The Mister I Married (Romancing the Rogue #3)

Chapter Twelve

Emmy had worried she would be much too nervous to eat dinner that evening, but when it came time to dine, she found she was famished. The meal was superb—she’d never had a more delicious almond cheesecake in her life—and the dining room was warm and comfortable, as was the conversation.

The elder Mr. Whitcomb was a man of few words, just as Tess had said he was, but when the gentleman did choose to speak, he was interesting and often amusing, and Emmy had enjoyed getting to know him better.

His love for his children was obvious and obviously reciprocated, and as she’d watched the three of them laugh together and tease each other, she was reminded of her own family.

Those two hours at dinner had been a lovely distraction from the momentous event looming over the evening.

That distraction, however, was over now.

As Emmy sat at the elegant dressing table in her new bedchamber, brushing the tangles from her still-damp hair, all she could think of was what lay ahead.

She was about to copulate with a man.

It was only natural that she should be nervous. She was a virgin, after all, and while she had some idea of the basic principles of coupling, actually participating in the act was a different beast entirely.

It helped a little that Alex was a virgin, too, though she had to admit the revelation still surprised her. It was commonplace for a woman to retain her virtue until she married—indeed, it was expected—but the same rules did not apply to single men, and she had taken for granted that Alex would bring some experience to their wedding night.

She didn’t know how she felt now that she knew he wouldn’t.

Setting the brush aside, Emmy studied her reflection in the looking glass, passing a critical eye over the cotton nightgown she wore. With its ruffled neckline and lace-edged sleeves, it was the prettiest one she owned, but she couldn’t help wishing she had a new one to wear tonight.

Perhaps not silk, as her mother had suggested, but at least something a bit more vibrant and daring than plain old cotton.

She sighed. Ah, well. This was all she had, and it would have to do. Most brides wore brand new nightclothes designed to please and entice, but then, most brides were given the time to assemble a proper trousseau, and she hadn’t.

Her new maid, Flossie, had helped her change, assuring her she looked lovely, but still, the butterflies in her belly refused to leave. A part of her worried that Alex would be disappointed by her appearance, but she shoved the thought away and reminded herself—again—of the wonderful things he’d said to her before dinner.

I lust for you.

I want to make love to you tonight.

If you wish to make love with me, I promise I will do everything in my power to make it a satisfying experience for you.

Her body flushed with heat, her skin prickling as she recalled the frank words, the warm sincerity in his eyes. He had not said those things to her with seduction in mind, and somehow, that made his confession all the more meaningful. And undeniably exciting.

Emmy shot an impatient glance at the door then surged to her feet, overcome with the urge to pace.

For heaven’s sake, what was taking him so long?

She whirled away from the door only to come face to face with the enormous mahogany four-poster bed covered in emerald green silk. She blanched.

Saints be.

Turning her back on the bed, she passed her gaze over the room, desperate for a distraction. There was no attached sitting room, as the mistress’s chambers no doubt possessed, but it was spacious and elegantly furnished with a large oak wardrobe and a rosewood escritoire with matching chair.

Every piece was well-made and designed for comfort, and she knew she would be happy here.

A low knock sounded at the door.

Emmy froze.

Oh, God. It’s time.

Scrubbing her damp palms down the front of her nightgown, she turned to face the door, her heart thudding in her ears.

“Come in,” she called out softly.

The door opened and Alex’s gaze locked on hers, his expression softening as if in relief. Was he worried she had run away?

Strangely, the thought amused her.

“Good evening,” he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. His voice and movements were measured, unhurried, so as not to startle her, presumably. He was so kind.

“Good evening,” she replied, matching his formal-yet-not-indifferent tone.

Her gaze swept over him, taking in his cravat-free throat and gloveless hands, and the bare feet sticking out from beneath his burgundy dressing gown.

“Did you enjoy yourself at dinner?” he asked, stepping away from the door and further into the room, closer to her.

“I did.” She clasped her hands together at her back. His eyes were darker by candlelight but no less beautiful. “The meal was divine. And your family is lovely.”

Alex smiled, his gaze sweeping over her face and down her body, stoking the flame simmering low in her belly.

“ You are lovely, Emmy,” he said, his voice husky.

She swallowed, pleasure glowing within her. “You’re my husband. You have to say that.”

“No. I don’t.”

The warmth in his eyes bespoke more than just regard. He admired her. He truly thought she was lovely.

Flustered, she dropped her gaze to her nightgown and fiddled with the lace at one wrist. “My mother was disappointed there was no time to order new underthings for my wedding night. I suppose she thought it would…aid the cause, so to speak.”

She met his gaze and gave an awkward little laugh.

“Unnecessary, believe me,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. “But I would be happy to buy you whatever you want, Emmy. You have only to ask.”

