Her Prodigal Passion (19 page)

With a martyred sigh, he pulled a billowing nightshirt over his head before donning his robe.

He returned to the center of the room—and halted as if he'd hit an invisible wall. Which would have been no less shocking than the sight before his eyes.

"Holy Mother of God," he breathed.

His blushing bride said, "Do I look, um, alright?"

For once in his life, he was incapable of speech. 'Twas as if she'd delivered him a swift uppercut. He saw stars and when those cleared, the vision remained: a sensual nymph, her hair a wild, free mass around her piquant face, her lithe form clad in a slip of leaf-green silk. A cherry satin bow rested like a butterfly upon each bare shoulder; those ribbons appeared to be the only thing holding up the sleeveless, backless scrap of scandal.

"The dressmaker said these were all the rage in Paris," she said, her face now as rosy as the bows, "and Percy insisted that I have one. But I packed my old night rail. I'll just go change—"

He was there in a second, his hand cupping her nape to prevent her from fleeing. "Like hell you will, sweetheart. And for God's sake, don't mention my sister at a time like this. Not when the sight of you has me as wound as a clock, and I ache just to look at you."

Her long curly lashes swept up. "Ache ... in a good way?"

"I've never known a sweeter pain," he said with feeling. "By Jove,
look
at you."

Unable to help himself, he skimmed his hand down her neck and the smooth line of her spine left bare by the negligee, God love it. Her skin, he marveled, was softer than anything he'd ever touched. His fingers splayed at the alluring dip of her back, and, in an easy movement, he swept her into his arms and laid her on the bed.

Then he stared at her in awe.

Her wavy, hazelnut tresses fanned over the bedspread. Her bosom rose and fell beneath the deep V of her neckline, her taut nipples poking out against the thin silk. At that erotic sight, his cock, already hard, burgeoned to new proportions. Hell, he'd hardly even touched her yet.

Stay in control of the match. Don't get knocked out in the first bloody round.

"Don't be frightened, love." Leaning over, he brushed his lips against the thrumming pulse of her throat, the irresistible hollows above her collar bones. At her hitched breath, he murmured, "We'll go slow. We have all night."

"Actually ... would it be possible to, um, pick up the pace?"

His head jerked up. Make that both of them.

"The truth is ... I've been waiting all day for you to kiss me again," his wife said shyly.

With that utterance, she ripped the reins from his grasp. Wild horses couldn't stop him now. With a growl, he took what was rightfully his.

Her mouth met his, open and hot. Delicious. Only their third kiss, yet they fit together like they had done this a hundred times. A thousand. He would never tire of her taste, as hot and pure as a drink of sunshine. Her fingers threaded in his hair, and her sweetly eager touch aroused him more than all the practiced caresses he'd known before. The past faded. There was only here and now. Only Charity, his wife, her honest fire burning him up alive.

He broke away to drag kisses down her throat. He licked her exposed décolleté and heard that little hitch again, the sound that told him he was doing everything right. He curved his palm around one silk-covered breast, his blood rushing at the delicate heft. When his thumb grazed the not-so-subtle tip, she made a little sound that was a moan, a sigh, music to his ears. So he did it again. And again, until she arched into the caress and he knew she was ready for more.

He bent and suckled her through the silk.

"Goodness," she gasped.

"Like that, love? How about this?" He traced the stiff little peak with his tongue.

Her fingers dug into his scalp; her head fell back against the pillows.

Good answer. He untied first one and then the other cherry bow. It was like unwrapping a present ... and
what
a present. He tossed the green silk aside, feasting his eyes upon every sensuous detail. Her milky skin, delicately flushed. The pretty, modest curve of her breasts contrasted by the proud jut of her pink nipples. Her tiny waist and gentle hips. And just below ...

His blood pulsed in his veins. As if sensing its target, his cock thrust like a steel lance against his nightshirt. Devil and damn, she had the
prettiest
pussy, nutmeg curls glossy against her pale thighs. His mouth watered.

Running a hand along her hip, he said, "You're gorgeous."

"I'm relieved you think so," was her breathy reply. "Now that you've looked your fill ... might I do the same?"

Hell, yes.

