Seventeen
The anticipation had been building inside him all day. By the time Kenneth walked into the room, he was ready to pick her up, toss her on the bed, and lose himself in mindless oblivion.
He hadn’t had a woman in …
He didn’t want to think about how long. Had he made love with another women since that night at Dunstaffnage? He couldn’t remember. Liar.
He’d been angry at first and then too busy, damn it. He’d been focused on earning his way into the Guard.
There had been opportunities; he just hadn’t much felt like acting on them. Even no effort had seemed like too much. Which sure as hell didn’t explain all the effort he was going to for her.
Despite the deprived state of his cock, and that it didn’t seem to take more than a glimpse of her to put him in a very pained state, he’d forced himself to take it slow. Wooing. Seducing. Putting her at ease.
Nothing that should have made him feel so damned nervous. Nervous? Hell, he hadn’t ever been nervous with a woman. Ever. Even when he was young and inexperienced enough to warrant it.
But then again, he’d never made love to his wife before. He’d never cared about getting something so right. He wanted it to be perfect. For his mission, of course.
But the moment he wrapped her in his arms, the edginess seemed to disappear. He was back on solid ground. No more thinking. No more talking. Time to let instinct take over.
“I wasn’t trying to get out of it,” she whispered.
“You weren’t?” His hand took a long, slow journey down her spine; he loved the way she shuddered against him.
She shook her head.
She looked so sweet he had to kiss her. His mouth covered hers with a groan. Hunger rose inside him like a maelstrom, but he forced himself to slow. Tasting the honey sweetness of her lips with a gentle caress. Letting his mouth move over hers in a smooth, sensual dance.
But damn, she felt good. He slid his tongue deeper and deeper in her mouth the way he wanted to make love to her. He started to tighten his arms to fit her more closely against him, when the swell of her stomach stopped him.
Hell, how could he have not considered the babe?
He lifted his head. “Perhaps this isn’t a good idea.”
Her expression changed in an instant, from soft and aroused to pale and crestfallen. And something else he couldn’t quite identify—almost vulnerable.
She dropped her gaze and tried to pull away. “Of course. I see myself every day, so I don’t realize how much I must have changed.”
He frowned. What in Hades was she talking about? As the thought had never occurred to him, it took him a minute to realize what she meant. He caught her before she could slip away. “You have changed. You are even more beautiful than you were before.”
“That isn’t saying much,” she said wryly.
He laughed. “I suspect that was your intent.” She didn’t deny it. “You were far too thin. Believe me, sweeting, your new curves have only added to your beauty, and my desire for you. If you like, you can feel for yourself.” He was pleased to see a blush rise to her cheeks, but unfortunately, she didn’t take him up on his offer. “My concern is for the child. Is this … I don’t want to do anything to hurt …”
A shy smile returned to her face. “The baby will not be hurt. The church might not like it, but I believe it is quite common for a husband to share his wife’s bed until near the end of the pregnancy.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded, and that was enough. He swept her up into his arms—or arm, as he could easily bear her weight on his good arm—and carried her to the bed.
Laying her gently atop the bed coverings, he proceeded to remove his boots, plaid, and shirt. Bared to the waist, he turned to see her studying him with a distressed look on her face.
“What’s wrong?”
Troubled eyes lifted to his. “Your arm. Does it hurt very badly? I never thanked you for what you did for Davey.” She shivered. “Had you not been there …”
He sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned toward her, putting his finger on her mouth to stop her from finishing the thought. “Don’t think about it. But you’re welcome.” He moved his arm around. It was stiff and still a bit sore, but it felt surprisingly strong. Thanks to his sister. “The wound is healing well. I should be able to resume my duties on the battlefield soon enough.”
Just not too soon.
“I wish there was something I could do.”
His blood heated at the innocent offer. He could think of a lot of things she could do. But those would keep for later.
Stretched out on the bed before him, with her golden hair spilling out on the pillow behind her head, her lush form clad in a thin chemise and velvet robe tied loosely around the middle, adorably tiny feet peeking out from below, she was doing plenty. He drew in his breath and traced the lush curves and contours of her breasts with the back of one finger.
He heard her draw in her breath as well, and when he looked at her face, he watched as the flush of desire washed over her. Her lips parted. Her eyes drew heavy. Her cheeks pinkened. It was one of the most erotic things he’d ever seen.
With one touch he could arouse her passion, and it was just as hot and fiery as his.