“Thank you.” She stepped forward, drawing closer to him, her chest rising and falling with each quickened breath. “I’ve never seen a man’s naked toes before. Except my brother’s, of course.”

She reached out and took his hands in hers, raising them up for inspection. “You have hairs on your fingers,” she mused, “so I suppose it stands to reason you would have hairs on your toes, as well.”

Alex seemed to be battling a smile. “Men do tend to be hairier than women, or so I understand. Of course, I could be mistaken…”

He cast a teasing glance at her feet, and Emmy arched a brow. “ My toes are quite hairless, thank you very much.”

He chuckled and they stared at each other for a long moment before Alex cleared his throat.

“Shall we?” he said, extending a hand toward the bed.

The room was quite dim, but Emmy could just make out the slashes of pink coloring her husband’s cheeks. The realization that this was awkward for him, too, went a long way toward settling her own nerves. Still, her heart thundered as she walked the short distance to the bed where she paused, abysmally unsure of what to do next.

“Should we…disrobe first?” she asked, with more calm than she felt.

“Certainly. If that is what you wish.”

Was it what she wished? She hadn’t a clue. But he didn’t seem to either, so she forged on, taking hold of the hem of her nightgown and tugging the garment up and over her head. Then she scrambled onto the bed and practically dove beneath the covers.

Gooseflesh pebbled her skin as she lay cocooned between the cold satin sheets, and a moment later, the mattress sank beside her, signaling her husband’s arrival.

Her nude husband, presumably.

Her pulse stuttered and she turned her head to look at him as he slid beneath the sheets, his naked torso catching her eye—and stealing her breath.

Lord, but he was a sight to behold, inches upon inches of muscle and sinew and naked skin. Her throat was suddenly as dry as a desert isle.

“The sheets are rather chilly, aren’t they?” he said, his gaze meeting hers as he turned onto his side to face her. “I’m sorry about that. I should have thought ahead and had the bed heated.”

She swallowed, trying not to stare at the sprinkling of dark hair dotting his chest. “No matter,” she muttered. “I’m warming up already.”

“Good.” He cleared his throat again. “Well, then. I am going to kiss you now if that is agreeable to you.”

Emmy rolled onto her side, keeping the sheet in place with clammy hands, and said, “It is.”

He edged closer to her until his knees brushed hers, bare skin against bare skin, and the contact made her start, the newness of it a shock to her already-taut nerves.

Alex propped himself up on one elbow, settling his other hand on her hip, firm and strangely comforting through the shield of bedding. It calmed her a bit that he seemed content to go slow and take his time, rather than leaping on top of her in his haste to see it done.

He bent his head, his gaze locked on hers until the first brush of his lips, warm and gentle, and a shiver of pleasure rolled through her body as her eyes fell closed.

She met his kiss eagerly, fitting her mouth to his as the scent of him, fresh and woodsy, engulfed her senses. He kissed her harder, his lips meeting hers with unhurried hunger, his tongue sweeping along her bottom lip. She returned the favor, tasting him, drinking him in like fine brandy.

Her hands were trapped between their bodies, her fingers clenched around the bedsheet, yearning to touch him but she wasn’t sure she should.

Alex eased his lips from hers and met her gaze, his breaths ragged and warm against her lips.

“May I touch you, Emmy?” he asked, his voice husky, his hazel eyes glowing in the candlelight.

“Where?” she whispered, her mind dazed and hazy.

“Anywhere.” His hand squeezed her hip. “Everywhere.”

Oh . She swallowed, her skin flushing hot, his words and the look in his eyes making her body ache with need. Oh, yes . She rather liked the sound of anywhere and everywhere.

“You may,” she said breathlessly, seconds away from begging for it.

His hand left her hip to cup her cheek, and he kissed her again, deeply, his fingers skimming her jaw before skating down her throat, his touch both tender and torturous. His tongue swept along hers, and she returned his kiss with relish, her tongue tangling with his as his hand slipped beneath the coverlet, curving around her shoulder and down her bare back, the caress sparking a trail of warm tingles. He palmed her bottom, squeezing and shaping, and he broke the kiss with a groan. “God, Emmy,” he murmured. “You feel amazing. Your body…your skin…”

He buried his face in the crook of her neck and kissed her throat, his hand caressing her thighs, her calves, her waist. He trailed his lips down her throat, gently easing her onto her back, and Emmy’s eyes fell closed as his teeth nipped her throat, his hands sliding the coverlet down to her waist, exposing her breasts.

He eased back, and she opened her eyes to look at him, her gaze riveting on the hard planes of his face, the need in his eyes so stark it made her body clench.

