by Miranda Lee
He didn’t have to say another word. She came back through the open glass door and slid it shut. Turning, she came to him across the thick blue carpet and slid her arms up around his neck, reaching up on tiptoe till her mouth was a breath away from his.
‘Yes?’ she whispered, her lips falling softly apart.
He groaned, and took what she offered, all his good intentions of focusing on her pleasure alone disintegrating under the wild passion of her response. For a few mad moments he was hers for the taking, not the other way around. But then she wrenched her mouth away and stepped back from him, flushed and trembling.
When her hands lifted to reach blindly behind her in search of her zipper, he swiftly pulled himself together. He had to take charge of his emotions, take control of the situation, or all would be lost.
‘No,’ he said firmly, forcibly ignoring his own fierce arousal. ‘Let me…’
CHAPTER NINE
HE MOVED behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, running them down then up her lace-encased arms, feeling her tension, deliberately stoking it as he repeated the action. Only when she trembled did he reach for and pull the zipper slowly down her back, bending at the same time to kiss the small span of flesh between the top of that tantalising necklace and the lobe of her ear. The zipper undone, his lips travelled upwards to that lobe, and then up to her ear, breathing softly into the soft, sensitive well.
‘Oh,’ she gasped, and a shiver ran down her spine.
He sent his tongue where his breath had been and she shuddered, her head twisting away from him so that his mouth connected with the pearl choker. He resisted the temptation to remove it, choosing instead to peel back her dress and expose her back, her stunningly bare back.
For a few seconds he thought she wasn’t wearing a bra, but when he trailed a fingertip down her spine he saw she was actually wearing one of those strapless corsellettes which dipped dangerously down at the back in a deep V, the hooks connecting just above her waist, pulling that waist in tightly, forcing her slender hips to flare out more than her natural body shape.
The corset was white, and made of satin and lace. Boned at the front, no doubt, the kind of exotic, erotic contraption which pushed the breasts up and together, and gave any woman wearer a shape so feminine and desirable that just looking at her was enough to send any red-blooded man’s desire meter sky-high.
Jason’s was already off the planet. How he was going to control himself here, he had no idea.
Her dress suddenly slipped from his fingers and pooled on the carpet, and his heart jolted at the sight before his eyes. Oh, God! The corset had suspenders, and lacy stockings, and nothing to cover her bottom but a tiny thong of satin between the two most delectable buttocks he’d ever seen.
He turned her to face him, because that was safer. Or he thought it was till he did it, only to find himself confronted with even more torment. Her breasts pouted up at him, erect nipples half escaping the provocative push-up cups. The front was as dangerously cut as the back, lower down displaying an R-rated amount of smoothly shaven flesh. On top of that she was looking up at him with huge liquid eyes, as though he were some Greek God and she his sex slave.
If only she knew. He was the slave, not her. He would do anything for her. Anything.
‘You are so beautiful,’ he murmured, his gaze hot upon her. ‘And so incredibly sexy.’ He’d mistakenly thought she would never wear provocative underwear. He’d foolishly imagined he would prefer her in flannelette, instead of satin and lace.
Stupid, stupid Jason!
‘I had to order it from a catalogue,’ she said, blushing wildly. ‘It…it only came this week.’
‘It’s…fantastic.’
‘You really like it? I…I hoped you would.’
‘I love it.’
‘Do…do you want me to take it off?’
‘Hell, no,’ he said, and pulled her into his arms, kissing her ravenously, sliding his hands down her back to cup her buttocks and press her hard against him. The cool-headed part of him warned him to slow down; the rest ignored any such advice and just did what came naturally.
What came naturally was to pull her down onto the carpet, laying her beneath him as he ravaged her body with his mouth and hands. The flimsy lace cups were no barrier to his desires, easily pushed aside so that his hungry lips could claim the evidence of her arousal.
Emma’s first gasp was followed by a low moan, then another gasp as he moved over to her other nipple.
