The Lover (23 page)

He felt her velvet tremors clutch his manhood.

“Yes…that’s it…love. Give in to it. Let me feel your pleasure.”

“I cannot…” she whispered hoarsely, yearning for something unfathomable, just out of reach.

“Aye, you can.”

Obligingly, he began moving gently inside her, pampering, coddling, arousing her with tenderness, yet holding his own passion leashed with tight restraint.

Sabrina closed her eyes as the fire between her thighs burned higher. Her head fell back and she whimpered, a trembling pleasure sound.

Deliberately he increased the sensuous rhythm. Her reserve, her shyness changed then. Sensing it, Niall bent his head to kiss her, refusing to let her retreat from passion. His tongue plundered her mouth, mimicking the thrust of the shaft between her thighs.

An agony of longing swept through Sabrina, and she clung to him, instinctively matching his rhythm. When she moaned, he continued his relentless assault, coaxing her with his hands, his mouth, his hard body.

“Yes, tremble for me, love. Moan for me.”

She was so feverish beneath him, frantically shuddering near the brink. The next time he drove gently into her, she sobbed, but he would not let up. Demanding her complete surrender, he thrust again.

Stunned, she arched up, straining wildly, striving to escape the desire that was drowning her, clawing through her. He moved once more and all her senses shattered. She convulsed beneath him, twisting, crying out, clutching blindly at his shoulders, oblivious to her scratching nails and wrenching grip.

Niall felt each sharp little cut, each wracking tremor of the impassioned woman clinging to him with such feverish strength. With every stab of her budded nipples against his chest, every soft surge of her thighs, fiery sensations ripped through him. But he would not give in. His lips drinking her wild moans, he held her vibrant, pulsating body against his own.

When it was over for her, he lay rigid and still, his own savage need held barely in check. She was weeping softly, with a turbulence of emotion, and he felt his heart wrench. She needed time to absorb what had happened to her, yet it had gone too far. He could not stop the throbbing of his body or the tempestuous passion burning through his senses.

He gritted his teeth, fighting against the hot tide of his desire, but he found it impossible to hold back the rampant hunger. Calling on all his control, he shuddered convulsively, groaning at the first drenching rush of sensation, even while trying to quiet the jerking movements of his body. His eyes shut against the wild delirium, until the galvanic, peaking splendor burst through him and he pulsed into her in an explosion of white-hot need.

He held her tightly in his arms afterward, a primordial possessiveness overcoming him. Bedding Sabrina had been far more enjoyable than he’d anticipated.

He had pleased her as well; he knew it by the languorousness of her eyes when her lids slowly lifted. But he had hurt her, too. The champagne lights in the dark irises were blurred by tears.

“That was what you meant…by release?” Her voice was hushed and bewildered.

Her faltering question surprised him. “That is what I meant, sweeting. The French call it
la petite mort
, the little death.”

“How…appropriate. I thought…for a moment I was dying.”

“From pain?”

“No…not pain. Pleasure. Just as you promised.”

A slow, brilliantly devastating smile crept across his lips. “So you liked it?”

“Yes…I liked it…No…more than liked.”

He laughed against her mouth, the sound thick, sensual, raw. “I applaud your honesty.”

“You mock me.”

“No.” His expression instantly sobered. “I feared I might hurt you too much for you to feel pleasure.”

“Well…it did hurt at first…but afterward…”

“Afterward?”

“I felt…it was…I can’t really explain…”

He thought he understood what she had felt, but he wanted to hear it from her own lips. “Try,” he commanded softly.

“It…was like I was soaring and falling at the same moment, but that…you would catch me….”

He drew back, his gaze capturing hers. She sensed his burning triumph and satisfaction, saw it reflected in his look.

Wordlessly, Niall pressed his lips against her temple, before carefully easing himself from her body. Sabrina winced at the twinges she felt between her thighs and the unspoken fear that he would leave her. After covering them both with a sheet and quilt, however, he held her in the curve of his arm, while his fingers toyed with a lock of her hair.