Desire roared through his veins. His heart started to pound and his cock swelled hard, straining and throbbing against the ties of his breeches. He wanted to take her tiny hand and wrap it around him. He wanted to feel the wet heat of her mouth sucking him. But most of all he wanted to bury himself deep inside her until she couldn’t deny this connection between them.
“There is something you can do,” he rasped, the heat in his eyes leaving no question of his meaning.
She feigned shock. “Are you asking me to pay you back with my body, my lord?”
He grinned unrepentantly. “I am. And I intend for you to pay dearly. Starting right now.” His finger found the nub of her nipple, and he started to draw tiny little circles around its tip until it hardened to a delicious point. It was everything he could do not to rip the robe and chemise apart and take it in his mouth. Her breasts were incredible. So full and ripe.
But this wasn’t going to be about lust. He was going to seduce his bride if it killed him. He wanted her begging for him.
Mary couldn’t move. Every nerve ending in her body was flared and straining in the direction of his finger. Sweet heaven, what was he doing to her? This wasn’t going at all as she’d planned. She’d envisioned a quick and passionate coupling. Preferably in the dark. Not this intimacy. Not talking. Not teasing. Not slow, unhurried seduction.
Like a spider to the fly, he was luring her into his dangerous web. She could feel herself sliding, slipping into a place of confusing emotions. A place where she would be unprotected and vulnerable to emotions she didn’t want to feel.
She had to get back on track. Open her eyes and harden her heart. Passion, not tenderness. Lust, not intimacy.
But the more she knew him, the harder it was to resist him. He wasn’t just a handsome, wicked scoundrel who’d taunted her with a night of passion. He was still cocky and arrogant, and he still had far too many women throwing themselves at his feet, but behind the bold facade he was also kind, considerate, and at times surprisingly sweet. Looking at his fierce, imposing facade, you would never know it. But she did.
If only he would stop looking at her like that. If only he would stop touching her like that. He’d taken command of her body with one deft finger.
“Do you like that, sweeting?” he said softly.
She wanted to tell him no. She didn’t want to draw this out any longer than was necessary, but her breasts were so heavy. Her nipple throbbed, ached for something more.
She was trying so hard to resist. But finally the sensation built until she couldn’t hold it any longer. The restless, impatient feeling was coming over her again. She let out a soft cry, arching into his hand. “Please.”
Finally, he cupped her in his palms, rubbing her nipple between his finger and forefinger with just the right amount of pressure. She remembered the heat of his mouth through her gown the last time …
She cried out again, a rush of heat pooling between her thighs.
His slow seduction slipped. He let out a growl and covered her mouth with his, cupping and squeezing her breast with all the frenzy she could have asked for.
His incredible chest was leaning over her, naked and warm. She didn’t have to tell herself to reach up and put her hands on him; it was instinctive. A shock of heat reverberated through her at the contact. His skin was so smooth, which seemed incongruous with the hard granite of his muscles below. Muscles that flexed and flared at her touch as her hands roamed over the broad spans of his shoulders and back.
His kiss was growing more passionate by the second, more aggressive, his tongue plunging into her mouth with wild, carnal abandon.
She could feel the hard press of his erection against her thigh. Feel his hands sliding between her robe to push it apart.
Yes, she thought. This was exactly the way she wanted it. Hurried and frenzied. Hot and passionate.
She moaned her encouragement, her hands slipping down his back to settle at his waist, pulling him more urgently against her.
But he had more control than she. Just when she thought he was going to loosen his breeches, toss up her skirts, and plunge inside, he drew back with a harsh grunt. “Not so fast, little one. We have all night, and I intend to use every minute of it.”
Kenneth saw her eyes widen with something that almost looked like fear.
“Is th-that … necessary?” His gaze narrowed, and she explained hastily. “It’s just that I’ve had a long day, as I’m sure you have. I’m rather tired.”
Tired? When a few seconds ago she’d been writhing in his arms, her body a lit keg of black powder getting ready to explode?
His mouth fell in a hard line, suspecting what this was about. Apparently, she still wanted only one thing from him. But he had no intention of letting her dictate the terms of their marriage bed. Unwittingly, his bride had just set down a challenge to a man who couldn’t resist one.
He hid his irritation behind a complacent smile. “Of course. I understand. We can go as fast or as slow as you like.”
Her brow furrowed skeptically. “Really?”
“Really.”
He was just going to make sure she never wanted it to end.
She eyed him warily.
Smart lass.
Without preamble, he started to loosen the sash at her waist. She caught his hand. “Wh-what are you d-doing?”
“We can’t very well get this over with, with you wearing all these clothes.”