The desperate sounds she made only inflamed him further as he licked and sucked both peaks into twin points of exquisite torment. Instinct and experience told him when to move on, breathing hot breaths over her satin-covered stomach while his hands found and unsnapped the press-studs between her legs. He peeled the scraps of material back and bared her to his questing lips. When she gasped and wriggled, he pressed one palm firmly down on her stomach while his other hand stroked her quivering thighs further apart.
He knew exactly what to do, and when to do it, ignoring her one feeble, fluttering protest, taking her swiftly beyond embarrassment to a world which knew no such inhibitions, only the most incredibly addictive compelling pleasure. He felt her surrender to its power, felt her lose herself to a rapidly rising rapture. She struggled for breath, sucking in deeply over and over as her body melted with heat. Her cries were sometimes gasps, sometimes moans.
And then she was really crying out, sobbing and shuddering as everything broke within her, her flesh spasming wildly under the most intense orgasm he’d ever given a woman.
Jason collapsed beside her on the carpet, her pleasure having unexpectedly become his pleasure, shocking him. He’d never known anything like it.
He lay like that for several minutes, before levering himself up on one elbow to look down at her. Her arms were flung out, palms up, by her sides. Her eyes were shut and her lips still agape.
He left her there and made his way into the bathroom, stripping as he went and stepping into the shower. Five minutes later he was back, scooping her up into his arms and carrying her towards the main bedroom.
Her eyes opened on a low moan.
‘You’re not going to sleep yet, Mrs Steel,’ he told her mockingly. ‘That was just the entrée. Now we’re moving on to the main course.’ And, laying her face down in the bed, he proceeded to unhook the corsellete and strip her totally, even dispensing with the pearl choker this time. His movements were swift and impatient, his inadequately subdued flesh already on the rise again. ‘Did you think your wifely duties were over for the night?’ he asked as he snapped on a bedside lamp and rolled her over.
‘Oh,’ she gasped. ‘You’re naked!’
‘And so are you, my lovely,’ he said, and climbed onto the bed beside her.
Her blush was charming. But she made no move to cover herself. He propped himself up on one elbow and began to touch wherever his eyes travelled. She had a lovely feminine shape, even without the help of underwear. Breasts just full enough. A tiny waist. Slender hips and thighs. It was her skin, however, which fascinated him, with its satiny softness. Even her pubic hair was soft, curling damply between her legs. He stroked those legs apart once more and watched her while he explored every inch of her body. Her breathing quickened once more. Her eyes closed and her lips fell slightly apart.
His own pulse was racing, but he remained in control. What had happened earlier had calmed him somewhat.
He slipped one finger inside her and her eyes shot open. Again he knew exactly where to touch, searching for and finding that elusive G spot. Her eyes widened and her lips fell further apart on a low moan. He kissed her while one finger eventually became two, then three. She was opening for him, her flesh growing slick and eager. The moment she started grasping and releasing his fingers he stopped kissing her, his head lifting.
Till that moment he’d deliberately avoided thinking of his own arousal, so he was astonished to find he was bigger and harder than he’d ever been in his life. Not good, he thoug
ht, but what could he do about it?
‘Jason,’ she moaned when his hand withdrew.
‘It’s all right,’ he muttered, and levered himself over, between her legs. Straight away she lifted her knees and wrapped her ankles and arms around him. Hell, she was a natural, he thought, as she rocked slightly back and forth, rubbing her moist flesh against him.
His aim was to penetrate her as gently as possible, so as not to hurt her. It was both agony and ecstasy as he eased his aching flesh inside hers, for whilst she was deliciously tight, her sharp intake of breath indicated that he was causing her some discomfort. She was tensing up; he could feel. He was losing her.
‘Oh, God,’ she cried painfully, but he simply could not stop at that point. What good would it have done, anyway?
‘I’m sorry,’ he rasped, and wondered if it might be better to do this more quickly.
Her resistance was surprising him. He’d thought he’d prepared her well. Or was his extra hardness the trouble? Whatever, his own pleasure at being sheathed inside her was incredible. He’d never felt anything like it. That, combined with the knowledge that she was finally his, that he was one with the woman he loved, broke his control.
