Devil's Bride (40 page)

Any doubt of his intent fled before his kiss, full of barely restrained hunger and an ardor to set her alight. She sank against him, his instantaneous response driving her to take the pleasure he offered and return it fullfold. Her head was swimming, her limbs turned to water, when he raised his head. “Come. Our children can be born in your bed—we'll beget them in mine.”

He swung her into his arms; Honoria twined her arms about his neck. With impatient stride, he carried her to a paneled door, left ajar, shouldering it open, revealing the short corridor that led to his room. “What was that all about?” she asked. “The candelabra?”

Devil glanced down at her; the corridor was dim, but she saw his teeth gleam. “Diversionary tactics.”

She would have asked for clarification, but all thoughts of candles went winging from her head as he carried her into his room.

His room in London was large—this room was immense. The bed that stood against the near wall was the biggest she'd ever seen. Long windows marched along both sides and filled the wall opposite the bed; this room was at the end of the wing—with the curtains open, it was flooded with moonlight, turning the pale greens of the furnishings to muted silver.

Devil carried her around the bed, setting her on her feet where the moon cast a shimmering swath across the floor. Her wedding gown, layer upon layer of wide Mechlin lace, sparkled and shivered. He straightened, his gaze drawn to where the lace rose and fell; he cupped one soft mound and felt it firm. His fingers searched, finding the tightening peak and caressing it to pebbled hardness.

Honoria's breath caught; her lids fell as she swayed toward him. Devil supported her against his chest, his hand still at her breast, gently kneading. She shifted restlessly, turning so he could reach her back. “The laces are hidden beneath the lace.”

Devil grinned and set to work, one hand caressing first one breast then the other, lips trailing kisses along the side of her throat. When the last knotted lace fell free and the gown, with his help, slithered to the floor, Honoria was soft and supple in his arms, arching back against him. He loved her like this, soft and womanly, abandoned but knowingly so—later, she'd be even more abandoned, but by then she would be beyond knowing anything other than the fever singing in her veins. Reaching around her, he filled both hands with her breasts, covered by a single layer of filmy silk—a low murmur of appreciation escaped her. When he rubbed the ruched peaks between thumb and forefinger, she shifted her hips suggestively against him.

“Not yet,” he murmured. “Tonight should be an experience you'll never forget.”

“Oh?” The single syllable was breathless. She turned and, twining her arms about his neck, pressed herself against him. “What are you intending to do?”

He smiled, slowly. “Extend your horizons.”

She tried to look haughty, but only succeeded in looking fascinated. Devil stepped back, shrugging out of his coat and waistcoat. He let them fall and reached for her. She came into his arms like the siren she was—the siren he'd spent the past weeks releasing from the shackles of convention. She was still wildly innocent in so many ways, yet whatever he taught her she mastered with a wholehearted enthusiasm that sometimes left him weak. From where he now stood, his view colored by experience, the years ahead looked rosy indeed.

He was looking forward to every one of them. Right now, he was looking forward to tonight.

Her lips were open under his, her tongue twining, inciting, enticing. She stretched against him, on her toes, her body shielded only by her fine chemise. Letting desire have its way, he molded her to him, allowing his hands to know her curves again. When he slipped his palms under the back of her chemise, her skin was dewed.

Two heated minutes later, the chemise floated to the ground to puddle, ignored, in the moonlight.

Devil deepened their kiss—Honoria met him, urging and urgent. Her hands slipped from his nape and started to roam, splaying across his chest, then searching through the folds of his shirt to knead the muscles of his back, then firming about his waist, his hips, dropping lower.

Abruptly, Devil shifted, capturing her hands, forcing them to her back, locking them there in one of his. Their kiss unbroken, he drew her hard against him, letting her feel his strength, letting her know the seductive quality of her own vulnerability. He bent her back slightly, over the arm at her waist, her hips pressed hard to his. She moaned, the sound trapped in their kiss, and wriggled—not to win free but to get closer.

The restless shifting of her hips against him was more than he could stand. Breaking their kiss, he scooped her up and deposited her on the silk sheets. She stretched, her eyes on him, her hands questing.

