Twenty

“I’ve yet to decide where your first kiss should be,” Marcus said, raining down kiss after kiss along her collarbone.

Gentle laughter tripped from her body to his mouth. “You’ve already given me a first kiss.”

“Don’t spoil my game.” His words muffled against her neck.

“You are fond of games, aren’t you?” And she arched her neck for him.

They stood at the bed’s side, failing to take advantage of its comfort. Didn’t matter. He discovered the sinew connecting her neck to her shoulder. The skin was soft and warm and, judging by the laughter bubbling up, a ticklish spot. His tongue traced the sinew’s line, and gratification swelled when Genevieve’s breath hitched.

She needed…flustering.

He pulled back. Light danced in those big eyes of hers. Despite his rampant erection, he lost himself in her. This night, he’d take all the time necessary to please his wife.

Wife. The word felt good.

The stiff-limbed, stoic woman of hours ago was long gone, replaced by a lovely forest maiden found in fairy tales. But this maid was no innocent.

She traced his bottom lip. “What a fine mouth you have.”

Dark-blond hair fell everywhere. An amber lock curled around her nipple. Entranced by the pink flesh, he kissed the tip. “All the better to kiss you with.”

One finger outlined the pretty coil, and a flush spilled across her chest. Light pink spread to her breasts, where her nipples tightened to singular points. Exquisite. His palm circled a tiny peak. Her beautiful breasts fascinated him. He cupped bountiful curves before skimming her breastbone, her ribs. Genevieve’s heartbeat pulsed beneath smooth skin as gratifying to feel as the rest of her.

She watched his hands roam over her body as though enthralled by the sight of his touch.

With both hands, he rolled her nipples again and again between his thumbs and forefingers. She’d never nursed a child. The aureole was close in color to her breast, not the deeper shade of a woman who’d carried a babe. The small, rosy circles contrasted with her size. Would her nipples get larger when she bore a child?

His child?

Both hands fell away at the phantom image of an infant at her breast. He nearly stepped back. Of course that wouldn’t happen. The brandy-soaked linen. He was familiar with the modes women used to prevent a babe.

Her kiss-swollen lips parted. She clasped his hands with hers and set them on her breasts. “Don’t stop.”

Lust mad, his pulse banged. Light hazed around him. His brain had already slipped between his legs when he’d spied her pushing the linen into her nest of curls.

He’d given up trying to think straight.

It was useless. He was good for one thing tonight—pleasuring his bride.

Genevieve warmed to the sex play, kneading her plump breasts with him. Together their joined hands explored her pale skin. She fed him soft smiles and tender laughter, kissing his whisker-rough jaw. He’d participated in too much bed sport with women convinced he wanted erotic seduction. They put on plays, batting lashes, arching their bodies coyly…all false drama.

They gave what they thought he expected. None gave themselves.

His buxom bride was different. Was this what happened to the man who bedded his fair friend? Genevieve laughed and sighed as though sex was fun. She rubbed her breast with him, her other hand sliding down his chest. Lower. Lower until she reached his breeches.

He stiffened. Her touch was light; the ache between his legs was hard. One button loosened. Then another.

“We are going to do this on the bed, aren’t we?” Husky laughter followed her teasing question.

She pushed his coat off his shoulders. All the while, he stared at her shapely arms. He stroked her, shoulder to elbow, muttering, “Sleeves are a waste.”

Intent on getting him undressed, Genevieve dropped his coat to the floor. She maneuvered him to the edge of the bed, endeavoring to tug off his boots. His brain turned to porridge at the pale, teardrop-shaped bottom bent over before him.

With a whoosh, the leather gave way. Genevieve straddled his other leg and yanked. The recalcitrant boot didn’t budge. He leaned back on his elbows. She yanked again, and the boot gave an inch. He planted his stockinged foot on one lush cheek. She looked over her shoulder, doe-brown eyes sparkling through a fall of amber hair.

He grinned. “You look like you could use some help.”

With a toss of her head, she giggled and tugged again. This time the boot yielded. It landed with a thud.

Faint gold-brown lines stained her inner thigh. The brandy. Those tempting streaks contrasted with pale skin and snagged black wool stockings. He rubbed the hard bulge between his legs, glad he’d licked one small part of her clean.

Genevieve bent to remove her garter.

“Don’t.”

She stopped, and her gaze dropped to his hand stroking himself.

“Keep them on. Please.” His voice was hoarse.

Exhaustion hit him, but he wouldn’t stop. Not until he’d sated himself on her. This night had wrung him dry, yet Genevieve’s black wool stockings, the weave thin at her knees, entranced him. One stocking was torn at the knee, the skin scraped from her fall in the woods.

Had that happened today?

Being with her was natural. Real. The same as walking back into Pallinsburn and seeing things in their place. Naked, threadbare stockings, her hair falling uncombed… His new wife was perfection.

“You’re the most beautiful woman. Ever.”

Words gushed unintended. She straightened, her hourglass form perfect. High, full breasts begged to be touched. And those freckles on her nose. By the way her brow furrowed, she didn’t believe him. He should’ve told her downstairs, fully dressed, without so much as a kiss between them. He should’ve told her when she labored in his garden. Or when she read Ben Franklin’s tedious pamphlet on electricity.

