26. Chapter 26
What will it be, madam wife, her newlywed husband asked.
But how could she choose? She wanted so many things. She wanted his kiss. Wanted his touch. Wanted his breath in her ear.
She wanted his skin bared, to feast her eyes, her hands, her mouth wherever she so desired.
She wanted him burning with desire, for her, and only for her.
She searched his eyes. “I want…” She bit her lower lip.
Arching one thick brow, he drew his hands to grasp her on either side of her waist. “Do you need help choosing? Perhaps I can be of some small assistance, hm?” As he spoke, his thumbs traced small circles over her rib cage, tickling her deep inside.
She nodded, drawing a shuddering breath. “Y-yes. Yes, I think that would be good,” she said, her voice no more than a husky whisper.
Heat flared in his eyes, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “I think we should relocate for this particular endeavor.”
She frowned in confusion.
“Come.” He took one of her hands and led her toward the side of his large four-poster bed.
They stood facing each other, gazes locked.
One-handed, he began unbuttoning his waistcoat. In the next instant, he peeled out of the garment and dropped it, heedless of where it landed. Then he set to untying his cravat. “You don’t mind, do you?”
She shook her head, staring at his emerging tanned throat and his bobbing Adam’s apple.
“Good.” He tossed the snowy white tie aside. “Now then.” Undoing his cufflinks, he moved in a slow arc to stand behind her, then bent his head to her ear. “You might ask me to kiss you, here.” He traced one fingertip down her nape, following his finger with the softest press of his lips.
As if of their own accord, her eyes closed. “That is quite nice,” she breathed.
He nuzzled her behind her ear. “No need to decide just yet.” The low rumble of his voice was like a purr, lulling her into a mesmeric state.
Then his teeth nipped at her earlobe. At nearly the same moment, his hands began undoing the clasps of her gown.
Her eyes popped open.
“You might prefer that I help you with your gown.”
She had, in fact, wondered how removing this particular dress, with its many clasps, might be accomplished without Babette’s help. But she hadn’t imagined this. In truth, she had not known what to expect. “I…er…see.”
His fingers stilled. “You see,” he stated neutrally.
A moment later, the bed squeaked, and she turned her head to see Sterling easing into a sitting position on the edge of the mattress. The first several buttons of his white shirt hung open, giving her a first glimpse of his carved, muscular chest.
It was lightly tanned, as if he’d been bare-chested while out of doors, and had a fine dusting of hair. Her stomach seemed to shimmer inside of her, like a string of tiny bells, singing in the breeze.
Without warning, he reached for her, large hands spanning her waist, to pull her back toward him as he spread his thighs to make a place for her to stand.
He lifted his hands to her shoulders and began to knead her upper back. “Annabelle, there’s something I want to ask you. I…don’t know how to phrase it without possibly shocking you.”
“Are we playing the speculation game again?” she asked, hopeful. But she feared she knew what he meant to ask.
“No,” he said.
“Oh. Go on.”
He took his time, evidently choosing his words with care, as his magic fingers moved over her.
Muscles she hadn’t realized were tight began to relax. Pleasure rippled through her, at times so intense, gooseflesh spread over her limbs. To her mortification, her nipples hardened. She thanked the stars she was facing away from him.
When he spoke, his voice was a low rumble. “Has anyone talked with you about what goes on between a husband and wife in the marital bed?”
“You mean, has anyone explained my wifely duties?”
“Some call it that,” he muttered. “Some call it ‘making love.’ Do you know what the act entails?”
She knew the basic anatomy. Not much else, though. “Gaston told me a bit.”
For a split second, his hands froze as if her answer had surprised him.
Then he continued his gentle massage, working his way down the center line of her back. “And what did dear Gaston have to say about it?”
“He did not go into details, per se. It was more along the lines of assuring me I would only have to endure a man like Lord Crowley or Lord Whittinger a short while, long enough to produce an heir, as neither man would likely have the ability to…er…that is, I gather there is some physical aspect to the business that…er…declines with age.” She paused as it dawned on her his hands had ceased moving.
Chancing a glance over her shoulder, she found him staring at her, a frozen expression on his face.
