How to Lose a Bride in One Night

by Sophie Jordan

  Her lips parted on a sigh as she moved his hand higher, his fingers skimming over the inside of her thigh.

  A low growl escaped him. “Your skin is like silk.”

  She parted her thighs wider. Her shift fell back to her hips and she felt cool air wash over the exposed core of her. Heat fired her face as his gaze followed suit, roaming over that most secret place.

  She stopped his hand’s ascent, holding him still where her thigh almost met with the very heat of her.

  “Annalise.”

  She shuddered at the sound of her name. Her gaze flew to his.

  “Don’t stop. Show me where you want me.”

  Her breath falling short and hard, she nodded. The ache between her legs was no less intense. Bared before his gaze, it had only deepened. Still holding his wrist, she guided him to her, settling his hand over her heat.

  He closed his eyes and brought his forehead to hers. She could feel the very pulse of him there, fused to the core of her. He didn’t even move, but the burning imprint of his hand, his palm and fingers against her, made her gasp.

  “So wet, Annalise.”

  She whimpered. Her hips lifted, thrusting against his palm with a will . . . a knowledge that she did not yet understand, even as her body knew, and sought.

  He lowered his mouth to hers, whispering the words, “So eager.” As his palm moved, burrowed against her in a way that had her arching against him in sudden response, her fingernails dug into his bare shoulders.

  “You like that?”

  “Again,” she choked, nodding furiously.

  He rotated his wrist and found the spot, did it again, grinding on her in a way that made her want to fly from her skin.

  She cried out and bucked against his hand. “What . . . are you . . . doing?” she panted against his ear.

  She had never heard of anything like this happening before. Not with a mere touch. Agathe’s and Sally’s indiscreet whisperings had never revealed anything so shattering was even possible.

  Then suddenly the pressure was gone, his fingers parting her slick folds, sliding shockingly against her with a finger, searching, hunting, at last unerringly finding that tiny pearl of pleasure. Her mouth opened wide on a silent cry as he circled it with his thumb, pushing and rolling until she shuddered in his arms.

  His lips pressed against her throat, his words vibrating on her skin, “There, love.”

  Just as ripples of sensation eased over her and she began to feel satiated, he eased a finger into her channel.

  She moaned, arching, fingers digging anew into his shoulders. Everything within her tightened and twisted once again as his fingers stretched her, sinking deeper and deeper.

  He burrowed his head in the crook of her neck. “God, Annalise, you’re so tight . . . so wet . . . I can’t wait.”

  Wait? She didn’t want him to wait. The burn was back, throbbing and tormenting. She wanted it fed.

  She let out a small mewl of frustration and slipped her hand between them, caressing him through his breeches, her gaze locking on his. “Then don’t wait.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  With a groan, he brushed her hand aside and freed himself from his trousers. Anticipation coursed through her. He cursed as he kicked them off, leaving her for a moment. Cool air wafted over her, making her shiver.

  But then he was back. Every delicious inch of him, silk on steel. The weight of him settled between her legs. It was exciting and a bit frightening, the lean hips, muscled thighs sprinkled lightly with crisp hair chafing at her tender thighs. It was intimate and raw and totally unlike anything she had ever felt.

  “Look at my face. I want to watch you.”

  Her gaze snapped to his eyes, the blue deep and mesmerizing.

  His finger stroked beside the corner of her eye, inching up to glide over her eyebrow. “So beautiful.”

  Heat flamed her face, but she stopped herself from contradicting him. “So are you.”

  His warm chuckle was his response.

  He was unlike anything she had ever known. Even as she squirmed in anticipation, he stared at her as if he were memorizing her, as if he had all the time in the world. He reached down and pulled her shift up her torso and over her head.

  “Much better.”

  She fought to ignore the fact that she was exposed before him with all her imperfections. The way his eyes roamed in appreciation, he didn’t find fault in her.

  “Now?” she asked shakily. His manhood pressed heavily along the inside of her thigh and it was hard to think of anything else.

  “You’re nervous.” He smiled seductively, his well-carved lips curling slowly.

  “I’m not,” she protested, but the tremor to her voice betrayed her. She was beyond thought, beyond speech. There was only sensation.

  “It’s fine . . . we’ll relax you again.” Leaning down, he pressed his mouth to hers in a wet, open-mouthed kiss. His tongue slid inside to taste her again and again until she was a mass of pudding beneath him. Her bones softened, her muscles liquefying.

  She slid her hand around him, down the slope of his back. The sensation of his bare, taut buttock against her palm excited her. His flesh tightened and flexed in her hand, filling her with a heady sense of power. He growled when she squeezed him.

  He ground his manhood against her, the long length of him slipping against her wet folds, creating a delicious friction. She panted, thrusting her hips until her sex felt swollen and hot, weeping in need of him.

  He still kissed her, but she was now moaning into his mouth, quivering and overcome. When his hand found her breast, she lurched at the contact. He watched her beneath heavy lids as he lowered his head, still smiling that wicked smile even as his mouth parted, descending on her nipple.

