Читать книгу One Golden Ring - Cheryl Bolen - Страница 11

Chapter 6

He was hungry, but not for the food served to them shortly after they arrived at Camden Hall, which his servants had thoughtfully strewn with Christmas greenery. As he and his bride sat facing one another across the dinner table, he was unable to remove his gaze from her. It seemed almost incomprehensible that this exquisite creature was his wife, that in a few hours he would completely possess her. He drank in the way the candlelight played on her delicate features as she sucked a spoonful of turtle soup into her mouth. Good Lord, it was hot in here!

Remembering the taste of her tongue mingling with his, he grew winded and began to tug on his cravat. Once more he began to get aroused. As he spread the butter on his roll he thought of slowly stroking every inch of her smooth flesh. His lids lifted and he hungrily watched her tongue nip at her lower lip. He was not at all sure he could make it through the dinner without leaping from his chair, hauling her into his arms, and carrying her upstairs to his bedchamber.

“Is your cravat too tight?” she asked. “I must say they look beastly uncomfortable.”

How could a cravat that had fit perfectly since ten o’clock this morning now be so wretchedly uncomfortable? “Indeed they are,” he said. For the first time he noticed the metallic glints in her blond hair. She really was exquisite. Warwick was an idiot. “You looked lovely today, my dear,” he said. “You still do.” She wore the same pink gown she had married in that morning. It displayed her creamy shoulders and swept low at the bodice to reveal her delectable decolletage.

When he had filled his hand with her breast, he had been pleasantly surprised that someone as slender as she possessed any breasts at all. Remembering the feel of her plump little breasts thinned his breath.

“Thank you, Nick,” she said, then she sipped her wine, her long lashes lowering seductively.

On her lips, his name became an endearment. Did she have any idea how acutely she aroused him? Could she possibly understand how tormented he was, how desperately he wished to peel off her clothing, spread her legs wide and embed himself within her?

Would this blasted meal ever come to an end?

“Did you find your chambers satisfactory?” he asked.

“Yes, they’re very nice. It was as if they were just awaiting your wife.”

“Thanks to the previous occupant, Lady Hartley,” he said. “Of course, you’re welcome to change anything you like.”

“Will we be spending much time here?”

“Not really.”

“I didn’t think so,” she said. “I know The Fox does not like to be away from his den.”

The nickname he’d been proud of now took on almost sinister overtones. “I beg that you and I not discuss my business. We’ll get on better that way.”

Her blue eyes regarded him with puzzlement. “I want to make you a good wife, Nick. If you don’t wish to discuss business, I promise to never bring it up again.” She nibbled at that lush lower lip of hers. “I shouldn’t like it if we didn’t get on well.”

“Nor would I,” he said solemnly.

It was too soon to tell how they would get along with one another, but he was convinced that on the physical level they would be highly compatible. He had been stunned over the depths of her passion, and he had not yet penetrated her simmering veneer!

As much as he would like to bury himself within her, he cautioned himself to be mindful that she was a virgin, to hold back from devouring her.

Perhaps if she imbibed great quantities of wine, the losing of her maidenhead would be less painful, more pleasurable. He lifted the decanter and refilled her glass. “Drink up, my dear. It will make our . . . consummation easier on you.”

His throbbing intensified as he watched a rosy hue climb into her cheeks. Though she was obviously embarrassed over his reference to their lovemaking, she lifted her solemn gaze to his, then sipped the wine.

The candles weren’t the only thing in the room giving off heat. Never breaking eye contact with her, he loosened the cravat even more. He had the damnedest feeling he and Fiona were surrounded by flames.

Still watching him, she took another sip.

He refilled his own glass and drank.

“I feel guilty for robbing you of the bachelorhood you so cherished,” she said. “I will try to please you in the bedchamber, but I shall have to be schooled. I’m told you’re exceedingly knowledgeable about such things.”

“By whom?” he demanded.

“Trevor. He knows everything about everybody.”

“I told you this morning,” he said in a husky voice, “to believe only half the things you’re told about me.”

“Then you’re not skillful in the ways of . . . love?”

He burst out laughing. Actually, he thought lovemaking one of his areas of expertise, but he wasn’t about to admit that to his bride. It was bad enough that she knew about Emmie’s mother. He wondered if Trevor would have told her about Diane. “I know enough to . . . to teach you all you need to know, my dear.”

The firelight danced in her simmering eyes. “Will I be able to learn all I need to know tonight?”

Every minute he sat there talking about making love to her was sheer torture. “You’ll learn enough tonight, but I shall look forward to . . . expanding that knowledge every night.” Had he known marriage would be this intoxicating, he would have taken the plunge years earlier. But then he wouldn’t have won Fiona’s hand. And somehow he did not think marriage to anyone else could match having Fiona for his wife.

She stared at him. He felt deuced awkward. He did not know her well enough to know if this was a good stare or a bad stare. When she spoke, that question was answered.

