Dreaming (40 page)

He closed the door behind him and turned around. He wore a long velvet robe the color of dark wine.

She looked down quickly and saw his bare feet. Slowly her gaze rose to stop at the
vee
of his lapels, where skin and a dark mat of hair gave a clue that he wore nothing else.

“You look frightened, hellion.”

“I am.”

He laughed quietly.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Life’s little ironies.” He walked toward her. “I find it vastly amusing that when I am trying to frighten the wits from you, you have more courage than
Wellington
. Yet on our wedding night, you look as if you’d faint if I so much as touched you.”

“I feel . . . different. I can’t explain it, but I do.”

His wry smile faded. “Would it help if I said I was sorry?”

“I don’t know.”

“I am sorry. Very sorry.” He paused, then added, “We both know I said those things to hurt you.”

“You did frighten me,” she admitted quietly.

“You were supposed to be frightened. I was saving you from yourself. The great self-sacrifice. I was playing the hero for you, hellion.”

She looked at him then, unable to believe how differently they thought. “That’s not the kind of hero I see in you, Richard. There’s no courage in hurting people. I think it takes more courage not to hurt someone.”

He seemed to think about that. Then he searched her face as if he would find the answers in it. “When did you grow up?”

She couldn’t answer.

He seemed to sense that. The room was quietly tense, then he said, “I’m not certain I know how to do this.”

She looked at him and her mouth fell open. “Surely you’ve done it before.”

He frowned, then gave her a puzzled look. A moment later he laughed. “I wasn’t speaking of love-making.”

“Oh.” She felt her cheeks color. “I suppose I should have figured that out, shouldn’t I? You’ve probably done this a million times.”

He looked as if he was holding in a laugh. Then he reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand. “I think perhaps there are some surprises waiting for me.”

“I don’t see how,” she muttered, feeling suddenly gauche and young. “I don’t know how to do it.”

“Perhaps we’ll both be surprised.” He slid his knuckle along her cheek, down to her jaw, and slowly ran his fingers over her skin. “It’s so soft. I don’t think I’ve ever felt skin so soft. I remember being afraid to touch it, afraid I might bruise you.” His hand whispered down her neck, ever so softly and tentatively. He tilted her chin up so she had to look at him. “How do I touch you when I’m not trying to drive you away?”

She felt his lips touch her brow, and there was that wonderful light feeling again. “You’re doing just fine.”

He smiled and lowered his head, his mouth gently touching her eyelids, then drifting to the bridge of her nose and on to the other eyelid.

There was such gentleness in the way he held her, in the way his hands moved over her. It was the tender and gentle side of him he usually hid from the world with a veil of cynicism.

He kissed her temples, then threaded his fingers through her hair and held the back of her head, tilting it up so his mouth could capture hers. He stroked her lips with his tongue, once, twice, then parted them gently and laved her mouth thoroughly.

Her hands slid up his chest, pausing to feel the beat of his heart. Its beat was in time with her own. She slid her hands up and around his neck, her fingers busy toying with the hair that touched his collar.

His mouth moved onward to her temple, then to her ear. “Open your eyes when I kiss you and touch you, keep them open while I love you. I want to see what you feel, and those eyes of yours talk to me.”

Her eyes slowly opened, and she stared at him from beneath a thick feathering of lashes. She watched his head lower, his gaze and hers locked together. She tasted his flavor, rich and male and exciting.

His tongue was in her mouth again, giving her his honeyed taste. His eyes burned into hers. Her lids grew heavy, but she didn’t close them. Instead, she leaned against him for support. His hands left her head and slid over her shoulders, feeling every muscle, every curve, until his hands moved over her bottom and pressed her against him.

She moaned and he lifted her, walking back to the bed. Her feet dangled freely and she reveled in his kiss and his strength, the feel of his body against hers. He set her down, and she felt the side of the bed against the backs of her thighs.

But she cared not where she was because Richard filled her senses: his scent, his touch, the gentle rasp of his breath, his taste, and the sight of him, tall and beautiful, the face that could fell an angel, the golden hair and dark smoldering glint in his eyes as he stepped back to just look at her.

It took a moment for her to realize that they weren’t touching. And she wondered if he was leaving her, now, when she most needed him. “Richard?”

“Wait.” He walked around the room, putting out first a wall sconce, then a lamp, another and another, until the only light in the room was from one small candle and the burning fire.

Then he was standing before her again, the amber light spilling like gold dust behind him. He reached out and untied the belt on her wrapper, drawing one long finger along the opening until that fingertip drifted over the side of her breast.

Her breath caught, and she felt a jab of fire that jolted to the center of her body.

“You like that, hellion?” He pushed the satin wrapper off her shoulders with a flick of his hand, and the gown glided off her like falling water.

Her
nightrail
was of thin batiste, white and too sheer. His gaze drifted over her like a lover’s touch, stopping where the crest of her breasts showed through the fabric, down lower to where there was a telltale shadow between her legs. His gaze grew pleasured and heated as it shifted lower, down to her feet.

Then just as slowly, his gaze traced the outlines of her legs, hips, and waist. He stepped closer and bent his head, kissing the tip of one breast through the fabric, then used his tongue to rub the fabric over the hard tip again and again.