  She tensed in anticipation as his mouth closed over the tip of her breast. She released a breathy sigh as he pulled her nipple deep into his mouth, the velvet feel of his tongue rasping around the peak in languid strokes. The hot lave sent her over the edge. She was lost, her head writhing against the bed.

  “That’s it, Annalise.”

  The sound of her name on his lips was like an elixir. She seized his buttocks in both her hands and lifted her knees.

  It was all the invitation he needed.

  He lifted his mouth from her breast, and the hard length of him ceased its delicious friction. The head of him found her entrance and his shaft speared her in one deep plunge. She felt impaled.

  She screamed, her nails digging into his flesh. He was too much. She couldn’t take him.

  He cupped her face, holding her gaze. “Annalise, I’m sorry. It will ease. Sssh.” He rained kisses over her face. The corner of her lips, her mouth, her cheeks.

  He remained lodged within her, the fullness of him becoming less invasive. The sting dulled to a vague burn. He thrust again slowly, carefully, again and again, building friction, stoking that fire back to life.

  His pumps grew deeper, but still restrained, tempered. His body trembled over her, his buttocks taut beneath her palms.

  He breathed harshly in her ear. “Forgive me, I must move . . .”

  His strokes quickened then. She gasped at the sensation. Each one seemed to reach all the way to her womb. His force matched his speed. He slammed into her, his hands sliding under her. He cupped her derriere in both of his large hands, lifting her, better positioning her for his hard thrusting.

  Something tightened inside her again, coiling and squeezing. With no deliberation, her inner muscles clenched and clung to him as he delved deep in the core of her. He groaned, clearly appreciating her efforts. His hands slid into her hair, pulling her face close to his. He burrowed his lips in the crook of her neck, his teeth lightly scoring the flesh.

  The entire act stunned her. She made tiny gasping sounds that she couldn’t stop if she wished it. It was scandalous and s
hocking . . . more intimate than anything she had ever imagined. She had never felt so close, so exposed . . . so connected to another person.

  She turned her face and pressed several open-mouthed kisses to his shoulder. He growled again, catching her mouth up in his again.

  He kissed her like he could never have enough. Even as he continued to pump his hips, the hard length of him sliding into her, his lips clung to hers.

  She opened her mouth against his in a silent cry as he worked over her, his sleek body so very big, and male, and beautiful. A sharp yelp escaped her as something inside her snapped. Sensation flooded her, rippling to every nerve ending. Her vision blurred. She became incapable of holding up her legs. They slipped down on either side of his hips on the bed as he took one final, shuddering plunge inside her.

  He covered her, the weight of him wondrous and not the least bit cumbersome . . . even if her lungs did struggle to expand from the pressure of his significant form.

  Apparently, he did not miss the wheeze of her breath. He lifted himself up on his elbows. His eyes gleamed down at her tenderly. “Sorry. Better?” He brushed loose strands back from her forehead.

  She nodded, knowing she must look like a besotted fool grinning up at him. “I’ve never been quite as perfect as I am in this moment.”

  She felt him pulse inside her, reminding her that he was still lodged there, joining them together. Her cheeks burned at still experiencing him there . . . feeling him so deeply when not in the act of lovemaking. It was somehow more intimate.

  His gaze skimmed her, a physical touch. Her face felt hotter as his eyes traveled over her bare breasts. “I’d have to agree that you are pretty perfect right now . . .”

  He rolled to the side, sliding from her body and taking her with him, tucking her against himself. His hand stroked her bare arm. “You were a virgin.”

  She was relieved he could not see her face, knowing she must be impossibly bright now. “Yes. Are you . . . surprised?”

  He didn’t answer for some moments, but his fingers continued to draw small, electric circles on her skin, comforting her. “No. I think I knew. Or rather, I suspected.”

  How? She bit back the question. It would have opened all manner of discussions revolving around who she was and what happened to her leading up to the moment he found her. That was the one subject she needed to avoid with him.

  Owen was an honorable man. If she told him about Bloodsworth, he would insist on protecting her. And he couldn’t. Not without risking himself. And she wouldn’t have that.

  “Annalise,” he murmured as though testing the sound of her name. “It suits you.”

  She smiled against his chest, turning her face so that her lips brushed his smooth, warm flesh.

  He continued, his voice deep and sober, compelling. “You’ve been hiding more than your name from me.”

  Her smile evaporated. “I have.” No sense denying what was obvious anymore.

  “Will you tell me what happened now?”

  Her fingers lightly drummed over his chest. “Yes.” She closed her eyes against the lie. “But can we have this for right now? Just a while longer? Must we spoil it so soon with talk of me and my less than savory history?”

  “Very well.” His circling fingers stilled, his hand settling over her arm, clasping her gently, each finger a warm imprint. “We will have time enough later for full explanations.”

  Only they wouldn’t have time later.

  She had to see to that. She had used up the last bit of her time with him. As much as it pained her, she needed to be gone this day—as soon as possible. Before Bloodsworth decided that she wasn’t honoring her promise and acted.

  He expelled a breath. She tensed, waiting for him to continue interrogating her.

  “You’re going to be one of those,” he said.

  “Those what?”