Her eyes widened again, and she clenched the edges of her robe against her chest protectively. “I like these clothes.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. You can leave on your chemise, but take off the robe.” He gave her a taunting smile. “It will go faster if it doesn’t get in the way.”
Her eyes narrowed, guessing that he was up to something. Surprisingly, for once, she did as he asked. Sitting up, she loosened the sash, shrugged the robe from her shoulders, and tossed it on the trunk at the foot of the bed.
He drew in his breath, momentarily distracted by the body revealed by the thin, achingly translucent piece of linen. Her breasts strained against the fabric, having obviously grown larger than the garment was originally designed to fit. The pleasant handful that he recalled from before had swelled into two firm, round mounds as big and ripe as peaches. Her pearl-sized nipples were taut and straining against the fabric.
He felt his cock do the same.
He glanced sharply away, smothering a pained groan, before he got distracted. Hell, he was already distracted. But his wee wife had drawn the battle lines, and he was going to do whatever it took to win.
He stood and began to work the ties of his breeches, which given the state of his arousal wasn’t easy.
She made what sounded suspiciously like a squeak. “What are you doing?”
He smiled, having finally managed to free himself. “I sleep naked.”
“You d-do?”
“Every night.”
Her eyes met his. He could see the frown start, almost as if she’d guessed his plan. But before she could say anything, he slid his pants down.
She made a strangled sound in her throat and he tried not to laugh. Stepping out of the legs, he kicked the breeches aside. Naked as one of those Greek statues he’d seen pictures of once, he stood proudly before her. If she liked his body, well then, she was going to see a whole hell of a lot of it.
He glanced to the bed, pleased to see his actions had elicited the appropriate response. She was staring at him as if she were trying to commit every inch of his flesh to memory.
But she was more stubborn than he’d anticipated. Her eyes flew to his. She licked her lips. “Would you mind blowing out the candles. I’m afraid I’m feeling quite shy.”
His mouth tightened. The little vixen! She didn’t have a shy bone in her passionate little body. He was about to refuse when she said, “Unless you find it difficult to perform in the dark.”
He nearly choked. Him have difficulty performing? God, didn’t she see the size of his erection? But he clenched his jaw, hearing her challenge. Without a word, he stalked over to the candelabra on the sideboard and blew them out. The lamp at the bedside table as well.
The room went dark for a moment, but when his eyes adjusted, he realized there was still a soft glow of light coming from the coal in the fireplace.
More than enough for what he intended. His eyes fixed on the woman in his bed. He gave her a predatory smile. “If you don’t have any more directions, what’s say we begin?”
Mary knew she’d made a mistake. Somehow he’d guessed what she was about. Worse, he’d taken it as a challenge and turned it into some kind of contest.
Her heart pounded erratically as she heard his footsteps approach the bed. Unfortunately, it wasn’t nearly dark enough, and she could still see far too much of him.
He was incredible. Could a man so fiercely masculine be beautiful? If so, then he was. His body was like a statue. A massive, perfectly chiseled statue. It had been hard to know where to look, from his broad shoulders and thickly muscled arms, to his sculpted chest with band after band of ripped muscle, to his heavy, powerfully built thighs. And then there was that other part of him. The uniquely male part of him she shouldn’t notice but had looked at with far too much and very unmaidenly curiosity. The thick column of flesh with the plump hood that strained past his belly button. Hard and red, she’d ached to touch it. To feel him in her hands.
The bed shifted with his weight when he slid in next to her. For a moment, he simply lay beside her in the darkness. She was so highly aroused, so painfully aware of him, however, that it only increased her anxiousness.
Did he have to be so blasted hot? His body seemed to radiate heat, and her skin felt flushed and uncomfortable—as if it were too small for her body.
He’s naked.
Try not to think about it.
But she couldn’t help it. She kept thinking about how it would feel to have all that hot skin pressed against her.
He was torturing her. And he knew it.
“Still tired, Mary?”
The blighter. “A little,” she said stubbornly, as her body screamed for him to touch her. She squirmed.
“Bed not comfortable?” he asked innocently.
“The bed is fine,” she snapped.
“I just heard you moving around—”
He rolled to his side and began his infernally slow game of tracing every inch of her with his finger, when she ached—yes, ached—to have the full pressure of his hands. She was more aroused than she’d ever been in her life.
“Any more instructions, Mary? Or are you going to let me proceed?”
Something about him brought out her fight. She wasn’t going to let him run over her. She lifted her chin. “Nothing that I can think of right now, but I will let you know if something comes up.”
