by Lavinia Kent
She was going to orgasm within moments. It was all she could do not to thrust her hips farther toward him, not to…Another hand came down on her buttocks, warm and firm, massaging—good, so good.
If she were that cat, she’d be purring. His fingers slipped down between her cheeks into the moisture. They ran over her—and back again, teasing, always teasing.
“Do you want to come now? Or should I make you wait for me?”
“Now. No, wait. No, now.”
“As decisive as ever, my angel.”
It was too much. She thrust her hips back, begging with her whole body.
She could feel his heat. She shifted farther, bringing herself against him, letting her behind rub the front of his thighs and…God, there it was. His cock, firm and full beneath the fabric of his breeches. She wanted it in her, wanted to be filled.
Rubbing harder, she tried to urge him, to make him do what she needed.
“Be still,” he ordered.
No. No. She was going to die if something didn’t happen soon. She wanted more, a slow fire turning into an inferno. Ignoring him, she pressed back again. She too could tease.
And then suddenly she was pushed forward until her hipbones pressed tight into the bed, her face deep in the quilts. She turned her head to breathe and—a sharp swat landed on her buttocks.
She cried out at the surprise even as the heat sped to her core, fuel for the fire that burned there.
Her legs needed to squeeze tight, needed, needed…She was nothing but need. Hot, raging need.
“I didn’t mean to do that yet—but I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it,” he whispered into her neck, bending over her, his hands tangling in her hair and tugging on her head.
“I don’t care, just make it happen. I can’t bear it anymore.”
“Soon.” His lips nibbled at the side of her neck. “I wish you could see yourself, marked by my bite, by my palm. So sweet. So willing. So mine.” He nipped her after each word, a thousand tingles of pleasure running through her, about her. “Your ass is so pale and perfect against the red print of my hand, rising and forming. You will feel it tomorrow.”
“Like fire running through me, filling me.” She pushed her hips back, wanting more and at the same time terrified of it.
She didn’t know what she wanted; all she knew was what she felt.
He pushed away from her and stood straight. His hand came down upon her behind again, this time first soothing, caressing, easing her pain, and then separating her cheeks.
“God, the things I’d like to do to you,” he groaned. His fingers slipped between her cheeks, sliding over her nether hole. Her whole body tensed. And tensed more as his fingers slipped into her juices again, wet and slick. One finger circled her entrance and then slid in a fraction of an inch, stretching. Another finger joined it. The tips barely penetrated, and she wanted more.
She was tired of need, tired of waiting.
And his hands were gone. She felt movement behind her.
Then she was turned and lifted, laid sideways across the bed, her hips just at the edge. He lifted her knees, opening her fully.
She looked up at his face, saw the strain, the desperation, the need and desire that matched her own.
And something more, something warm and caring—and loving.
I do love you, Angela.
She had been afraid to believe, was still afraid to believe, but something in the way his eyes moved over her said more than words. He wanted her, but it was more—he needed her, but it was more. He might love what she allowed him to do, love the desire that filled her and met his own—but still it was more.
Even now she was afraid to put the word to what she saw, but it could not be denied.
“You do know this means we will wed as quickly as possible,” he stated, claiming his ownership, even as she felt one of his hands between her legs again, opening her for him.
“I do know,” she gasped, waiting, wanting, needing.
She felt the tip of his cock press against her, and both desire and fear filled her. If only she could see what was happening. His eyes were locked down, staring at that place where soon they would be joined.
—
He’d never seen anything so beautiful, so stirring. If he didn’t take her soon, he would explode, and for once in his life that did not feel like an exaggeration. His whole body strained, his cock ready to act on its own. He took it in hand, ready to guide it in. And still he hesitated.
This moment would come only once. There might be a thousand later moments, even better moments—although that was hard to believe—but this moment would never come again.
He stared down at her. Pink and white. So smooth and slick. Her breasts begging for his touch, the nipples red and heavy. He wanted to soothe them and tease them all at once, to drive her crazy with nothing but his lips and tongue.
He stroked the length of his cock, bending so his mouth could taste the sweetness of her breasts. Her back arched, pressing her toward him.
He wanted to linger, to play, to suckle, but his need drove him.
He pulled away, staring at those ripe breasts.
She moaned softly, begging for more.
He let his eyes move lower—the softness of her belly, made to cushion a man. And lower—she was so slick and wet, so ready for him; he could see her inner muscles clench, waiting for him. Still stroking himself, he used his other hand to run one finger over her clit. Her body jerked, her legs closing slightly and then opening again. He could already feel them clenched about his waist, her nails ripping his back, marking him as he had marked her.
He squeezed the base of his prick tight. He refused to embarrass himself before this had truly begun.
And finally he allowed himself to look up at the beauty of her face. She was sweaty, a few loose strands of hair fell in damp curls about her face, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glassy. Her lower lip was puffy and he could see the marks of her teeth upon it. She was a mess—and never had he thought her lovelier.