He drove in to the hilt.
She didn’t cry out. But she seemed stunned, lying motionless beneath him for a while, but then slowly, as he began to move, she came to life beneath him, moving with him, her nails digging into his back. He had her again. Clasping her tighter, Jason thrust harder and deeper.
‘Oh,’ she cried, but not from pain. From pleasure. He could hear it, feel it. And then she was coming around him, her muscles contracting wildly. He was powerless to last any longer, his seed racing towards her waiting womb, exploding deep within her. His groan was primal, his back arching with the force of his climax. He came and came and came.
Towards the end of his ecstasy, Jason realised his bride was crying, sobbing into his chest with he knew not what emotions. Regret that he wasn’t Ratchitt?
Jason’s stomach lurched, all pleasure ceasing.
It tore him apart that the reality of what had just happened was too much for her, that in her heart she still wanted Ratchitt. Jealousy ripped through Jason as he imagined she might have responded so intensely because she’d been pretending it was Ratchitt’s arms around her tonight, his mouth pleasuring her, him buried deep inside her.
It took every ounce of maturity not to act like some stupid, self-destructive fool. Maybe she would have preferred Ratchitt, but she’d married him, hadn’t she? He was the man lying in bed with her tonight. He would be the man in her bed every night. The man who would father her children. Ratchitt was the stupid fool!
So he pushed aside his futile thinking and held her to him till she stopped crying and fell asleep. Only then did he slide from underneath her and try to sleep himself. But he remained, wide-eyed and awake, till the wee hours of the morning, thinking of his mother’s words once more.
You can’t have everything in life, son…
She’d never been so wrong. Or so right.
CHAPTER TEN
JASON woke to a gentle hand on his shoulder.
‘What?’ he said, sitting bolt upright and almost upsetting the tray Emma was carrying.
She stepped back and stood there, smiling shyly down at him, all dressed and pretty in pale pink. ‘It’s almost eleven,’ she said.
‘Good Lord!’ He rarely slept in like that.
‘I’ve been up for hours,’ she went on. ‘Been shopping too, as you can see. There wasn’t anything in the cupboards except tea, coffee, sugar and toilet paper. I thought you would need something more substantial than that.’ She smiled and bent to place the tray on the bedside table. ‘I know you usually have muesli for breakfast, but I didn’t think honeymoons were the right occasion for the mundane. I looked for something more decadent. Did I do right?’
His eyes swept over the breakfast tray, with its grapefruit juice, bacon and eggs, fried tomato and sautéed mushrooms. Two slices of perfectly browned toast rested on a bread plate along with a dollop of butter. Two pretty paper serviettes were tucked underneath.
‘You did very right,’ he said, levering himself up to sit back against the headboard, careful to arrange the sheet over him so she wouldn’t be embarrassed by his nudity. He could see the morning had brought back some of her ingrained innocence. The sensual partner of the night before had been put to bed, and in her place was the Emma he’d first met. A little shy. A little prim. A lot old-fashioned.
He was dying to go to the bathroom, but decided that could wait till she was gone. ‘This is fantastic, Emma. You shouldn’t have.’
‘But of course I should! You’re my husband.’
Something squeezed tight within him. He wasn’t sure if it was satisfaction, or the beginnings of despair. Was that all he would ever be to her, her husband?
Probably, he decided, and tried not to look wretched. At least she couldn’t claim last night had been for duty alone. She’d enjoyed it, even if she had cried afterwards.
Jason decided not to cry for the moon himself. He’d made the decision to marry with his head, and not his heart. Well, that was what he’d got. A wife who’d married him with her head and not her heart. He should be thankful she found pleasure in his body.
That was if it was his body she was finding pleasure in.
‘I’ll bring your coffee in a little while,’ she said sweetly. ‘Meanwhile, I’ll unpack your clothes.’