“I…er…got the sense that though it might be pleasurable for a man, it was decidedly less so for a woman. Only—”
“Lord Crowley?” he all but spat. “Lord Whittinger? Those disgusting lechers? Was your brother mad? Why on earth…I’m sorry. I do not begin to understand what you are telling me.”
Folding her arms over her chest, she turned to face him. “They are two of the men on the list.”
He eyed her in bewilderment. “What list?”
She lowered her gaze. “Never mind.”
“I insist,” he said through his teeth.
She did not want to talk about this on her wedding day, of all days. “I told you I would undoubtedly receive an offer of marriage this Season. To that end, my family had pre-selected the most opportune candidates to enhance Father’s…” She broke off at Sterling’s vicious curse.
“When I asked what you’d been told, I did not mean…
that,” he said, slashing one hand through the air in vague emphasis.
"I wanted to know if your mother had discussed the act of making love with you. I wanted to assure you that though it might hurt the first time, it would improve with practice, become pleasurable for both of us. I did not anticipate…Christ, Annabelle.” He dragged a hand through his hair and glowered—at nothing in particular as far as she could tell.
Her heart sank. “Are you angry?”
He glared at her. “No.”
“You certainly look angry.”
“I’m not,” he said in sullen reproach. “May we return to the subject at hand?”
She nodded, not bothering to hide her glumness.
He harrumphed, jaw flexing. “I cannot even recall now what my point was.”
She regarded him. “You wanted to know if I was as ignorant about lovemaking as I seem.”
His gaze snapped back to her. “No.”
She swallowed over a hard lump. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”
He grasped her shoulders, then, as if he meant to shake her. “No, damn it. I wanted to…I wanted you not to be afraid. I wanted you to trust me.”
“Oh.” A ray of hope flickered to life in her chest. “I do, and I’m not afraid…of you at any rate. Maybe I’m a little worried about doing everything all wrong, as I undoubtedly will.”
“Annabelle—”
Now that she had started, she could not stem the tide.
“I told you I’d never been kissed before and never wanted anyone to try.
But, the truth is, when you kissed me—oh, all right, when I kissed you—I wanted more kisses.
When you touch me”—she closed her eyes and gave a little shoulder waggle of delight—“I want more touches. When you—”
Her words cut off as Sterling’s mouth took hers in a voracious kiss. One strong arm hooked around her waist, dragging her into him. Meanwhile, his free hand undid her clasps, fingers nimble as a lady’s maid’s.
“Annabelle,” he breathed against her lips, “My God, how I want you,” he all but moaned, ridding her of her dress in seeming record time.
She clung to him as he dragged her gown past her hips, and bent to kiss her neck.
The stubble of his beard scraped her skin with exquisite friction, and his thick hair tickled the tip of her nose.
It smelled so nice, like lemon and sunshine, and oh, the funny things happening in her belly—and lower.
Warmth, and she would swear, moisture, thrummed at the apex of her thighs.
He feathered kisses across her chest, moving steadily lower to trace the lacy edge of her corset with his tongue. “Do you like this?” he demanded in a hoarse rasp.
She nodded, and realizing he could not see her, answered in a husky voice she hardly recognized as her own. “Yes.”
“Do you want to touch me, Annabelle?” he asked, between kisses.
“Yes.” Oh, yes.
He straightened, a slow pirate’s smile curving one corner of his mouth, and shrugged out of his shirt. Then he took her hands, placing them flat against his chest.
Heart pounding, she traced her fingers over the supple flesh and hard contours and ridges, marveling as his muscles twitched and jerked at her touch.
Helpless to resist the impulse, she kneaded her fingers into him, then scored his skin with her nails.
“You’re so different. Not like me. You’re like… Zeus.”
He barked out a laugh, then hissed in a breath. “‘Like Zeus.’ Woman, you don’t know what you’re doing to me. What you do without even trying. Hell’s teeth. It will be a miracle if I make it inside you.”
With that, he swept her into his arms and fell backward onto the bed. “Hold onto me, love,” he ordered in guttural tones, his elbows digging into the mattress to drag them toward the pillows.