He watched her eyes move to meet his, still dazed but also filled with understanding. She knew just what was about to happen, what she wanted to happen. She lifted one hand from beside her on the bed and slowly brought it to lie on his, to move his fingers as they touched her. Her small fingers became coated in her juices. He took her hand and brought it to his lips, licking it clean.
Again he could see the rippling response in her body, see those inner muscles clench.
She pulled her hand free and then raised her other hand as well. Bringing them between her legs, she offered herself to him. He glanced down, enrapt by the sight.
His cock jerked, hungry for its home.
He looked at her face, saw the anticipation, the desire, the need—and the trust.
This offering was of more than her body.
He focused on her mouth, bent forward and kissed her gently, pressing his lips tight into the softness of her own. His eyes lifted to hers as he tried to promise so much with nothing more than a glance.
Her lips pressed back against his, giving her own promise.
Something inside his chest clenched and then released.
He lifted his head, taking her in.
He saw her lips move, saw the words they formed, felt the words deep in his heart.
She was his. His forever.
He moved forward, positioned himself, edged closer, felt the delicate barrier.
He hated to cause her this pain and yet rejoiced that it was his, that she was his and only his.
He placed a hand on each white thigh—and thrust home hard and fast.
Her body arched off the bed, a single sharp cry leaving her lips.
—
That hurt. She had known that it would and yet still was not prepared. Some women had said it was not so bad; others had said it was like being ripped apart by a sword. It was certainly not as bad as that, but, DAMNATION, it hurt.
And then it stopped, not completely, but only the dullest of aches remai
ned.
She closed her eyes once, pulled in the deepest of breaths. Let it out.
Yes, this was nothing—well, not nothing, but less painful than a new pair of slippers.
Her eyes slid open, met Colton’s. He had not moved the barest fraction of an inch since that one endless thrust, and concern marked his gaze.
He stood above her, braced and frozen, his eyes questioning.
She attempted a smile but didn’t quite manage it. “Please continue,” she said.
“Are you sure?” he asked, although she could hear the strain in his voice. “I could withdraw. I do not want to cause you pain.”
“No. If we do not do this, I’ll probably never want to try again, and I do not believe that is what you want in a wife. I am trusting that there is more to this than—than that.”
She felt him tense, although she would not have thought his body could grow any more rigid. He leaned forward, placed a hand on either side of her, his hips still not moving. His face was scant inches from hers. He asked again, “Are you sure? I will try to be gentle.”
She nodded.
“Then I will do my best.” His face filled with caring, his cock eased forward. She stiffened, scared of more pain, but only the ache remained. It shifted with his movement but did not grow worse.
And she was becoming aware of that other ache again, the one that coiled within her, that grew and grew until it burst. She lifted her pelvis, shifted the cradle of her hips, changing the angle. Oh, now, that felt different. He’d rubbed against some spot far within her, some spot that had her instantly aware, feeling things she had not felt before, even at the moment of orgasm. She wiggled again, trying to repeat the experience.
He eased farther in.
Her eyes widened. He was big. She could feel the stretch, her body opening to accommodate him.
The tendons in his neck were straining now, his whole body crying with the effort not to move more.
Flattening her feet on the bed, she suddenly pushed up, burying him deep within her.
Full. She’d never felt so full, never imagined such a feeling. It was odd but not unpleasant. She shifted again, trying to find that inner spot, trying to increase the contact.
“You are killing me,” he growled.
“Then quit treating me as if I will break. From all I’ve heard, the worst is over.”
He stared at her, one last question in his eyes. And then he moved. God, she’d thought she’d taken his all, but he pressed yet deeper. Withdrew. Pushed in again, hard, fast. Again. Again.
The ache of pleasure within her multiplied, filling her. His body ground against her clit as she spread her thighs wider, raising her hips. He hit that inner spot, and her body spasmed slightly.
She tightened her muscles on instinct, gripping him further.
He sank deep, pulled back, grinding against her on each thrust.
Her whole mind was focused on her body, on the sensations that filled her, wave after wave. Her whole mind was focused on his eyes, on the secrets there, on the bond between them—on his soul. Both were true despite the impossibility of such a thing. Each pound, each thrust, sent her further into those bottomless eyes, made her feel all that he was, all that she was, all that they could be.
She felt it coming then, the waves breaking upon the shore, the slide, the pull.
Her whole body clenched, rising upon the bed to meet his.
She stared into his eyes—and surrendered, letting it burst within her, emptying her, filling her, until there was no more.
He held himself a moment longer, and then, with a violent shudder and a loud cry, he came, pounding harder and faster, until with one long thrust he collapsed upon her.
She lay still, her body miles away, drifting on a sea of spent pleasure, warm, content, boneless.
His weight grew heavy, but she did not mind; to speak, to move, would have taken more effort than she was capable of. And so she closed her eyes and let her mind go, following her body into that endless sea.
—
“We should move,” Colton said, when at last he felt capable.