Quickly he drew back, out of her reach. “If you love me, keep your hands to yourself.” He'd fantasized about tonight for the past week; if he let her enthusiasm get the better of him—as it had on more than one occasion—he would have no chance of converting fantasy to reality.

Stretching luxuriously, draping her arms above her head, Honoria fixed him with a sultry gaze. “I only want to touch you.” She watched as he stripped off his cravat. “You liked it last night.”

“Tonight is going to be different.”

His eyes left her only momentarily as he pulled off his shirt. Honoria smiled, shifting seductively under the heat of his gaze, relishing the sense of power his fascination with her naked form gave her. He'd made it very plain that he liked seeing her naked, totally nude, without any hint of modesty. Being that naked had been difficult at first, but familiarity and his abiding obsession had built her confidence so that now, being wantonly, wickedly naked with him seemed natural—how it should be—at least between them.

“How?” she inquired, as he sat on the bed to remove his boots.

He flicked her a glance, his gaze sliding over her breasts, then down over her stomach and thighs. “Tonight it's going to be my pleasure to lavish pleasure upon you.”

Honoria eyed him consideringly. He could make her scream—scream and moan and sob with pleasure. She was the novice—he the master. “Just what are you planning?”

He grinned and stood, unbuttoning his trousers. “You'll see—or rather,” he amended, his voice deepening, “you'll feel.”

The anticipation simmering in her veins abruptly heightened; Honoria's nerves flickered. That familar tension had hold of her again, a sweet vise locking tight. A second later, as naked as she, he came onto the bed in a prowling crawl. Elementally male, fully aroused, on hands and knees he straddled her, then lowered his body to hers.

Honoria's breath fled. Eyes wide, she studied his, glittering in the weak light. Then his lids fell and he lowered his head; his lips found hers.

His searching kiss reached deep—deep to where her wanton self dwelled. He called her forth and she came, eagerly seeking his pleasure. She opened to him, enticing him in, her body softening beneath his; she murmured his name and shifted beneath him, but he made no move to claim her. His hands locked about hers, one on either side of her head; as the kiss went on, her skin burned for his touch. Driven, she arched beneath him but his weight held her trapped; his legs outside hers, he held her immobile, granting her no relief from the heat building between them.

Then his lips left hers, trailing hot kisses down the column of her throat. Panting, Honoria pressed her head back into the pillows, eager for much more. He shifted and his lips traced her collarbone, then returned by way of her shoulder and upper breast. He repeated the maneuver, this time following the curve of her arm to her elbow, then on to her wrist, eventually ending with her fingertips.

Tickled by his lips, by the abrasion of his chest and chin against her smooth skin, Honoria giggled; she saw his brow quirk, but he said nothing, merely lifting her hand and draping her arm over his shoulder. He repeated the entire exercise on her other arm, until it, too, went to join its fellow. Locking her fingers at his nape, she settled back expectantly, and waited to see what came next.

His lips on her breasts was a familar sensation, sweet and full of promise. When his mouth fastened over one nipple and he suckled, she gasped; the caress continued, hot and wet, pulsing wildfire down her veins. She moaned, hips restlessly lifting, seeking. But he'd shifted lower; she could make no contact with that part of his anatomy most susceptible to persuasion. Premonition bloomed—his “tonight” would be a long-drawn affair.

He'd told her more than once that she rushed ahead too fast, that, if she let him spin out their time, the sensations would be better—more heightened, more intense. As she could barely cope with what she felt as it was, she wasn't at all sure “slower” was such a good idea. He was used to it—she was not. She wasn't even sure the exercise affected him in the same, mind-dazzling, soul-shattering, heart-twisting way in which it affected her.

His lips left her breasts; panting she waited, then felt him nuzzling beneath their fullness. His lips swept across her sensitive midriff and down to the hollow of her waist.

She was so caught by the novel sensations, by the heated tingling of her skin, that he'd flipped her onto her stomach before she had a chance to protest. He shifted, rising over her then lowering his body along the length of hers. His lips found her nape—he proceeded to cover her back with kisses, soft and warm across her shoulders, changing to soft nips as he worked his way down. Her fires had died to smouldering embers, but when he reached the full swell of her bottom, anticipation exploded into flame again. She squirmed, her breath coming in soft gasps. One heavy arm across her waist kept her still; when he pushed her knees wide apart and held them so, Honoria dragged in a shuddering breath—and waited. He was lying beside her, his weight no longer upon her. Cool air caressed her heated skin; she longed for him to cover her. Expectation welled; she willed him to shift and come between her thighs.

