Wayward One (25 page)

Instead he went slowly. Seconds dripped into minutes. On and on he kissed her, until her arms folded around his shoulders and bent over his back. Her fingers speared through his hair, sending a tremor down his spine.

He fisted his hand in the sheet by her head, trying to hold on.

The sweet wash of her breath swept over his cheek. Her lips were so satiny smooth he thought he would slide right into her. He’d lose the boundaries of himself.

When he pulled back, he groaned. “I can’t wait to taste you all over.”

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. He couldn’t stand watching her abuse such delectable flesh. He kissed her, nipped at that lip only for the privilege of soothing it with a lick.

She squeaked. “You’re a wicked man, Fletcher Thomas.”

He grinned, even as he held his weight above hers, wanting only to press into her. “I’m hoping you’re a wicked woman as well, Seraphina Thomas.”

Was she? The potential for deeply founded wickedness certainly dwelled within her, centered low in her body. Her legs trembled, and between them she pulsed with wet and throbbing desire.

Everything she knew about sexual relations between man and woman said nothing about this knife’s edge of need. Prior to the ceremony, Mrs. Waywroth had drawn her aside to give her a quick talk about what would be expected of Sera, since she had no mother or close relations. Everything implied Sera would need to focus on her duties as a loving helpmeet, and that if she were very lucky, Fletcher would make it tolerable.

Sera had fought a blush, trying not to think of her behavior in the parlor when Fletcher comforted her after the attack. The entire night had been a series of extremes.

She wanted to sink her nails into Fletcher’s neck and draw him close for another kiss. The way they were together was nothing safe or comfortable. Having to forbear his attentions wasn’t a legitimate worry.

She’d have to forbear her own urges.

Defiant, she lifted her chin, pressing her lips to his. Beyond what he’d taught her, she didn’t know how to kiss, but that mattered little. She only had to give him the opportunity and he swept her away. His tongue was rough velvet against hers.

His solid flesh was bare to her touch. She reveled in the satin of his skin and in her right to explore it. A light dusting of curls over his chest gleamed in the low light. His face, though, was all shadowy planes and the occasional flash of his smile.

Like this, he seemed both more dangerous and more accessible. As if they were both lost revelers escaped from the same depraved party.

His touch wasn’t the rough palming of a drunken partygoer. He barely grazed over her hip and up to the dip of her waist. She sucked in her stomach, hardly able to feel the warring pleasure and shock at being touched where no one had accessed before. Yet she couldn’t prevent herself from rising into his caress. Seeking out more.

She didn’t think she’d ever get enough of his embrace. That was her entire problem.

He reached low, then curled his fingers around the hem of her nightdress. In the wake of his fingers traced the blue fire of some scientific experiment gone marvelously well.

He stroked her with his knuckles, the graze so incredibly gentle. Teasing. It made her want to beg that he get on with it already. The torment was enough to drive her mad.

He brushed against her curls. Her thighs slipped open of their own accord, her heels sliding against the smooth linen of the sheets, her knees slightly tenting the coverlet as they rose. She swallowed down the rampant lust. Surely the traces of dampness left across his fingers would be enough to tell him how much she wanted him.

He drew away his mouth, and she sighed her distress. Losing herself was so much easier when he spun magic with those kisses.

In the near dark his eyes gleamed with intent. He petted between her legs but didn’t give her the fulfillment that hovered out of reach. “You’re beautiful, Sera. My perfect angel.”

She shook her head. She was no angel. A real angel wouldn’t come close to feeling like she did at that moment. Wanton and reckless. Like she could throw away everything for this man. That he was now her husband meant so little compared to her self-respect.

“You are,” he insisted. “Everything beautiful and pure.”

How he tormented her without knowing. She hooked her forearm around the back of his neck to pull his face down to hers. Perhaps it was awful of her, but she couldn’t stand to hear him talk, not when he said such things.

“Please,” she whispered, but she wasn’t sure what she was begging for. That he’d actually
do
something with that hand that hovered over her mound, or that he’d stop putting her on such a pedestal.

She wasn’t any of the things he said. She knew she was passably attractive and always well-intentioned. Occasionally she could be very short-tempered, leaving her with the eternal struggle of keeping it under wraps. It was a far cry from the perfection he claimed.

Even as he bent to kiss her, he had a look of near wonderment, with his pale eyes more starry than she’d ever seen. It wasn’t right that such a vital man be unmanned by her. She wasn’t worth it.

She pulled his head down to hers and let his mouth cover her. Her hands spread wide over the flex and play of his thick back. She danced her fingers down the channel of his spine, explored the tiny striations that spread round to the deep swoop of his ribs.

When she spanned his chest, rubbing her pinkies across the flat discs of his nipples, she earned his growl in her mouth. A rush of hot satisfaction overwhelmed her. Maybe now he’d realize she wasn’t some paragon.

After what felt like years of torment, he ceased his too-light brushes over her mons. He traced over her slit and delved into her quim. The entry was smooth and welcoming, and she became unfettered. Open to whatever he wished to take. Her secrets were all his if he’d only find them.

He dipped into her, then stroked her own wetness over a nerve-rich bud at the top of her sex. Sharp-toothed pleasure streaked through her body to clench every single one of her muscles. Her toes curled against the still-unfamiliar assault.

“Fucking hell,” he breathed in her ear. “You’re so bloody responsive.”

She couldn’t think about his atrocious language when her nails sank into the firm flesh of his arms. He was marble under silk, his biceps fine-cut swells. It was obvious he held himself back.

Part of her was grateful since she was afraid of what they could unleash if both of them were as crazed as she. Part of her was resentful at being treated like a child who must be patronized. Part of her only focused on the dip and twist of his two fingers in her. The caress he swirled around those knotted nerves. The pleasure that threatened to swamp her bodily.