Her curiosity inflamed him. Rising to his knees beside her, he made short work of his robe and yanked the infernal nightshirt over his head. Wide-eyed, she studied his naked form, her scrutiny like a touch. Her gaze swept from his face to his shoulders and chest, down the quivering ridges of his stomach, all the way to his cock. Her eyes got even bigger, and he could see why: the randy monster was prodigiously large at the moment, the shaft thick and pulsing, the dark head mottled—and, damn, weeping with arousal.

To an experienced female, his ready-for-action member would have elicited anticipation, but for a virgin on her wedding night? What the bloody hell was he
thinking
?

"Oh, Paul." Her wobbly voice made him fumble for his robe. "You're so ... so ..."—his fingers closed over the damned garment—"...
magnificent
."

His hand stilled.

"Like a sculpture," she said. "Only finer for although you're made of flesh and blood, you have none of its imperfections."

Well. His chest puffed.

Then he fell upon her like a ravaging wolf.

His lips closed over her nipple, this time taking it deep into his mouth. Her grip tightened on his shoulders as he flicked the sweet bud with his tongue then suckled it some more. Her moan told him she liked that, and, by God, so did he. He kissed her delicate breast all over before licking his way over to the other side, where its delightful twin awaited him.

With a happy sigh, he lavished similar attention on this tit while his fingers plucked and played with the nipple he'd left behind. When she moved restlessly against him, he knew she was ready for more. So he kissed her hot and deep as his fingers trailed over the fine grooves of her ribcage and the smooth valley of her belly. He dipped his finger into her silky nest and groaned at what he found.

Her cunny was already wet, drenched, and hotter than the fires of hell itself.

Maidenly instinct must have kicked in, then, for her thighs locked together. He didn't mind. Trapped between those smooth silken limbs, his hand was exactly where he wanted it to be.

"This won't hurt, sweeting," he murmured. "In fact, if you let me, I can make you feel so very good. Believe me?"

Her eyes looked so trustingly into his.

"Yes," she whispered, and her legs slackened.

"Good girl. I don't ever want you to be afraid of what happens between us." He found her clit, and when he slowly diddled the plump bud, her breath made a hitching sound. "That's nice, isn't it? 'Tis your pearl and what a lovely jewel it is. How does it feel when I stroke it this way?"

Her throaty sigh sent a quiver up his cockstand.

"How about this?"

Her hips wriggled, her pussy pressing against his hand. "Oh, Paul ..."

"Christ, that's good," he breathed. "I think you're ready for more."

He slid a finger down her folds and between her shy, moist lips. When he found the entrance to her grotto, his heart thumped, more moisture leaking from his cockhead. Ye Gods, she was tight. Perspiration dotted his brow as he ventured forward, breaching her with the tip of his middle finger. When she stiffened, he bent to suckle her nipples again. Within moments, she relaxed enough for him to sink his digit inside.

Pulsing heat gripped him.

Holding onto his self-control, he rasped, "Alright, darling?"

"Yes ... I think so." Her eyes had a glazed look.

With tender care, he fingered her. Her flowing dew eased the way and made his lungs burn with anticipation. When he saw no signs of discomfort, he drove deeper and added another finger. His excitement soared as her hips began to move, her pussy taking his penetration so thoroughly, with such sweet, lush abandon, that he knew she was ready for his cock.

First, he wanted to watch as she took her initial flight over pleasure's precipice.

Stroking her bold clit, he continued to plunge into her hole.

"Oh ... oh
my
 ..." she panted.

"Come for me, darling," he said.

Her eyes shut as she obeyed. Her cries—the sweetest he'd ever heard—erupted with passion worthy of an opera. In the next heartbeat, he was between her thighs. He shuddered as he dragged his bulging tip along her slick folds. With his cock coated in her cream, he notched it to her slit and drove forward. Past the initial resistance, her snug sheath gave way, her aftermath rippling over his shaft, the luscious squeeze wringing a groan from him. Soon he was buried to the balls, wrapped in the hottest, most generous embrace of his life.

He was inside his wife. His. Wife.

Pleasure deepened, rooting in his chest. Triumph and possessiveness rolled through him. Taking his weight on his arms, he rasped, "Love, look at me."