Small gasps came from her lips and he moved to the other breast, giving it the same gentle touch. His hands slid over only the sides of her breasts and moved slowly down to where they settled on her waist. He lifted her to sit on the edge of the bed and stood between her knees.

“Lie back,” he told her, and she did. He stood there watching her for so long she almost wanted to cover herself. He seemed to need to look at her, as if it were as necessary as breathing.

Then he bent over her, bracing his forearms on the mattress, his mouth on hers, his eyes hot and demanding, and his tongue exploring her mouth thickly. His hands held her bare shoulders tenderly, rubbing over the ribbons that held up her gown.

His mouth shifted to her ear, where he told her of the sweetness of her flavor, then his lips scored a damp path down her neck and over her shoulder, where he gathered the end of the ribbon between his teeth and pulled out the bow.

With his rough chin he nuzzled the soft skin across her collarbone, and his lips and tongue moved to the other ribbon. A second later it too was undone.

His head moved down to again lave her breasts, then each rib through the batiste. He suckled slightly, the pleasure of his mouth driving her eyes closed so she could savor each sensation.

Her skin was alive and fiery. He buried his head in her belly, then his lips gently kissed the mound where her legs joined, and she moaned as the rubbing fabric became a rasp of sensation against her most sensitive point.

She felt damp and her knees went limp, hanging from the bed on either side of his hips. His hands followed the lines of her body, down and down until he tugged on the lacy hem of her gown and slid it downward.

Cold air hit her breasts, waist, and belly, then cooled the fire between her legs and the batiste feathered over her thighs, knees, and calves.

His hand followed the air. A caress of a breast. A fingertip down her belly to stroke her mound and then inch between her most intimate place.

Her pent-up breath came out in a rush and instinctively she grabbed his wrist, ceasing the touch as she stared into his hot eyes with panic.

“There is no part of you that I don’t want to love, need to touch.” His hand stroked her breast. “You are beautiful, so beautiful. Here. Lovely.” He touched the tip of the other breast. “And here.” He spread his hands out over her waist and massaged down to her hips. “Here.” He paused.

“And here, especially here.” His finger slid along the moistness between her legs, and he rubbed ever so slowly and gently.

Her breath caught.

He looked into her eyes. “Don’t be afraid. This is loving. This is right. Let me teach you.”

He moved back up her body but didn’t move the hand that caressed her so intimately. His lips touched hers in little sips, and then he filled her mouth with his tongue, while his finger stroked her in long, slow caresses that made her point throb and her knees widen.

His mouth moved to her ear again and he told her how soft she was while his finger fondled her, flicked over her, and her knees began to quiver. He straightened quickly and shed his robe, then he lay over her, his chest touching hers and his damp hand still between her legs.

“Open your eyes.”

“I can’t,” she whispered.

“Open them,” he said more firmly.

“I can’t,” she said in a cry.

He pulled his hand away.

Her eyes shot open and she cried out.

He shifted and pulled her knees up so her feet were flat on the bed. He moved his hips closer, rubbing against her slowly with his hardness, making her writhe and call out his name.

No dream could ever have been like this. No wild wish, no fairy tale was as wonderful as the reality of Richard touching her, kissing her, loving her. Through lazy eyes she saw his body outlined in the dim backlight. With one hand she reached out to touch his chest and felt the thatch of hair that covered his chest, ribs, and belly.

Her hand brushed lower and skimmed across the hard thickness that made him male. She pulled back.

“Touch me, hellion. Touch me, please.”

Tentatively she moved her hand back and stroked him. He groaned and flexed his hips, sliding his length over her nether lips.

It was her turn to groan.

He took her hand and placed it on top of him while his hips slowly shifted back and forth, creating the friction that had her moving with him until she was crying.

He leaned over her and kissed her. “You feel so good.” He thrust his hips forward so he could slide along her, allowing her to know his size and smooth hard texture.

Stirred into motion, she sat up on her elbows and kissed him back, mimicking his motions, his lips and the path of his tongue. She scored his ear and he moaned. She bent her head slightly and began to lick his chest.

His hand reached between their bodies. She felt the wide tip of him barely going into her, pushing wide her lips, as his tongue had done to her mouth. He moved out again, teasing.

Her body was nothing but sensation, pleasure, and
his
.

Over and over he repeated the motion until her hands went to his buttocks and gripped them, wanting something, anything, that would quench the fire burning through her.

His hips and maleness kept teasing into her, slowly, barely; each time a little more of him slipped inside. Either minutes or hours later—she knew not which— he deepened his penetration and he froze, unable to go in any farther.

“Hold on to my shoulders, hellion.” She obeyed. He began the gentle thrusting again and again, slowly pressing into her, then out. She felt as if she were crying, there between her legs, the tears flowing wet and moist.

She could barely get her breath. She arched so that her chest rubbed against his with every small stilted thrust he gave her. Then she raised her hips higher and higher until the place where the tip of him lay began to pulse.

She couldn’t see. She lost her breath. Through a haze of pulsing pleasure she heard his voice.

“I’m sorry, hellion.” He pulled out again. Then, just as she contracted, he pushed into her.