Something was happening inside her. Her chest clenched as liquid heat stole over her limbs. She pushed her head back into the pillows, looking out across the room at the crackle and spit of the fire.

He wasn’t having any of that. He slanted a gentle grip across her jaw and tipped her face back to him. So much. So much dwelled in him. She couldn’t take it.

Her head thrashed on the pillow.

“Close, are you, angel?” Satisfaction purred in him, a living breathing thing.

She gasped. “I don’t— I— Yes.”

“Not yet.”

Rearing up on his knees, he seemed so much larger than her. Intimidatingly so. Then he pulled her up by the shoulders to a sitting position. She protested with a quiet groan, but he wasn’t to be stopped.

He stripped her nightdress up over her shoulders in one swift move, leaving her completely bare. A shock of cool air brushed her overheated skin.

Her hands rose to cover her breasts from instinctual modesty. Even her own hands allied against her. The scrape of her palms over her beaded nipples sent another shock of pleasure through her.

“No hiding,” he growled.

He took her hands in his then spread her arms wide. His gaze roved her exposed flesh, but it didn’t have the chilling effect she would have expected. All because of the harsh pull of his skin over his cheekbones. He wanted her so much it was terrifying.

How could she ever live up to his expectations?

He didn’t give her another moment to worry. His mouth bore down on hers once more, spinning her head with a kiss that pushed deep. Took and gave and promised everything. If she’d only be bold enough to capture it.

His hands came up to cup her breasts. She’d never been overly large, but she felt just right as she plumped over his palms. He pinched each nipple lightly between two fingers and stroked featherlight caresses over her full undersides. Skimmed down the top slope.

He eased her back to lie among the tumbled decadence they’d already made of the bed, then pressed her breasts upwards to plump them again. Wet fire engulfed one nipple.

Her eyes flew open, though she wasn’t exactly sure when she’d closed them. Firelight sparked off his golden head as he sucked at the tip of her breast. His shoulders hulked over her body, shadows and firelight competing for the privilege of covering him. For one wicked moment, she wished she’d never asked him to turn down the lights. How magnificent would his wide shoulders be in full light?

She wasn’t quite that foolish or reckless.

“Fletcher,” she moaned, when his teeth grazed over her nipple.

His head rose. “Now?” Though she had no idea why he’d made it a question. It was he who was so much more experienced. She was doing the best she could to keep up with the swirling morass of pleasure that made even her toes tingle.

Her neck ground as her head swiveled. Not a nod, not a shake, because she had no idea what she wanted. Nothing made sense in Fletcher’s arms—nothing but him.

He lowered his hips between her knees. Solid. So solid. She wished for more words to express the hardness or the firmness she felt between her legs.

Something nudged at her wet center. Fletcher’s gaze burned into hers. Though she’d always believe their marriage began in that small annex room of the chapel, this minute was no less important. After this, no matter what happened, they would be a part of each other.

He shifted his hips forward and invaded her. A sharp bite of pain cooled her ardor. But not enough. She feared nothing would ever cool her lust for him.

He stilled, gaze trained on her. Examining her. She didn’t know the question, much less the answer, so she lifted her head to kiss him. If she were kissing him, she could forget the foreign presence making itself known inside her. Almost.

She wrapped her arms around his ribs. He seemed as rigid as she. His body was a perfectly straight line that hovered over her. When she curled her hands up over his shoulders from behind, she found nothing soft. Everything was held in frozen abeyance.

“Better?” he whispered.

She blinked her confusion away. She wouldn’t have thought his skin would be as smooth as it was. “Pardon?”

A quirked curl of manly satisfaction took his mouth. “The pain.” His chest lifted when he spoke, barely brushing his dusting of hair over her nipples.

She sucked in a breath, which only made it worse when her breasts rose. “No pain.” Just torment. Just her body becoming unfamiliar to her.

“Good,” he said, and it was hardly more than an animalistic growl.

He surged into her slowly. His thickness and his length. He came into her more and more, until she couldn’t believe there was anything left. Still he invaded her. Her knees rose to clasp his lean hips. Her arms pulled him closer, but he kept himself on propped forearms above her shoulders. Separate.

It seemed an eternity until he was seated fully in her. His weight pushed against that button at the top of her sex, sending pleasure streaking through her in waves timed with the subtle pulse of his hips.

His head bowed. His chin brushed against the top of her head. “So perfect,” he sighed, and finally she could agree with him.

They were perfectly fit together.

He pulled his hips back, and she squeaked a protest. Her knees clasped his thighs, but there was no stopping him.

And then she didn’t want to. The liquid pleasure rushed higher. The only thing better was when he sank into her once more, and did it all over.

He was relentless. She was a vessel for pleasure. Her hands roamed over his back, over his sides. Down to the dip of his spine into his buttocks. That made him groan, and she threw her head back, the better to enjoy it.

This was everything she’d hoped for and more and less than she’d feared. He held himself so carefully, off her and in such guarded control. She tucked a foot around the back of his legs, feeling the soft scrape of his hair against her calves.

Still he wouldn’t be moved beyond his careful, measured pace. His mouth was set in a line of determination. His gaze burned brighter than the fire in her.

He was ferocious in his pursuit of his pleasure. Eventually she didn’t mind. She bloomed, every bit of her opening and welcoming whatever he gave her. The stroke and pull and disaster of perfection they created together.

Pleasure twisted more tenaciously through her, like a watch spring wound too far. Her lungs stuttered to a stop. Her fingernails sank into his skin, but no further. The muscles underneath were too hard for her to make a dent.