Her lashes lifted, and then he was drowning in the limpid depths of her eyes. In the amazing ardor he saw there, so natural and real. Before he could ascertain her comfort, she lifted her palm to his jaw; with that tender permission he knew that everything was alright. More than alright. His sweet nymph wanted him as much as he wanted her.

His control, so tightly held, unraveled, and then he was moving, plunging deeper and deeper into her welcoming depths. Arousal poured over him when she began to take up the movement. Her hips learned his rhythm, lifting in sweet synchrony. So perfect, so natural, he was dazed by the easy joy of it. He saw the desire building again in her eyes, and he gritted his teeth, trying to hold on. She was so wet, so tight. The pressure in his bollocks grew, and he fought to hold back, to give her another climax before he found his own.

He grasped her knee, hitching it high against his hip.

Each thrust of his cock grazed her pearl, and her head flung back on a cry. He wanted to kiss the sweet sounds from her lips. So he did, swallowing her moans as she came for him once more, then pouring his own groans right back as his crisis raged over him. His seed boiled up his shaft, shooting out with such force that his teeth clattered, his hips grinding desperately as he gave her everything he had ...

He collapsed atop his wife, breathing hard.

Her breath puffed softly against his jaw, her fingers brushing his nape. Time suspended; he could have stayed that way forever. For even as pleasure began to ebb, peace took its place and a satisfaction he'd never felt before.

Even better than winning a match
, he thought drowsily.

His eyes grew heavy, and he barely had the wherewithal to roll off of her. He tucked her against him and dragged the coverlet over them both.

She made a soft sound, snuggling deeper into him.

A perfect fit
, came the hazy thought.
My wife ... mine.

His eyelids closed, and he swirled and vanished into her sweet fog.

TWENTY

Charity awakened sometime later to a flickering fire in the hearth and an even warmer presence next to her in bed.
My husband
, she thought in wonder. Mr. Fines—no,
Paul
—lay on his side, head propped up on his left hand where his wedding band gleamed. When their gazes met, his mouth tipped up, and an answering smile formed on hers.

They'd done it. They were well and truly married.

"Hello, sleepyhead. Didn't know if you were done in until the morning." His thumb swept over her bottom lip. The casual intimacy made her heart skip a beat.

"I must have dozed off. But I'm feeling quite awake now," she said. It was true. Being with him like this, snug in their intimate cocoon, she didn't want to miss a thing.

"Good. Because there's something I forgot to do earlier," he said.

Thinking of his thorough lovemaking, she couldn't imagine
anything
he'd missed.

He must have read her thoughts because he laughed. "What a wicked little baggage I've married, to be sure."

Flushing with sudden embarrassment, she averted her gaze. Had she been too wanton? Helena and Marianne had said husbands preferred honesty, and so she hadn't tried to hide her response to him. In truth, she thought with growing worry, she wasn't certain she
could
conceal her desire for him.

He tipped up her chin. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

"Nothing," she said quickly.

She couldn't bring herself to admit her concerns. To ask Paul what he'd thought of her ... in bed. For her, their lovemaking had been magical, but she wasn't experienced like he was. By reputation, he was a connoisseur in these matters, and she'd seen for herself the kind of women who'd attracted his attention. Ladies far more beautiful and worldly than she ...

"Onto your wedding present, then," he said.

This took her from her worries.

"You ... you have something for me?" she said.

With a wink, he got out of bed, treating her to a spectacular view of his backside.
Now that
, she thought wistfully,
is the only present I need
. But she had her own surprise and went to fetch it. By the time he returned, she was back in bed wearing her robe and holding out a small package she'd painstakingly wrapped in paper and twine.

"I have a gift for you, too," she said.

Climbing in next to her, he said with a grin, "You shouldn't have"—and snatched it from her.

Charity watched with amusement as he proceeded to tear off the wrapping with the glee of a boy on Christmas Day. It was a Fines trait, this playful love of presents, for Percy was the same way. Paul withdrew the set of handkerchiefs. She'd chosen the finest quality linen and embroidered his initials upon each one. He examined them in silence.