“Something has come up, all right,” he mumbled irritably.
Mary smiled, glad to know she wasn’t the only one suffering. “What’s that?” she asked innocently.
His reply was a kiss. A very slow, very expert, very thorough kiss. A kiss that radiated down to her toes. A kiss that made her limbs heavy and her bones dissolve. A kiss that made her want with all her heart.
He was seducing her, and if Mary didn’t do something, she knew she’d be lost. She was halfway there already. She had to find a way to take control.
He was on his side, leaning half on her. She could feel the thick imprint of his manhood on her stomach. The image of him holding himself in his hand sprang to mind. The fact that it aligned with her previous thoughts of wanting to touch him made the possibility even more intriguing.
If he’d pleasured himself that way, would he like it if she did the same?
Testing her theory, she moved her hand from his arm to his chest, lightly trailing her fingers down the rigid bands of his stomach muscles.
She knew she was on to something when he stilled, pausing in his kiss, stomach muscles clenching. He hissed when the heel of her hand met the plump tip. “What are you doing?”
She wrapped her fingers around him, and he groaned, instinctively thrusting himself deeper in her hand. She wondered at the sensations. At the feel of him. His skin was so hot. A velvety-thin glove over steel.
“I should think that was obvious,” she said. “I want to touch you.” She looked up at him in the darkness, holding his gaze. Slowly, she began to move her hand the way he’d done. He groaned again, closing his eyes as if the pleasure was too much to take. “I hope that is all right?”
“Oh God,” he said, covering her hand with his, showing her how to find his rhythm. “God, that feels so good. I’ve dreamed of this.”
“You have?”
But he seemed incapable of speech. She watched the pleasure build inside him. Saw as his face drew clenched and tight as he strained against the release that she knew was only moments away. He was throbbing, beating under her hand.
His hand found the edge of her chemise and dipped underneath. His fingers brushed between her legs, and the wave of pleasure was so intense she almost forgot to keep moving her hand.
His fingers dipped inside. No teasing now. He stroked and thrust, readying her for him.
She heard his breath quicken. Felt his body clenching. When he pulled his hand from her, rolled over, and positioned himself between her legs, she knew she’d won.
Lust. She could feel it crackling in the air between them. He was out of his mind with lust for her, just as she was for him.
Check … mate.
Kenneth knew he should have stopped her, but the feel of her soft, small hand wrapped around him, stroking him, was more than he could resist.
All he could think about was being inside her. He wanted so badly to come that it hurt.
But when he held himself over her and looked into her eyes, he knew he had to find a way to pull himself back from the edge.
If she knew how easy it was to control him, he would never be able to break down the wall she’d erected between them.
So he countered her attack with one of his own. Before she realized what he intended, he slid down her body, positioning his face between her legs.
“What are you—”
He brushed his lips over her.
“Oh!”
She bucked, and he took the opportunity to slide his hands under the soft curve of her bottom to hold her steady. He kissed her again, rubbing his jaw against her mound as his tongue slid inside with long, languid strokes. She tasted so good, so soft and silky smooth, he couldn’t seem to get enough of her. He made love to her with his mouth and tongue, her back arching and her hips rising to meet the wicked onslaught of his kiss.
She was breathing hard, frantic little moans echoing in his ears. He knew he could make her come, but he purposefully drew it out until she was writhing in agony.
He lifted his head, looking up at her. The subtle curve of her belly made his chest swell with a strange emotion. His voice was oddly rough when he spoke. “Look at me, Mary.”
Her eyes were soft and unfocused, so heavy with lust it made his cock clench. Holding her gaze, he flicked her with his tongue. She shuddered. She was his. He held his mouth against her, giving her the pressure she yearned for, and sent her flying over the edge.
Mary had never felt so close to anyone in her life. Looking into his eyes as he’d kissed her like that …
She’d never imagined sharing that kind of intimacy with anyone.
When he’d finally given her the release that she’d craved, she was so tired, she forgot to fight back.
Barely had the ebb of pleasure started to slip away when he was pushing inside her. Filling her. Becoming a part of her.
He forced her gaze to his as he took the final thrust of possession. At least that’s what she told herself. It wasn’t that she couldn’t look way.
He moved inside her slowly at first. But then the battle became too much for both of them. He surged once. Twice. And then his body stiffened and jerked as the spasms of his own release hit.
When it was over, they were both too tired to speak. He rolled to the side and tucked her against him. Strangely, she didn’t fight it.
The battle had been won, but by whom?