“Could we skip the sweetmeats,” she said in a wispy voice, “and go upstairs now?”

He began to tremble and could barely find his voice. “An excellent idea.” He shoved away from the table and came to settle his hands on her smooth shoulders, dipping his head to nibble at her graceful neck. She bent toward him and began to make little whimpering sounds. In one sleek move he scooped her up into his arms and strode from the dining room to swiftly mount the stairs.

Lit by wall sconces, the second floor was eerily quiet. He came to his bedchamber and kicked open the door, pleased to see that servants had built a fire and left a candle burning at the bedside table. Her arms clasped behind his neck as he crossed the room and set her down on the bed. “Should you like me to send for your maid?” he murmured.

When she shook her head, her eyes looked glazed.

“Will you allow me to assist you in removing your clothing?” he asked in a husky voice as he came to sit beside her.

Her eyes widened as she met his somber gaze, then nodded.

Though the idea of allowing him—a virtual stranger—to strip her bare must have shocked her, it did not repulse her. Thank God. He wondered how many virginal daughters of the ton would be as precocious as the beautiful woman he had wed. God, he was pleased he had married her! “Should you like me to fetch the wine?” he asked.

“I had three glasses.” She began to untie his cravat. “I never have that much.”

“Does that mean you’re feeling mellow?” he asked, his lungs feeling bereft of air.

“I feel as if I’ve drunk an entire bottle of champagne, Nick.” She sounded unbelievably provocative when she said his name. “I feel all tingly inside. And breathless.”

He moved closer to her. “That’s perfectly normal. I feel the very same.” His lips lowered to gently touch hers. He heard a jerky intake of breath as her lips parted beneath his and she sucked his tongue into her mouth. He tasted the wine she had drunk, smelled her lavender scent, and thought he could explode with joy.

As the kiss intensified, his hands began to glide over her back, to cup her buttocks, to mold her small breasts. He gloried in the sound of her whimpering.

Her dress was easy to unfasten. He pushed it down to her waist and looked at her. “The stays will have to go, my love.” He began to unlace them, and when her breasts sprang free he almost lost his breath. “So beautiful,” he murmured, filling his hand with one, flicking his thumb over the rosy nipple, then bending down to take it into his mouth. She began to arch into him, her breasts flattening against his face as he sucked at one, then the other.

Over her skirts, his hand cupped her mound, squeezing at it, rubbing his wrist against her pelvis as she squirmed into his palm, moving from side to side and up and down and beginning to make moaning sounds that heated his blood.

Mindful that she wished to be taught all there was to know about lovemaking, he drew his face away from her breasts and spoke throatily. “When a woman is sexually aroused, the tips of her breasts harden into erotic points.” He throbbed as he watched her gaze drop to the nubs in the center of her nipples.

“And when a man is sexually aroused,” she asked in a low voice, lifting her smoldering gaze to him, “does something on his anatomy change?”

Good Lord! Did his wife not know about erections? He took her hand and held it to his crotch. “A man’s . . . member enlarges and becomes stiff. Feel me, Fiona. Curl your hands around my shaft.”

At first her fingers were stiff, then they began to gently coil around him. “You’re so . . . so big. I don’t think—”

He held an index finger to her mouth. “Don’t think, love. Trust me on this.” His hand went back to cupping her between her thighs, applying pressure that made her rhythm accelerate. “What you’ve got down here will accommodate my size,” he said. His other hand went beneath her skirts and inched up to her smooth thighs as he lowered her onto the bed. “One other change occurs to a sexually aroused woman,” he whispered.

“What?” she asked, her voice winded.

His voice was low when he asked, “Do you feel wet?” The hand beneath her skirts nudged up between her thighs and dipped into her slick folds. “Here?”

She looked like a woman drugged when she nodded and raised her hips into the movement of his fingers.

“This is nature’s way of lubricating you for my entry.” God, he wanted to enter her this second! She was so blessedly wet. Not able to wait much longer, he sat up and began to tug her dress all the way to her ankles, then she kicked one leg free.

Like everything else about her, her body was exquisite—tiny and milky white with little fluffs of breasts and a tuft of golden hair between her thighs. Had his life depended upon it, he could not have found a voice with which to spew on ad infinitum of her beauty. But it was a beauty that would forever be emblazoned upon his memory. And on his heart.

He stood and blew out the candle, then threw off his shirt and breeches. The hearth provided enough light for him to see her as he came to lie beside her, this time tenderly settling his lips over hers. “Are you ready, love?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” she said, sifting her fingers in his hair.

“You’ll need to widen your legs,” he whispered as he began to move over her.

She did as he told her, and he came to settle between those luscious lily thighs, his thumb pressing the pearly bud in the center of her, then easing one finger back into her slippery opening. “Oh, Nick,” she said with a sigh.

“I’m coming, love.” He tucked the head of his shaft into her, just until the head disappeared, then he stopped. “Are you all right?” he asked in a gentle voice.

“Yes,” she whispered as her hips raised up to accommodate even more of him.