Instead, she felt the soft brush of his hair and the light graze of his stubble as he laid a line of warm kisses down the back of one thigh. He paid homage to the sensitive spot at the back of her knee, first one, then the other, then worked his way back up her other thigh. Honoria slowly exhaled, and waited to be allowed to roll over.

The next instant, her breath hissed in—and in. Her hands clenched on the pillow. In stunned disbelief, she felt tiny tender kisses dot their inexorable way up the inside of one thigh. Her skin shivered and flickered; as the kisses steadily neared the place where she burned, she let out a small shriek, stifled in the pillow.

She felt, rather than heard his deep chuckle. He swung over her and repeated the exercise on the inside of her other thigh. Honoria gritted her teeth, determined not to repeat her shriek; her whole body quivered with mounting need. When he reached the limit of his trail, pressing one last lingering kiss to skin that had never before felt a man's lips, she sighed—then shrieked, as his tongue swept tender, pulsing flesh—just once, but it was more than enough.

He seemed to think so, too; he drew back, rolling her onto her back, his weight pinning her again as his lips returned to hers, his kiss searing, conflagrationary—exactly as she wished it. Wrapping her arms about his neck, Honoria gave him back fire for flame, passion for desire, in a frenzy of escalating need. This time, her thighs were spread and he lay between; she could feel his throbbing staff nudging her thigh.

Abruptly, he drew back, onto his knees. Dazed, she saw him seize a fat pillow. Lifting her, he wedged it under her hips, then, leaning over her, he found her lips again. When he lifted his head she was panting in earnest, every nerve in her body alive, every vein afire. One hand was on her breast; swiftly, he lowered his head and suckled until she moaned.

“Please—now.” Honoria reached for him but he shifted back.

“Soon.”

He lowered his body to hers again, but too low—his head was at her breasts. He laved each burning peak until she could take no more, then trailed kisses to her navel. He circled the dimple with his tongue, then probed; the slow, repetitive thrusting brought tears of frustration to her eyes. She twisted and arched, her hips lifted high by the pillow.

“Soon.” He whispered the word across the sensitive skin of her stomach, and followed it with a kiss. And another and another, slowly descending; when the first kiss fell amongst her soft curls, Honoria's eyes flew wide.

“Devil?”

The sensations streaking through her were unlike any she'd yet experienced, sharper, stronger, fiercer. More kisses followed the first and she gasped, hands reaching, fingers locking in his hair.

“
Oh God!
” The exclamation was wrung from her as his lips touched her softness. The sudden bolt of sensation was enough to melt her mind. “No.” She shook her head.

“Soon,” came the answer.

His lips left her swollen flesh to trail kisses along the inside of her thighs, lifting them as he slid still lower, draping a knee over each shoulder.

Well-nigh mindless, Honoria felt his breath caress her throbbing flesh. Speech was beyond her; she was going to die. From excitement—from pleasure so intense it was frightening. Gripping the sheets convulsively, she hauled in a huge breath, and shook her head violently.

Devil took no notice. Deliberately, he set his lips to her soft flesh, hot and swollen, intimately caressing each soft fold; a strangled sound, neither shriek nor scream, was his reward. He found her throbbing nubbin, already swollen and tight; he laved it gently, swirling his tongue, first this way then that, about the sensitive spot. He wasn't surprised by the subsequent silence; he could hear her ragged breathing, could feel the tension that gripped her. As usual, she was rushing—he set himself to slow her down, bringing her to that plane where she could appreciate his expertise, savor all he could give her, rather than fly headlong to her fate.

He repeated his caresses, again and again, until she grew familiar with each new sensation. Her breathing slowed, deepened; her body softened beneath his hands. She moaned softly and twisted in his hold, but she no longer fought him; she floated, senses alive to each explicit caress, receptive to the pleasures he wished her to know.