She grunted beneath him, cute and breathless, tickling the hairs upon his chest. Rolling to the side, he cradled her and pulled her with him, never wanting to let her go.
“What did you say?”
“I don’t want to.”
He did not want to either. “But we must. I don’t think we want to be found like this.”
“You said we had hours.”
“Better safe than sorry.”
This time she snorted. “I thought we were done with being safe.”
“There is taking a risk and there is simply being foolish.”
She lifted her head, her blond curls, long escaped from their braid, falling all about him. “Now you tell me.”
“Are you sorry?” He asked, his eyes scanning her face.
“Never.”
“Are you sure?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Are you trying to make me doubt?”
“Never,” it was his turn to respond.
With slow effort, she pushed herself up and reclined on her elbow. “What comes next?”
“Next we wash with the water in the pitcher and then head off to meet at the folly. I will happily play your lady’s maid before we go.”
She sighed. “I had heard that men were very bad at the sweet words a woman wants at such a moment. I think every female conversation I’ve ever heard on the subject has remarked on just that.”
What had he missed? What more did he need to do to make this better for her? “Did you want me to spend time telling you how wonderful you were, how beautiful you are?”
“It certainly would not be a bad idea.” She sat up fully in the bed, glancing about to see if there was anything she could cover herself with. It felt strange to sit naked after all was done, but the coverlet was still smooth and impossible to move beneath their double weight.
“I could write odes to both your breasts and ass—but, alas, I am not a poet. I think it would sound more like a drink song than a poem.” He said it as a joke but hoped she could hear the serious undertone.
Chapter 25
Men truly did understand nothing. She needed to be reassured. Why could he not see that? She might be joking, but some acknowledgment that what had just happened between them was important—not to mention the best he’d ever experienced—would have been helpful.
She grabbed her chemise and corset and pulled them on. Her corset wasn’t quite as tight as her maid would have made it, but it would do. She followed with her gown, turning her back so that he could work on her laces.
She paused for a moment as she felt his hands upon her back. She had wanted this to be easy, had hoped that once they made love everything would be resolved. Was she being too emotional and demanding? Being unreasonable?
She had certainly seen that he cared—and perhaps more. But, still, she wanted…She didn’t know what she wanted, but she wanted something. It was hard to feel this vulnerable, this unsure.
Colton knotted the laces behind her and then, placing a hand on each shoulder, he turned her.
“Angela, I am sorry for whatever it is that I did or didn’t do, did or didn’t say. I never expected to find what we have just experienced, and it has left me without the proper words.” He pulled her forward, pressing her against his naked body, letting her feel every inch through the thin fabric of shift and dress. “I do want to marry you. I do want to spend my life with you. It is not simply circumstance but fate that has brought us together, and I am not a man who normally believes in fate. I asked you to marry me because I truly wanted to, because I sense that I need you to be happy.”
Now, that was much better, closer to what she wanted, what she needed. She tilted her head up, staring at the underside of his chin. “I know I am not being fair to you. I don’t know what I want, so how can I expect you to know. I thought that all I wanted was for you to ask me to marry you, but when you did, it was not enough. Th
en I thought that I simply wanted us to both want to be married. And when that became true, still I wanted more.”
He looked down at her, bent, and placed a kiss upon the end of her nose. “I do think we will get to what I expect you want, but for now we must be content with what we have—and with the dream of more. Why don’t you rinse your face and then I will do my best to play lady’s maid with your hair. Afterward I will meet you at the folly and we can walk hand in hand up to Lady Perse’s and announce our engagement. Does that suit you?”
And, strangely enough, she found that it did.
—
That had gone much better than she’d expected. Angela sat before the low-burning fire in her room and waited for Bliss to appear. Her friend had not said she was coming, but Angela knew she would be here. The announcement of her marriage had taken all by surprise, and there was not the slightest chance that Bliss would not be by to talk.
There was the lightest scratch on the door, and then Bliss slid in without waiting for an answer. “And how did you manage that? You’re not with child, are you? That would explain everything, but…”
“No, I am not with child.” Or if she was, it was too early to tell—much, much too early.
“Then why are you marrying him?” Bliss fell into the chair across from her, all grace forgotten.
“You know I wanted to marry him.”
“Well, I am not sure that I did know that. I know that you wanted to earlier, but I thought that now all you wanted was to make him want to marry you.” Bliss stared across at her, her eyes burrowing.
“I did—but perhaps not really. I mean, I always wanted him to want me, to want to marry me, but I think perhaps I never really meant to say no.”
Bliss straightened in her chair. “And this is really what you want to do?”
“You are full of questions.”
“Then answer them.”
“I do want to marry him. Truly, I do. I just wish there was more time to be sure.”
“Then take more time, delay the marriage. I know he spoke of a wedding before Christmas, but you could say you wish to be married in the spring.”
“It is too late for that.”
Bliss’s glance sharpened. “I thought you said you were not with child.”