And he knew. Right then as he stroked his placket. He was in love with Genevieve Turner Bowles.

His hand worked faster. Breath quickening, he clenched his teeth. This was reckless. He was reckless, yet he wanted to profess his love to the naked lady of his affections while sprawled on the bed rubbing his man parts.

He had piss-poor timing.

Genevieve brushed her hair back. “It’s all right, Marcus,” she said quietly. “You don’t have to ply me with fine compliments.”

Words eluded him. Lust raged, but her pert smile stayed in place. His new wife had no idea about the slope of need and emotion he tumbled down. Positioning herself between his legs, she captured his hand and set it on the mattress. He flopped back, blinking at the canopy overhead, and let her take over.

“I don’t know if I’ll be any good to you. I’m…” His words trailed off.

“Perfect,” she said, rubbing his thighs, the wool fabric rustling under her hands. “I like you just as you are.”

He tried to assimilate her admission, but a rush of helplessness consumed him. She worked on his nearly opened placket, her full breasts jiggling.

He raked both hands through his hair. “You’d think I was the one who met with bad news today.”

“We’ve both had trying times of late,” she said gently.

Genevieve needed coddling, yet she untied his smalls. His cock sprang free, but all he had eyes for were her big, round breasts. He started to rouse, got head and shoulders up, and her hand stroked him. He fell back, groaning. Tingling pleasure shot through him. A spurt of seed glistened on the tip of his penis. From under heavy lids, he watched Genevieve grip the rounded head.

Another quake shook him when she touched the small opening and smeared the droplet in circles. His chest expanded and contracted from the tender torture.

He grabbed handfuls of sheets. “Is this how I’m supposed to help you forget?”

Orange and yellow light glowed on her pale skin. Genevieve climbed on the bed. The ropes creaked as she straddled his legs. This night, the late hour, the upset, he’d hardly done justice to their sensual play. She was entirely in control, and he was still half-dressed.

His head lifted off the mattress. “My clothes…”

“Don’t worry.”

Genevieve’s head dipped low, and she kissed the crown of his phallus. It was a sweet, chaste kiss singeing an unchaste spot. She scooted forward and, grasping his length, positioned the round tip in her curls. His neck strained to hold his head up. He wanted to watch his flesh slide into hers. Demanding pressure spread over his abdomen. His body existed in that moment for one thing—to be inside Genevieve.

She hadn’t fully seated herself. A rim of inner muscles clenched his cock’s head, and he moaned at the craving low on his spine. The need to push back. Hard. To bury himself in her wetness. His breaths turned jagged. His ass squeezed, ready to rock his body into hers. Coiled desire tensed like the force of an arrow notched and the bow pulled tight. He grasped her hips as much to hold back as to hold on.

“Gen…I…” His voice was lost.

Her knees pushed into the mattress. She rode the tip of his cock’s head, acclimating herself to him. Slowly. His bollocks tightened painfully. He shook from clenched muscles.

“It’s been awhile.” Her alto voice was husky. “Please don’t move yet. Let me…adjust.”

Feminine hips undulated over him, each stroke sensual and slow. Her hair fell forward, masking her breasts. Pink tips poked through her hair. He reached up and palmed her breasts, kneading them, rolling her pointy nipples with his fingers, her cries of satisfaction urging him on.

“Yes. That feels so good… Your fingers…there.”

She grasped his shoulders and slipped halfway down his erection. Her pale thighs worked hard. Up and down, she rode him cautiously, not seating herself all the way.

“Gen,” he rasped. “I…”

His legs shook. He couldn’t wait. His body took over where words failed. His hips slammed into her, and he yelled at the pleasure of burying his cock inside her. Genevieve cried out, her dark eyes wide, but she kept going. Hips slapped awkwardly before his body found rhythm with hers.

The sheets rustled. Mattress ropes squeaked faster. He put one hand on her mons. Two fingers slipped inside her amber curls, finding the pink pebble at the top of her cleft. The touch imperfect, jostled from frantic thrusts.

Keening air came from her. Wild-eyed, she pushed hair off her face, her mouth forming an O. She stared at his hand buried between them. She was close. So was he. White-hot heat built lower on his spine, fed by his wife’s excitement.

His other hand dropped from her breast. He gripped her thigh. The bed frame rattled. Genevieve moaned. This was wild and chaotic. Her high-pitched cries turned feverish. Her body drove down on him. Skin slapped skin. He pushed hard back. Pumping. Head and neck strained off the bed. He wanted to see her and know what his wife looked like when she reached her pleasure.

A sheen glowed from skin he’d caressed. Tremors racked her body. Her hips bucked wantonly, and her mouth was wide open.

“Ohh,” she yelped and flopped onto his chest. “I can’t… I…”

His arm was still between them, his two fingers playing clumsily with her nub. She ground against him, her hips shaking with fast, desperate thrusts. Her mouth sought his, kissing him. Tongues touched and rubbed. He tasted salt and her, the velvety perfection of a deep kiss.