He gently eased himself in farther. “All right still?”

She raised her head until her lips met his and spoke breathlessly. “Don’t stop.”

He forced himself in still farther, this time he came up against a barrier. The maidenhead. He drew in his breath. “This may hurt. I’ve got to break through your chastity.”

Her head fell back against the pillow, and she nodded.

He was not sure what he should do next. Should he ram himself in so the unpleasantness would be quickly over? Or should he gently ease forward?

The decision was taken out of his hands when Fiona began to pulse against him. No pleasure he had ever known could equal this. She was so wet and warm and tight. And utterly willing. But his powerful emotions encompassed far more than just the physical.

When he tore through her barrier, she winced.

He stilled.

“Don’t stop,” she urged hungrily, moving against him.

He gradually regained the rhythm until the rhythm itself became the master and he its slave. They were both caught in the maelstrom, carried to a place where thoughts were fleeting fragments, where intense physical pleasure leaped at them like a raging fire, consuming them. Then she arched and stilled and began to tremble as her breath became ragged. He held her tightly as the orgasm rolled over her, lapping at her like an angry tide as she clenched him tighter and made throaty exclamations.

She pressed her lips into his, her fingers digging into his back as his seed began to fill her, as the rest of his length plunged into her.

How, she wondered, could such an uncomfortable action bring her such delirious pleasure? Would she always be this sore, or would the discomfort diminish with practice? Nick would know. If she had the brazenness to ask him. And, Good Lord, how could this bedchamber be this hot in the dead of winter? Were she wearing something it would have been completely drenched. Like her. Even her hair was damp and clung to her head.

When she felt Nick’s seed seeping through her, profound emotions swept over her. She really was his wife. She could quite possibly bear his child. Something in her heart rolled over at the thought. A very pleasant thought, to be sure.

From this moment on, there was no turning back. She was irrevocably bound to the enigmatic man whose shaft was buried in her at this very second.

Like she had done, he stilled, then began to tremble. Only he called out her name. “Oh God, Fiona!” At first she thought something was wrong with him, then she realized he was not dissatisfied. Not dissatisfied at all.

A moment later he slipped from her and rolled to her side, his body sleek with sweat. His gentle hand swept the moist hair from her brow, and he bent to press a soft kiss there. “There’s one other thing I neglected to tell you about being sexually aroused,” he said.

“What is that?” she asked in a breathless voice.

“After the deed is done, one feels as if one’s just run uphill.”

That explained the sweating. And the breathlessness. So far all of her reactions had been perfectly normal. Even the pointed nipples. The thought of her breasts being erotic sent pulsebeats of pleasure licking at her.

She lay there in the darkness, Nick tugging her to his chest, and she felt completely blissful. Except for the devilish soreness.

“Oh, love,” he murmured, “we are so good together. I couldn’t ask for a better wife.”

Her smile went deep as she buried her head into the crevice between his shoulder and chest. She could not have been any happier. Nick had called her love. Once tonight he had even said my love, which was infinitely better—considering the intimacy they had just shared. He was pleased with her. She truly believed he did not resent that she’d robbed his treasured bachelorhood.

And she truly hoped they could make love several times a night.

“Are you all right?” he asked a moment later, his voice gentle as he dropped soft kisses into her hair.

“I think so.”

He went suddenly stiff. “What’s the matter?” he asked in a concerned voice.

“I’ve heard that when a woman loses her chastity, there is blood?”

He drew in a deep breath. “There is.”

“Is that why I . . . experienced discomfort? Is it only for the first time?”

He held her tightly. “I’m not an authority on women’s virginity—you’re my first virgin—but I believe you may experience soreness for a week or so—until your . . . anatomy gets used to my invasion.”

“Will you answer me truthfully if I ask you a personal question?”

He did not answer for a moment. “Yes,” he finally said.

“Do the women you bed usually experience pain?”

“Never,” he said with authority. Then he sighed and tenderly stroked her back, her arms, her buttocks. “If you’d like, I won’t . . . enter you again until the soreness goes away.”

That’s not at all what she liked. She stiffened. “Is that what you wish?”

“You want the truth?”

She held her breath. “Yes.”

“ No.”

“I’m very glad to hear that for I’d like to do it all over again.”

He gave a husky chuckle. “There’s another thing you need to know about making love, my dear. Men are rather different from women. After a man has spilled his seed his size diminishes and he experiences a profound sense of exhaustion.”

She rather thought this lovemaking would be more pleasant if a man’s size was diminished! “Can a man not make love when he’s not so ‘expanded’?” she asked.

“He cannot!” he said with a laugh. “He needs to be quite hard in order to . . . slide in properly.” He pushed her over on her back and settled his lips on hers for a heated kiss. “However, Mrs. Birmingham, just speaking about being rigid seems to have made me hard.”

“Then we can do it again?”

“And again and again and again if you continue to have such an effect on me,” he growled as he covered her body with his.