucking hell,” he breathed in her ear. “You’re so bloody responsive.”

  She couldn’t think about his atrocious language when her nails sank into the firm flesh of his arms. He was marble under silk, his biceps fine-cut swells. It was obvious he held himself back.

  Part of her was grateful since she was afraid of what they could unleash if both of them were as crazed as she. Part of her was resentful at being treated like a child who must be patronized. Part of her only focused on the dip and twist of his two fingers in her. The caress he swirled around those knotted nerves. The pleasure that threatened to swamp her bodily.

  Something was happening inside her. Her chest clenched as liquid heat stole over her limbs. She pushed her head back into the pillows, looking out across the room at the crackle and spit of the fire.

  He wasn’t having any of that. He slanted a gentle grip across her jaw and tipped her face back to him. So much. So much dwelled in him. She couldn’t take it.

  Her head thrashed on the pillow.

  “Close, are you, angel?” Satisfaction purred in him, a living breathing thing.

  She gasped. “I don’t— I— Yes.”

  “Not yet.”

  Rearing up on his knees, he seemed so much larger than her. Intimidatingly so. Then he pulled her up by the shoulders to a sitting position. She protested with a quiet groan, but he wasn’t to be stopped.

  He stripped her nightdress up over her shoulders in one swift move, leaving her completely bare. A shock of cool air brushed her overheated skin.

  Her hands rose to cover her breasts from instinctual modesty. Even her own hands allied against her. The scrape of her palms over her beaded nipples sent another shock of pleasure through her.

  “No hiding,” he growled.

  He took her hands in his then spread her arms wide. His gaze roved her exposed flesh, but it didn’t have the chilling effect she would have expected. All because of the harsh pull of his skin over his cheekbones. He wanted her so much it was terrifying.

  How could she ever live up to his expectations?

  He didn’t give her another moment to worry. His mouth bore down on hers once more, spinning her head with a kiss that pushed deep. Took and gave and promised everything. If she’d only be bold enough to capture it.

  His hands came up to cup her breasts. She’d never been overly large, but she felt just right as she plumped over his palms. He pinched each nipple lightly between two fingers and stroked featherlight caresses over her full undersides. Skimmed down the top slope.

  He eased her back to lie among the tumbled decadence they’d already made of the bed, then pressed her breasts upwards to plump them again. Wet fire engulfed one nipple.

  Her eyes flew open, though she wasn’t exactly sure when she’d closed them. Firelight sparked off his golden head as he sucked at the tip of her breast. His shoulders hulked over her body, shadows and firelight competing for the privilege of covering him. For one wicked moment, she wished she’d never asked him to turn down the lights. How magnificent would his wide shoulders be in full light?

  She wasn’t quite that foolish or reckless.

  “Fletcher,” she moaned, when his teeth grazed over her nipple.

  His head rose. “Now?” Though she had no idea why he’d made it a question. It was he who was so much more experienced. She was doing the best she could to keep up with the swirling morass of pleasure that made even her toes tingle.

  Her neck ground as her head swiveled. Not a nod, not a shake, because she had no idea what she wanted. Nothing made sense in Fletcher’s arms—nothing but him.

  He lowered his hips between her knees. Solid. So solid. She wished for more words to express the hardness or the firmness she felt between her legs.

  Something nudged at her wet center. Fletcher’s gaze burned into hers. Though she’d always believe their marriage began in that small annex room of the chapel, this minute was no less important. After this, no matter what happened, they would be a part of each other.

  He shifted his hips forward and invaded her. A sharp bite of pain cooled her ardor. But not enough. She feared nothing would ever cool her lust for him.

  He stilled, gaze trained on her. Examining her. She didn’t know the question, much less the answer, so she lifted her head to kiss him. If she were kissing him, she could forget the foreign presence making itself known inside her. Almost.

  She wrapped her arms around his ribs. He seemed as rigid as she. His body was a perfectly straight line that hovered over her. When she curled her hands up over his shoulders from behind, she found nothing soft. Everything was held in frozen abeyance.

  “Better?” he whispered.

  She blinked her confusion away. She wouldn’t have thought his skin would be as smooth as it was. “Pardon?”

  A quirked curl of manly satisfaction took his mouth. “The pain.” His chest lifted when he spoke, barely brushing his dusting of hair over her nipples.

  She sucked in a breath, which only made it worse when her breasts rose. “No pain.” Just torment. Just her body becoming unfamiliar to her.

  “Good,” he said, and it was hardly more than an animalistic growl.

  He surged into her slowly. His thickness and his length. He came into her more and more, until she couldn’t believe there was anything left. Still he invaded her. Her knees rose to clasp his lean hips. Her arms pulled him closer, but he kept himself on propped forearms above her shoulders. Separate.