“Gorgeous,” he whispered, his gaze sweeping over her, and Emmy flushed with pleasure. She’d always thought her breasts were too small for her otherwise full figure, but the way Alex was gazing at her now, it was clear he did not agree. His admiration was intoxicating.

She lay perfectly still, gazing up at his face as he gently cupped her breast, and her breath caught in her throat at the first brush of his palm. She arched into his touch, her lips parting on a groan as his thumb stroked her nipple, and then his mouth followed, his tongue circling, laving, until she was writhing beneath him. The ache between her legs deepened, pulsing hot, and the desire to touch him, to feel his body on hers, swept over her in waves.

“Alex?” she asked, her voice a croaking whisper.

His head came up, his eyes glittering. “Yes, Emmy?”

She licked her lips, her throat dry. “May I touch you, as well?”

The scorching look he gave was answer enough, but he nodded and said, “You may.”

Gingerly, Emmy brought her hands to his chest, smoothing her palms over his pectorals, her fingers grazing warm skin and soft, springy hair. Strong shoulders, firm biceps, sinewy forearms—she explored his body with unhurried curiosity, and no small amount of admiration.

“You’re so warm,” she murmured, trailing her fingers across his ribcage. “And well-formed, too.”

She swept her palms down his flat, firm stomach, wringing a groan from Alex’s throat, and Emmy stilled, uncertain, her gaze meeting his.

“Forgive me,” he said, his smile tight. “I’m doing my best, but I feel as if I am moments away from coming completely undone, and I want to make this good for you, Emmy. I want to please you.”

Warmth suffused her. “I have no complaints thus far, Alex.”

“It relieves me to hear you say that,” he replied. “Still, I must ask for your help.”

Her brows rose at the unexpected statement. “My help? With what?”

“One of the things I like most about you is your frankness,” he said. “I rarely have to wonder with you, and I don’t want to wonder tonight. If I do anything you dislike, please tell me so.”

Emmy nodded, touched by his thoughtfulness. “I will.”

“Conversely,” he went on, his smile deepening, “if I do anything you do like, please let me know that, too.”

She pursed her lips. “Will you be taking notes throughout?” she quipped.

“I don’t think I’ll need to,” he said, chuckling softly. “I’m fairly certain I’ll remember every moment of tonight for the rest of my days.”

His eyes were locked on hers as he sat up, his hands slipping the coverlet down to her hips and scattering her thoughts. He stroked her belly, her waist, cupping her breasts and teasing her nipples until she was panting with need.

“Do you like this?” he asked, gripping her hips. “Do you like my hands on you?”

She did. She truly did. “Yes,” she whispered, her own hands hovering over his, her body alive with want.

He swept the coverlet aside, baring her completely, and she wriggled into the mattress, aroused but suddenly bashful. She’d never been naked in front of a man before, and she was hardly a great beauty. What if he disliked what he saw?

“Christ, you’re lovely,” Alex murmured, smoothing his hands down her thighs, squeezing and shaping as if he loved the feel of her.

And then his mouth was at her breast again, his tongue wet, his teeth nipping as he eased her thighs wider apart with his hands.

His fingers brushed the curls at her sex before dipping lower, grazing her aching flesh, and she sighed, pleasure streaking through her, curling her toes.

“Yes,” she whispered, bending one knee and thrusting into his hand.

“You like this, love?” he asked, his voice rough as granite, his gaze hot on hers.

“Yes,” she panted. God yes .

He stroked her again, his thumb swirling and circling, gloriously firm yet torturously slow.

“Alex,” she groaned, lifting her hips just as he slid a finger inside her, wringing another moan from her lips, and his.

“And this?” he asked, pumping his finger deep. “Do you like this, too?”

She had no answer. She had no words . All she could do was feel, and she felt marvelous everywhere .

“What if I were to put my mouth here?” Alex teased her clitoris with the heel of his palm. “Do you think that would please you?”

Her lips parted on a sharp, shuddering breath, and she gasped, “For God’s sake, Alex, are you trying to torment me?”

“I’m afraid I am,” he murmured, his voice an amused rasp.

Emmy couldn’t help it—she huffed out a little laugh. “Well, do you think you could stop?”

“Yes, I suppose I could.”

“I wish you would,” she said, babbling now as his fingers stroked deep, owning her. “It would please me greatly if you would. Indeed, it would make me—”

He bent his head and kissed her sex, severing her words, and she nearly came off the bed when his lips closed around her clit. He sucked, drawing hard and deep, and that was all it took to shatter her to pieces.

God, his wife was gorgeous.

Alex fell onto the bed beside her and stretched his legs out, feeling inordinately pleased with himself as he admired his handiwork.

Emmy was the picture of satisfaction—eyes closed, breathing ragged, cheeks flushed and glowing.

He’d done that to her.