Her alarm ebbing, she lay there, breathing the warm, musky scent of his skin, savoring the novel experience she’d just undergone, her senses still in thrall to the lush mysteries of passion. She hadn’t realized such a degree of sensuality even existed. Her husband had, of course. In the game of love, Niall was an expert who commanded a vast array of weapons. And he had used them to great advantage in their battle of wills. She’d been a fool to think she could escape surrender. He had won handily…although she would not consider herself the loser. Not tonight. Tomorrow, though, she would have to face the painful knowledge that she was not unique.

I want you,
he’d told her. How many other women had he said those exact words to? In this very bed? In truth, she was not so special, though he had made her feel so. He had taken great care to make her initiation into love a tender awakening, but it was no more than he would have done for any other woman.

Sabrina bit her lip, trying to still the sudden stab of jealousy that curled through her. Faith, it was better that she face the truth squarely now, better that she allow herself no illusions. She had to crush the fantasy that she held any special place in her husband’s heart or bed.

Passion was a sport to Niall, a game at which she was a hopeless novice. It had been imprudent to confess to him how profoundly his lovemaking had affected her. She should have tried to pretend indifference at least.

Feeling suddenly awkward, Sabrina started to ease from his embrace, but Niall merely tightened his hold.

“Where do you go, madam wife?” he murmured lazily.

“I thought you…we…were finished.”

“We are, for the moment. But savoring the aftermath of passion can be enjoyable.” He turned his head to gaze at her intently. “There is no point in fleeing me now, tiger. The deed is done.”

A hesitant smile curved Sabrina’s lips before her natural reserve reasserted itself, and she buried her face in his shoulder.

That shy, heartrending flicker of a smile affected Niall strangely. As the chamber grew hushed, he lay there holding her, attempting to understand the myriad emotions his new bride had evoked in him.

It was some long moments later when he realized from her soft, even breathing that Sabrina had succumbed to nerves and exhaustion and had fallen into a deep slumber.

Sleep was not forthcoming for Niall, however. He could not shake the unsettling feeling that he had passed a point from which there was no return.

It was not merely because he was irrevocably wed now. With the consummation he had fulfilled his duty regarding their marriage, and considered himself free to go his own way.

It was Sabrina herself who troubled him.

It should have been a simple exercise for him to conquer her with pleasure. He was a master at seduction, and no woman had ever resisted him for long. In truth, the bedding had gone well. He had demanded and received her surrender, just as he’d intended. He’d made Sabrina trust him enough to lower her prickly defenses.

Disturbingly, though, he hadn’t expected her passionate response, or his own. He had meant to satisfy a fleeting desire for her, but carnal craving had spiraled into something more profound. When she’d given herself to him so bravely tonight, he’d felt the same primitive, overpowering urge as when she’d defended him in battle. Protective and possessive. Needy and yearning. He had wanted her, desired her, more than was rational.

Perhaps it was her very inexperience which had engendered his response. Remarkably, Sabrina’s combination of innocence and shy eagerness had made the act of lovemaking seem fresh and new to a man of his jaded passions.

He might also attribute his powerful reaction to frustrated desire; he’d refrained from indulging his needs for some time now, and he was not accustomed to abstinence.

Her defiance was a powerful aphrodisiac, as well. She was a challenge to his masculinity. A tiger in mouse’s clothing.

Niall found himself biting back a smile as he stared at the velvet canopy overhead. Sabrina was not like the shallow, self-serving beauties who usually pursued him. Her naivete might amuse him, yet at the same time her spirit and courage had won his respect.

Oddly, he
liked
his new bride. He liked her innocence. He liked her soft and mellow and trusting. He liked her defiance and her tart tongue. He liked her beneath him, arching with ecstasy and sobbing his name.