  It seemed an eternity until he was seated fully in her. His weight pushed against that button at the top of her sex, sending pleasure streaking through her in waves timed with the subtle pulse of his hips.

  His head bowed. His chin brushed against the top of her head. “So perfect,” he sighed, and finally she could agree with him.

  They were perfectly fit together.

  He pulled his hips back, and she squeaked a protest. Her knees clasped his thighs, but there was no stopping him.

  And then she didn’t want to. The liquid pleasure rushed higher. The only thing better was when he sank into her once more, and did it all over.

  He was relentless. She was a vessel for pleasure. Her hands roamed over his back, over his sides. Down to the dip of his spine into his buttocks. That made him groan, and she threw her head back, the better to enjoy it.

  This was everything she’d hoped for and more and less than she
’d feared. He held himself so carefully, off her and in such guarded control. She tucked a foot around the back of his legs, feeling the soft scrape of his hair against her calves.

  Still he wouldn’t be moved beyond his careful, measured pace. His mouth was set in a line of determination. His gaze burned brighter than the fire in her.

  He was ferocious in his pursuit of his pleasure. Eventually she didn’t mind. She bloomed, every bit of her opening and welcoming whatever he gave her. The stroke and pull and disaster of perfection they created together.

  Pleasure twisted more tenaciously through her, like a watch spring wound too far. Her lungs stuttered to a stop. Her fingernails sank into his skin, but no further. The muscles underneath were too hard for her to make a dent.

  She was a wave, and he was the implacable rock she crashed upon.

  Until she broke in a white plume of release. Remorseless gratification stole her senses. Nothing but him and her and the sea they floated on.

  His lips pulled back from his teeth in a satisfied grin. He stroked into her no faster, but with harder slams into her body. For her, it drew out the pleasure into streaking waves of more. Almost too much. For him, it seemed the fraction he needed. He shuddered as he sealed his body to hers for a last push. His head finally fell to hers, tucking into the curve of her neck and sending hot breaths over her skin in a ticklish wash.

  Her arms were simply stretches of India rubber, but she managed to hold them around him. Her fingers touched his hairline, which was damp at the edges with sweat. From his exertion. For her.

  She sighed, swept over with a lassitude that threatened every semblance of thought. They’d moved together in a synchronicity more perfect than clockwork. Born for each other, not crafted.

  Already she wanted nothing more than to repeat the whole process.

  A terrifying, dazzling thought.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The next morning, Fletcher woke with a sense of wellbeing and satisfaction so permeating that he smiled before he opened his eyes. Stretched out on his stomach and face buried in the pillow, he had not a second of confusion as to his surroundings. His arm sprawled across a veritable mountain of pillows that was most certainly absent in his own bed. His body was entirely too satiated for him to doubt anything about his recollections of the night before.

  He was a married man. With a beautiful wife who was a brilliant organizer of the home. Plus a positive minx in the bedroom.

  Sure, he’d have preferred the lights be up. Or for her to take her time exploring his body. The intent way she’d run her fingers over his back made him think she wouldn’t mind. If she could have caught her voice more too, expressing exactly what she wanted and when, he’d have liked that as well.

  The beauty of it was, they had years upon years to explore together. Time enough and more for discovering the myriad possibilities.

  He’d never had that with another woman, and more than that he’d never wanted it. He’d been satisfied to get what he needed and be on his way.

  He could joyfully anticipate years spent exploring Sera. Exploring with her. Every option and possibility spun out before them, confirming the validity of his path. He’d crafted them for each other so carefully, it was only right that his ideas be borne out.

  Eyes still closed, he stretched out across the sleep-crumpled linens of the bed sheets and found…nothing. A hint of warmth where she must have lain until recently, but nothing more. No smooth curve of her hip, no cool fall of her silken hair.

  Suddenly faintly grumpy, he rolled to his back and forced his eyes to crack open. At least bright sunshine wasn’t trying to assault his retinas, as the diffuse light in the room said it was early indeed. Maybe barely past dawn.

  He threw one arm over his head and scrubbed across his face with his other hand. Then he looked around for his wife. Even the phrase sent another rush of enjoyment through him.

  But his wife seemed poised on the verge of escape. Her hand was reaching for the doorknob.

  She was fully dressed in another of those proper bosom-covering, serviceable gowns. This one was a dark blue that would have been perfectly at home teaching the overprivileged pupils of her academy but was utterly unacceptable for his wife. He’d have to get her to the dressmaker promptly. A soft green would look enticing against her creamy skin.

  The knob turned silently, and he shook himself out of his reverie long enough to realize if he didn’t speak quickly, she’d slip away.

  “Going somewhere?”

  Sera jumped as high as a dipper caught with fingers in someone’s pocket. She spun. Her eyes cranked wide, lips open on a silent gasp.