Somehow, someway, he’d managed to pleasure her, and that pleased him no end. It relieved him, too.

He’d worried he wouldn’t be able to—he’d only kissed her once, after all, and she’d told him she was not a romantic person. She’d likely gone into this evening at least a little doubtful that she would enjoy herself.

He only hoped it would continue to go so well, and that he wouldn’t do anything to embarrass himself.

“Heavens above, Alex,” Emmy muttered. “That was…it was…”

“Worth the torment?” he teased as he turned on his side and pushed up onto his elbow.

She nodded. “Well worth it.”

He smiled.

“I didn’t think anyone could make me feel that way,” she said. “Anyone besides me, that is.” Her tone was casual but the color in her cheeks had darkened.

Alex swallowed, his cock twitching as images of Emmy assaulted his mind, her hand beneath the covers, her lower lip between her teeth as she rode her fingers to completion.

Bollocks . He closed his eyes briefly, willing the images away. He was barely holding on as it was.

“Well, I’m glad I could prove you wrong,” he said, his voice gruff.

“So am I.” She smiled at him, her gray eyes frank and sweet, and Alex reached out to stroke her cheek.

He’d been right, it seemed. She had worried she would find no pleasure tonight. With determination drumming through his veins, he leaned down and kissed her deeply, caressing her cheek, her hair, her perfect breasts.

She turned in his arms, her lips bold and hungry, her hands caressing his chest.

Alex let his hands wander over her warm, delectable flesh, trying to ignore the urgings of his body, even as his cock throbbed against her belly.

Emmy’s fingers traveled lower, skimming his nipples, trailing down his abdomen, and he held his breath, desperate for her touch even as he wondered how in hell he would survive it.

“Damn me,” he muttered against her lips at the first brush of her fingertips on his cock. His eyes closed as she explored his length, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from thrusting into her palm like some mindless beast.

“I’ve always wondered what a man’s member feels like,” she murmured, clearly unaware that she was driving him out of his bloody mind. “It is silkier than I was expecting. And quite thick, too.”

She gripped him, her soft, elegant hand stroking his cock, unpracticed yet bold and undeniably devastating.

“I don’t think I can wait any longer,” he gritted out. “Are you ready to consummate our marriage?”

Her hand stilled. “Yes,” she said. “I think so.”

He shook his head. “Only if you’re sure, Emmy. If you’re not ready tonight, please say so. I will understand.”

The delay might kill him, but he would understand.

“No, Alex, I’m sure. I’m ready.”

She sounded certain enough, he supposed, for a virgin bride on the brink of the unknown.

Alex climbed on top of her, feeling oafish and clumsy but— mother of God —she felt damned good beneath him.

Her thighs widened to accommodate him, and he settled between them, his forearms bracketing her shoulders. Swallowing hard, he gripped his cock in one hand and guided the tip to her entrance.

Slowly, he entered her, sweat beading his brow as he sank into her hot, tight cunny.

“Emmy… Jesus …” He swallowed again. “I might hurt you, and I’m sorry for that. I’ll try to make this good for you. I swear it.”

“Just do it, Alex,” she said, her hands gripping his shoulders. “The anticipation is killing me.”

Somehow he chuckled at that, his impatient wife barking orders at a time like this, but it was precisely the response he needed. He drew back a bit then surged forward, through her maidenhead, and she stiffened beneath him.

He froze, his gaze searching her face for signs of pain, but when her eyes met his, her expression was strangely impassive.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine. Do go on.” Her words and her body were stiff with stoicism.

Alex frowned. Well, that wouldn’t do at all.

Pushing his need aside, he caressed one breast, palming her, rolling the pert nipple between his fingers. Her lips parted, her eyes glazing over, and he began to move again, his thrusts slow and gentle until she began to soften beneath him.

He bent his head to her breast and drew the rosy tip into his mouth, flicking his tongue back and forth before sucking deep.

Emmy’s arms drew him closer, her legs wrapping around his waist, all plump thighs and silken calves.

“God, Emmy, you bedevil me,” he rasped, just as she tilted her hips and arched into him, drawing a grunt of approval from deep in his chest.

“Good,” she gasped, surprising a strangled laugh out of him.

He increased his pace, thrusting hard, harder than he probably should, but the pleasure was so acute he could barely breathe.

He was close now. Too close.

He reached between their bodies to stroke her intimately, his fingers circling and teasing, and then she stiffened and cried out, her cunny squeezing his cock, milking him as her orgasm shuddered through her body.

Alex let go then, thrusting deep, once, twice, throwing his head back as he emptied his seed inside her.

Never in his life had he felt so adrift, so out of his mind. So out of control.

He shouldn’t like it, except he did.

In fact, he thought it was bloody magnificent.