And he couldn’t get enough.

A guttural yell erupted from his throat into her mouth. He grabbed Genevieve’s bottom, one hand digging hard into her flesh. His body strained from head to toe, and pleasure’s white heat washed over him.

His bride gave one last shuddering moan. Little quivers shook her bottom, her thighs. Her inner channel pulsed around his phallus, milking him. Her head nestled against his neck, and he held her. Exhausted. Sated. Yet, he wanted more.

Heat rolled off their joined bodies. Sweat dampened his hairline. Genevieve’s skin gleamed in the firelight. She was beautiful and untidy. Her life as uncertain as his. And he didn’t want to let her go.

He freed his hand squashed between them. Wetness glistened on his fingers.

“Don’t…move,” Genevieve grumbled against his neck.

He chuckled, his sex-sated laugh sending her blond hair falling over his face. “I’ll need to take my clothes off eventually.”

Another grunt. Her hips shifted, and she rolled off him. Stretching her arms and legs, she made a long, pale line on his bed. Genevieve pushed herself upright, amber hair tumbling over dreamy eyes. He traced her spine. Tender gooseflesh followed his touch. The top of her bottom’s cleft peeked provocatively from a nest of bedsheets. The night was ending perfectly, with more intimacy to come. Once he got his clothes off.

His wife studied him over her shoulder, her coffee-dark eyes fathomless and quiet. Her mouth tilted in the tiniest frown.

He pushed up on one elbow and caressed the corner of her mouth. “What’s this? Are you sad?”

“Not at all.” She bent forward and plucked her shift off the floor, giving him the sweetest view of her heart-shaped bottom.

His breath caught. Did she have any idea how beautiful she was? How amazing a young woman she was?

Light shined through Genevieve’s mussed curtain of hair before she tossed it back and slid off the bed. The plush bed beckoned him back to fold himself around her and lose their twined bodies on a cloud of bliss. Sex and sleep. Or sleep and sex. He didn’t care which order as long as they were cozy and naked together.

Instead, his new wife picked up her clothes.

“There’s no need to tidy up.”

“I’m not cleaning.” She grabbed a shoe. “I need to get to bed.”

“Exactly what I had in mind.” He patted the mattress. “Right here.”

“I mean my bed. For sleep.”

He stood, her officious tone a splash of cold water. Naked save her threadbare stockings, Genevieve moved faster, balling up an underskirt. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she tried to cover herself. From him.

She stuffed another underskirt into her arms and searched the floor. “My other shoe…I can’t find it.”

He nabbed it from under the curtain. “You aren’t staying.”

“No.” She reached for the shoe, but he held it close. “Aren’t you going to give it to me?”

“Why not stay here? The bed is warm.” He grinned, waggling his eyebrows. “And I’m warmer.”

She didn’t look him in the eye, instead straightening the bundle in her arms. A distinct chill crept between them. Her mouth flattened, the same line he’d witnessed when they’d talked at Devil’s Causeway. Was she hiding more secrets?

His eyes narrowed. “What about Herr Wolf? Did you sleep with him?”

Genevieve cocked her head as though he were some strange creature. She stepped closer and pulled the shoe from his hand.

“I never sleep with a man.” As they stood toe to toe, she pinned him with her dark eyes and was unashamed to say, “I did have sex with Reinhard…but sleeping? Much more personal.”

A searing stone hit his stomach. Sleeping with someone required trust. She didn’t have it. Not for him. What an ugly truth, but it was her life. Who was he to think he could wipe away the past in one night? This was her choice. His past had been less savory. He had no room to scold or judge. Such was the way of men and women.

But he didn’t have to like it.

“I am grateful for what you’ve done,” she said, clutching her clothes. “You saved me with this…this arrangement, but we both know it won’t last. My sleeping with you would only complicate matters.”

His hands balled tightly at his sides. Her words doled out doses of truth. Genevieve didn’t share an inkling of what he felt for her. Not when she was grateful.

“You’d grant the favor of your body but not be with me. Is that what you’re saying?”

Her small nose was inches from his chin. One arm flexed as though she would touch him but didn’t.

“Sex is one thing. Sleeping in the same bed with a man is another.” Her alto was as gentle as if he was the one in need. “It could produce…feelings.”

Balled-up skirts brushed against him, grazing intimate flesh. His breeches were loose, his fall wide open. He stood fully clothed like a sex-hungry fool with his man parts hanging free. The taste of her sex still covered his mouth.

“Your…tender care tonight… Thank you,” she said.

A knot inside him went cold. “I’m glad to be of service.”

A tiny furrow notched between her brows. He could press his case. Touch her just so. Seduce her into staying. Head high, he kept his hands at his sides.

“I’ll take my leave, milord. Tomorrow will be a busy day… The horses.”

He winced and buttoned up his placket. She’d addressed him as milord again.

Genevieve turned, keeping her clothes against her chest, a woman hiding her nudity. The red cloak framed her heart-shaped bottom, all the better to torment him as she walked away.

It was laughable. Covering the front of her body, yet her backside stayed bare.

Except he wasn’t laughing.