‘No!’ he jumped in, quite sharply, and she looked alarmed. ‘No, I don’t want you to do that, Emma,’ he went on more calmly. ‘Look, I don’t know what that aunt of yours brought you up to think a wife should be, but I don’t expect you to be my maid. I can look after myself very well. I can look after my own clothes too. I can even wash and iron with the best of them. Not that I have to, in the main. I have a woman come in Mondays and Thursdays who takes care of that, plus the general cleaning. You know her. Joanne Hatfield. She’s a single mum and can do with the money. I have no intention of letting her go just because I’m married now.’
Emma didn’t seem to know what to make of his speech, looking confused and distressed.
‘I married you for you, Emma,’ he insisted, ‘not to get a free housekeeper. Of course, I don’t mind if you cook, since you’re so good at it, but I’ll be doing the washing-up every night.’
She looked horrified. ‘I can’t let you do that. I mean…what would everyone think?’
‘I don’t give a stuff what they think. You said you were going to go on working in the sweet shop. Working couples share the chores these days.’
‘But you’ll be working much longer hours than me some days.’
His smile was soft. She really was very sweet. ‘Then on those days I’ll let you spoil me and wash up as well, okay?’
Her smile was uncertain. ‘If you say so…’
‘I say so. Now…what would you like to do today?’
Jason was startled when her gaze instinctively moved over his naked chest, then over the rumpled bedclothes. Her cheeks were pink by the time her eyes lifted back to his. ‘I don’t really know,’ she said, but her face told a different story. She wanted to spend the day in bed with him. She was just not bold enough to say so. ‘Anything you like,’ she added.
Anything he liked…
Now that was an invitation no man could turn down, let alone one in love with the lovely young woman making the offer. Any spoiling thoughts about Ratchitt were firmly pushed aside in favour of the reality of the moment, which was that Emma desired him. Him. Her husband.
But there were things he had do first. Breakfast. The bathroom. But after that…after that he’d do what she wanted. And how!
‘Give me half an hour,’ he said, his eyes holding hers. ‘Then we’ll see what I can come up with.’
‘Darn!’ Jason exclaimed, and sat up abruptly in bed. ‘I forgot to do something.’
Emma glanced up at him. ‘I can’t think what,’ she said in all seriousnes
s. ‘Is there anything else?’
He grinned, then dropped a kiss on her pretty pink mouth. ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out.’ They’d been making love on and off all day. At least, Jason had been making love to Emma on and off all day, and he had no intention of changing that formula at this stage. He certainly wasn’t going to urge her to take the reins where lovemaking was concerned, not even in foreplay. He definitely shrank from suggesting she manually or orally arouse him. Whilst he enjoyed both activities a lot, he knew some girls never took to doing either, and he didn’t want to risk repulsing Emma this early in their marriage. She was so responsive when he made love to her. Silly to spoil things by asking for more than she was ready to give.
There was plenty of time to become adventurous later in their marriage, he reasoned sensibly.
Besides, he didn’t want another Adele, did he? He wanted his innocent and inexperienced Emma, who gained the most intense satisfaction from the simplest of lovemaking. He glanced at her now, with the sheet modestly pulled up over her bare breasts, her face still slightly flushed from her last orgasm.
‘You stay right there,’ he said as he scrambled out of bed. But when he walked round to the foot of the bed, where he was sure he’d dropped his clothes, they weren’t there! ‘Now where is that darned dinner jacket of mine?’
‘Oh…I…er…hung it up. Before you asked me not to,’ she added swiftly. ‘It was lying on the floor, along with all your other things.’
He glared at her in mock exasperation, then laughed. ‘You’re forgiven. Where did you hang it?’
She nodded towards the wardrobe door on the right. He dived in and quickly retrieved the dark green velvet box, hiding it behind his back as he turned to face her.
‘What are you hiding?’ she asked eagerly.
‘Not much,’ he countered wryly, glancing down at his naked self with its surprisingly semi-aroused equipment. When he looked back up he was touched to see she was blushing. Not once, in all the years he’d been with Adele, had he ever seen that woman blush. He doubted she knew how.