  “Good morning,” he purred. The sheet barely covered him, and when he stretched his arms over his head, he enjoyed her hungry gaze over his torso. He wasn’t above a little preening.

  “Good morning,” she echoed in return.

  “Where are you off to?”

  Hot red flushed across her round cheeks. “Lady Victoria said last night that her mother would like to sponsor a ball for us. A sort of announcement of our marriage. In order to assure our place in society so that Victoria may continue to associate with me. Lady Honoria indulges her daughter too much, but I’m not going to complain if I benefit from such. I need to formally reply to her correspondence. One must especially maintain the strictures when dealing with a duchess. Lady Honoria has every consideration of her statue.”

  How adorable. She babbled when extremely nervous. He’d have never expected it out of his cool, collected wife. “I’m sure that can wait until the sun comes up.”

  “If we’re still to have that dinner for the earl, I’ve much to do on that score as well.”

  Fletcher scratched idly across his chest. She watched that too. Her tongue poked into the corner of her mouth. Such a sweet little tongue it was. Someday he’d like to feel it licking over the head of his cock, but he’d have to wait for that.

  “Are the servants up?” he asked.

  She nodded. Her hands were folded behind her back. Holding on to the doorknob as a lifeline to escape? Something uncomfortable shifted inside him, the sudden awareness that perhaps they maintained different expectations from this marriage.

  He put out a hand. “Come back to bed.”

  White teeth flashed as she nibbled on her top lip. “I—I can’t.”

  He sat up. The sheet pooled in his lap, barely hiding the evidence of his morning arousal. Of course, it was rapidly fading in the sight of her conflicted interests. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Despite the avid way she ate him with her eyes, his words had the opposite reaction he’d hoped for. She shook her head frantically. “It’s daylight. We can’t. I can’t.”

  He rubbed at his bristly jawline. This certainly hadn’t been a problem he’d anticipated. “Come to bed. What do you think people do on their wedding trips?”

  “We’re not on a wedding trip. Besides, they likely see the sights during the day. Surely—” here she waved a hand to encompass both him and the bed, “—all that is done at night.”

  He couldn’t help the smile. “I assure you, not entirely.”

  She drew in a deep breath, which lifted her bosom against the material of her bodice. To strip her slowly out of her daily costume would be a small gift. He’d unbutton the tiny buttons that marched up her front, then have her turn a time or two so he saw her breasts pushed up over her corset.

  A tinge of sadness darkened her eyes. “I thank you kindly for your invitation, but I must decline.”

  She fled more quickly than he could respond. He jerked half out of bed, throwing his legs over the side, but what was he supposed to do? Run down the hallway after her naked? What a sight that would be for the maids.

  His fists curled around the edge of the bed, but the down-filled mattress was entirely too soft. It gave him no biting resistance to fight against.

  After the long hours last night, he’d assumed her frozen chill would be gone. She wanted him. He read it in her sha
llow breaths and the darkness that spread in her eyes. She’d shoved it all away, the better to do whatever she thought of as her duties.

  He’d be damned if he knew what she could do at dawn. As far as he knew, the servants hadn’t lit the fires.

  She’d run about as fast as she humanly could.

  He’d wanted a lady wife, hadn’t he? Now he’d have to deal with the results.

  Chapter Twenty

  In more than three weeks of marriage, Sera hadn’t been able to take a breath without smelling Fletcher’s lemon-spice scent. When he was miles away, tending to business, he haunted her. Her skin tingled with remembered touches. The flesh between her legs was often swollen and needy, as if he’d awoken some beast within her that wouldn’t be satiated.

  Couldn’t be satiated.

  Sitting in the quiet of her favorite parlor, Sera let her thoughts center on Fletcher. Wondering where he was. What he was doing.

  More specifically, what he’d do to her that night.

  Every evening, she prepared for bed while she lied to herself. She didn’t care if he visited. She wasn’t watching the connecting door while her breath stuttered in her lungs and her body rose out of her skin.

  Every evening when he politely knocked on the door, she was shown as the baseborn liar she’d always been.

  She threw down her embroidery hoop and pushed out of her chair. Stalking across the room and back, she eventually settled by the front window. Her spine curved as she pressed her feverish forehead to the cool glass.

  Out there, things were different.

  How, she didn’t know. All she knew was that surely not everyone else felt like two beings inside one body. The sensual nighttime lover that Fletcher aroused and the daytime model of propriety. Dawn was the hardest time of all, when the two sides went to war.

  Though Fletcher had his own room and, one could assume, his own bed within it, he never slept there. He always pulled her into his arms against her halfhearted protest and pushed her head down to his chest. There she breathed in the solid warmth of him as she drifted off to sleep. It was all well and good, anyway, since they often turned to each other in the middle of the night to begin the process anew. Just the night before, she’d woken to the dead still of her room and crawled under the covers to run her fingertips over every inch of his skin.