Then he rolled her onto her back, eased onto his side, and gazed down at her. His fingers traced her cheek, down her neck, along the lacy edge of her chemise, leaving a trail of fire. Then they went lower, still, finding and caressing one hardened nipple.
The sensation was indescribable. Intoxicating. Enthralling. She could not hold still. She shivered and shimmied as delicious tingles swarmed through her.
Then he bent his head and took her other nipple between his lips. He pulled at it, rolled his tongue over it, laving the sensitive flesh.
When he began to suckle her, she moaned, helpless to resist the impulse. Molten heat spread through her, concentrating between her thighs, where it pulsed. She squeezed them together, desperate to allay the unnamed urgency building within her.
“Sterling, I need…” She broke off with a whimper. She didn’t know. Twining her arms around his neck, she dragged him closer in a silent demand for more. More of the heady torment. More of his mouth, his hands, his weight on her.
With a low chuckle, he lifted his head from her breast, rose onto his elbows to bracket her shoulders between them. “I know what you need, darling,” he breathed. Then he covered her mouth with his and devastated her with his kiss.
He shifted his weight, freeing one hand to roam over her in unhurried exploration. Soon, cool air brushed her bare thighs as he worked his way beneath the sheer skirts of her silk chemise. His fingertips traced over her hip, her belly, the top of her thigh.
When he reached her curls, she shuddered. Everything inside her clenched as yearning and uncertainty clashed.
Somehow, he understood. “Let me, sweetheart. Let me touch you,” he purred into her ear.
She shivered. Embarrassed, because she knew, somehow knew, she was soaking wet. But she wanted, oh how she wanted, what only he could give, a release from this desperate, building tension.
He kissed her again, tenderly, so tenderly. Instead of calming her, the seductive brush of his lips only fanned the flames inside her. She grew hotter. Tighter.
“Please, Sterling.”
He groaned and slid one finger into her most private place, the sweet friction a lush sensation unlike anything she’d ever known. It stole her breath, her ability to think.
Groaning again, he dropped his face into her neck. “You feel…so…good,” he all but growled. His rasping breaths in her ear, he glided his finger between her folds in a steady rhythm, up and down, up and down, up and down, each time brushing one incredibly sensitive spot.
With each pass, her insides twisted, tighter.
Tighter. She speared her fingers in his hair, scoring his scalp, certain she could not take more of the delicious torment, and then, release—as sudden, glorious, dizzying, pleasure exploded through her.
She shuddered, she bucked, she cried his name.
Nothing could have prepared her. Nothing.
Finally, she lay there, boneless, utterly replete.
She was dimly aware of Sterling leaving her briefly, jerking at his clothing.
In the next moment, he eased atop her, his weight pressing her into the mattress, his hips nestled into hers.
She knew what was coming. She’d been around horses all her life and thus had an idea of what comprised the male anatomy.
Still, she was unprepared when he guided his manhood, hot and slick, to her core. Unprepared for the shockwaves of pleasure rippling through her as his hips rocked, nudging the still-sensitive space.
Breath hissing between his teeth, he met her gaze. A blazing heat burned in his eyes. “You are unlike anything. You steal my ability to think beyond my need to feel you—like this.”
She nodded, unable to form words.
Jaw clenched, he pushed inside her.
She flinched as pain, sharp as a tack, pricked her. But she didn’t want him to stop. She wanted their joining. Needed it like she needed air.
Above her, he held utterly still, never breaking eye contact with her. Sweat trickled down his temple, and a muscle in his jaw ticked.
He started to pull free.
No. She bent her knees and arched upward.
He choked, his hips jerking forward in a reflexive pump. Then he was pushing deep. Sinking himself into her, gasping for air, his face a mask of pain and pleasure.
Everything in her reveled in the sight—of this man, her husband, lost to her. The wonder of it nearly overwhelmed her, leaving her giddy and desperate for him.
Unable not to, she wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his hips. He groaned in evident surprise, then his hips swiveled, his body contorted, and he loosed a husky roar of unmistakable male triumph.
Afterward, he collapsed on top of her.
A sense of feminine triumph washed through her. She had never been more content in her entire life.