  “One of those females who require time to bask in the aftermath of lovemaking.”

  Her smile returned, relieved at his teasing tone. He was granting her a reprieve. “That’s done then, is it?”

  “Hm-mm.”

  “Then I suppose you may relegate me to that category of female . . . although I don’t care to think about the long line of females who’ve basked in the aftermath of your lovemaking.” She swatted playfully at his chest. She imagined with his prowess, she was one of several.

  His fingers sifted through her hair. “I confess memories of anyone else are rather vague at the moment.”

  She propped her chin on his chest and gazed into his eyes. The darker ring of blue circling the iris seemed more prominent, almost black. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “What?”

  “Say things like . . . that. I know you’re experienced . . . that this is simply . . .” Her voice faded away. Her face grew miserably hot.

  “This is simply what?” he pressed.

  She floundered before settling on a word. “Nice.”

  He grinned, his arms wrapping around her to gather her closer against him. “You are remarkably adept at the art of the understatement. I think we both know this is more than nice, Annalise.”

  A shiver chased over her skin. At his deep voice pronouncing her name, still so new to her ears. At his insinuation that he seemed to think this—what had just transpired between them—meant something. That it could be more than a simple tryst.

  When she knew it could not.

  It could not mean anything beyond the moment.

  As his breathing deepened, she knew he was falling asleep. His body relaxed beneath her, lethargic and unsuspecting in her arms. A quick glance revealed his eyes had closed.

  She felt the pull of sleep as well . . . her muscles soft and satiated. It would be so very easy to fall asleep in his arms.

  She sighed and the sound captured all her longing. For a moment she allowed the notion of sleeping the day away with him to tempt her. To dream and ignore, forgetting the specter of Bloodsworth, lured her.

  It was an impossible dream. She had never been one to run from reality. She must do the right thing even if that meant leaving this man who had come to mean something to her . . . everything. Even if it meant leaving someone who, unbelievable as it seemed, appeared to want her in turn.

  Her eyes burned. She blinked them rapidly, hoping to dispel the sting. She’d never had that. She had fooled herself into thinking she would have such a thing with Bloodsworth, but deep in her bones she’d known it wasn’t real. He did not want her.

  With great care, she lifted Owen’s arm from where it draped around her, pausing to look down at him, her heart aching. She watched him for several moments, assuring herself that he well and truly slept, but also memorizing him for the stretch of lonely days ahead.

  She pressed her hand to the bed gently and scooted away, careful not to use so much pressure that he would notice the dip in the mattress. Easing from the bed, she stepped down to the floor, keeping a cautious eye on him. Nothing. He slept on, looking more innocent and vulnerable than she had ever seen him. Almost happy. Peaceful. Perhaps it was the lovemaking.

  Perhaps it was you. Perhaps you gave him this.

  She shoved aside the arrogant thought. Even if it were true, she could not let herself stay and risk him. What kind of woman would that make her? No doubt there were countless women eager to fill his bed. She was no better than any of them. One of them would make him happy and bring him peace and contentment.

  One of them would give to him what she could not.

  Owen woke to shadows, his head light and surprisingly clear, free from the echoes of nightmares he had long accepted as his penance.

  He held himself still, listening, probing deep within himself. Nothing lurked there. He smiled slowly, cautiously grateful for the rare rest he’d been granted.

  He did not have to wonder why. Of course it was her doing. Annalise. The
female he had wanted to be rid of. The very one he had considered a burden. Astonishingly, she had turned out to be the antidote to all that had ailed him and kept him from peaceful slumber.

  Grinning, he shook his head and rubbed his eyes awake. A bit fanciful, he knew. Perhaps not all, not everything, but there was no doubt she gave him other things to consider.

  His body tightened in anticipation of taking her again, sliding himself into her heat. That would have to wait, of course, until she gave him some answers. Starting with who that bastard had been today to put such fear in her eyes.

  The day had turned to dusk. Thin gray light filtered in between the part in the drapes. His arms stretched out beside him, reaching for her. Not finding her, he frowned and lifted his head. She was not in the vast bed.

  Assuming she had left him to his sleep, he rose. No doubt she had wanted to bathe and refresh herself. A deep sense of satisfaction spread through his chest. He had introduced her body into the carnal act. His cock hardened at the memory of how sweet she had been.

  He rose in one swift motion, his frown returning as his gaze swept over the bedchamber. He did not care for waking to find her gone. The experience left a strange hollowness inside him. A foul taste rose to coat his mouth.

  He would have to correct the matter of separate rooms. He wanted her in his room, in his bed—in his life. He couldn’t fathom that he had ever wanted or expected her to leave. The man he had been when he first returned home . . . the dead shell that had faced his brother and Paget was a distant thing. He felt alive. As though he had woken from a deep sleep. She had filled the hollow places inside him again. Sensations, emotion, flooded him.

  He wanted, needed, to be able to reach for her in the middle of the night. To sink into her softness. To feel her thighs wrap around him as her nails scored his skin.

  As untried as she was, she had satisfied him like never before . . . like no other. She had dispelled his demons. Her sweet body bewitched him.