She was not the cold, unresponsive woman he’d feared. She possessed a hidden fire that was tantalizing. In the throes of passion he’d glimpsed a bewitching enchantress.

No, perhaps being wed to Sabrina would not be the hardship he’d envisioned. He might be furious at Angus for forcing his hand, but his fury did not extend to his bride.

Indeed, Niall reflected, Sabrina might be getting the worst of the bargain. Perhaps he
was
the hedonist she’d termed him. He would admit to excesses in matters carnal. He was a man to whom women had always come too easily and too often. From the time he’d been breeched, the female sex had practically been at his feet. And he had responded in kind, intent on losing himself in the pleasures of the flesh, regardless of who his lovers might be, seeking nothing deeper than carnal gratification. Both he and his partners had accepted that.

He formed attachments based purely on sensual pleasure. With Eve Graham, for example. His former mistress had lasted longer than most. Their expert couplings had left him breathless, spent…and hollow.

Unlike with Sabrina tonight. Lovemaking with her was somehow different…exciting and new. He was profoundly touched by her abandon and ingenuous appreciation.

The novelty would undoubtedly wear off with time, Niall suspected—but for the moment it might be satisfying to discover what sort of bride fate had given him. To see if he could remake her into the woman he wished her to be, a desirable woman who was, if not a match for him, then at least a skillful bed partner.

Absently picking up some silken strands of Sabrina’s hair, Niall let them slowly shift through his fingers.

He was wed to her now, and he would make the best of it. He would explore the hidden, sensual side of her nature to their mutual enjoyment. He would pleasure her and teach her to pleasure him in return.

It would be a challenge, no doubt, but he intended to bring out the tigress in his mouse of a bride.

    Chapter    
Nine

Sabrina stirred slowly awake, then sharply inhaled with awareness. A warm, nude, and very male body lay beneath hers, the sensual feel of sinewed flesh arousing against her sensitive skin.

Niall. Her husband.
Her arms and legs were braided with his, her hair a wild tangle across the breadth of his chest.

Sabrina’s face flushed as disorientation fled and memory came rushing back. This was her marriage bed. And this must still be her wedding night. Dawn evidently had not yet arrived. Shadows wreathed the bridal chamber, the candle flames burning low in their sockets.

Thankfully Niall was asleep. His breathing was deep and easy, his strong body relaxed—may the devil take him.

Her heart thudding, she slowly eased herself from his side. She needed time to regain her composure before she had to face him again.

She felt different, strangely so, Sabrina reflected as she lay there rigidly taking inventory. Her mouth was tender from his kisses, her nipples even more so, while the secret hollow between her thighs throbbed with a twinging ache, almost as though he were still inside her. She could feel him moving within her—

Shying away from the remembrance of what he’d done to her, she carefully slipped from the bed and drew the velvet curtains around him to give herself privacy. After stirring the fire, she hastily washed away the musky scent of their lovemaking which clung to her skin, then dressed in a day gown which had been delivered yesterday to her husband’s home.

Feeling somewhat refreshed and more able to deal with the demands of her current circumstances, Sabrina realized she was famished. When she started to slip from the room in search of food, however, she discovered a tray directly outside the door. Someone had thoughtfully provided wine and a cold collation of meats and cheese and bread. Gratefully, she curled up in a chair before the fire and satisfied the worst of her hunger.

She was lost in reflection when a deeply masculine voice spoke behind her—the same voice she’d heard whispering endearments and bold persuasions in her ear last night.

“’Tis a first, a lass leaving my bed before the night is through.”

Starting, Sabrina glanced back over her shoulder at her husband of a few short hours. Niall had parted the bed-curtains and propped himself on one elbow. He looked dismayingly, sinfully beautiful, lounging there among the tumbled sheets, the covers falling to below his waist, nearly a day’s growth of stubble darkening his jaw. The nakedness of that broad, bronzed, rippling chest made her mouth go dry.