Chapter 4 #2
“I wasn’t praying,” she denied instantly. “To do so would be horridly sacrilegious.”
“Sybil.”
She bit her lip. “Perhaps you could turn down the lamps.”
She knew she was delaying the inevitable, but her stomach felt suddenly as if it had been inhabited by hundreds of flitting butterflies.
He said nothing but mercifully moved away, crossing the chamber to do as she had asked. The light diminished, bathing the room in a soft glow. But she still felt naked, lying there in a strange bed, awaiting the stranger she’d married.
Then he was back at her side. “Enough distractions, madam. The time has come.”
“Perhaps if you joined me instead of hovering over me,” she suggested.
“Do you also attempt to lead a man whilst you are dancing?” he demanded.
It occurred to her then that they’d never danced, though she had partnered with other gentlemen, including some at this very house party, whilst hiding behind the anonymity of her mask.
How odd to think she had never indulged in such a commonplace act with her own husband, and yet they were about to be as familiar with each other as a man and woman could be.
“I do nothing of the sort,” she defended herself, letting out a squeak of surprise when he did as she suggested and joined her on the bed.
He stretched his long body beside hers, facing Sybil.
His sudden proximity made heat wash over her, that same awareness of him as a man that could never quite be banished rising to the surface.
“How is this?” he asked quietly.
His manner had shifted, and he was now intent, his regard stealing her breath. “I’m afraid it’s not much of an improvement.”
He startled her by splaying a hand over her stomach. “How about this?”
His touch slowly glided upward in a caress. His bare skin was upon hers wherever the ends of her gaping night rail parted. She swallowed hard against a sudden rush of need.
“It would have been preferable if you hadn’t torn my gown to shreds.”
“It’s not shredded. But I daresay it’s not worth repairing either.” His gaze was upon her body, watching the progression of his hand as if he were observing someone else, removed from the action.
His hand crept to her breast, and she inhaled sharply, startled when his fingers gently traveled along the swell.
He said nothing else, simply concentrated his efforts there, caressing her left breast over the thin barrier of fabric whilst she clung to it, keeping the night rail in place as best as she could.
She hadn’t expected to enjoy his touch.
Not after everything that had happened. It was one thing to objectively admire his masculine beauty and quite another to enjoy his hand on her. But she did. Her nipple ached, and her breast tingled. A longing unfurled deep within her.
“How is this?” he asked, his voice a deep and pleasant rumble.
“What are you doing?” she asked instead of answering his question, because there was no need for the rotten man to know the truth.
His arrogance already knew no bounds.
“Touching you.”
“Yes, but why?”
“To prepare you for what’s to come. Now, do hush and allow me to attend to my husbandly duties.”
She held herself stiffly, turning her gaze back to the ceiling because looking at him hurt.
He was so handsome, so impossible, so wrong for her.
She had never believed it possible to feel the depth of emotion she had already experienced for this man, and she wasn’t certain she would be capable of remaining impervious if forced to endure his attentions for a prolonged period of evenings.
“I hope you get me with child tonight,” she muttered.
“Maybe I will, but we won’t know immediately.” He stroked her breast idly, the pressure light. “You can expect me again tomorrow night.”
A fire lit deep within her. At his words, at his touch.
In truth, his hand on her felt lovely. Her nipple was more sensitive than she had ever realized, aching and tightening into a pointed tip.
His soft caresses felt like they weren’t nearly enough.
She wanted…something. But she didn’t know precisely what.
“And every night thereafter until the desired outcome is reached,” he added.
Then he dragged her night rail away, revealing the curve of one breast. Before she could shield herself, his head dipped, and he took the peak into his mouth, sucking.
The wet, velvet heat was astonishing but thrilling also.
Even more shocking, she felt the suction between her legs in a throb that came to life in her most intimate place.
She liked it.
But of course she did, curse him. Was he not a rake, particularly practiced in the art of seduction? Yes, he was. And she had known that about him, and it hadn’t concerned her until he had abandoned her.
The thought cooled her ardor.
She pushed at his head—and none too gently. “Enough. You’re deliberately prolonging this to torture me.”
He rose over her, supporting himself on one forearm, scowling as he did so. “Madam, this is the proper order of things, I can assure you.”
“Fine.” She waved a hand airily toward him as if she hadn’t a care, when in truth she had to summon all the confidence and daring she possessed to keep her breast bared to him. “Do what you must. I shall try to nap.”
“Nap?”
He sounded horrified.
Good. Perhaps she had wounded his pride. She certainly hoped so.
“I am overly tired after all the distractions of this house party,” she informed him. “Some rest is just what I need.”
“You cannot sleep whilst I’m making love to you.”
He was still aghast. And arrogant, because of course. He was Riverdale, and he believed the world was his to command, his to possess, his to use and flaunt as he wished.
“I am reasonably certain I can,” she countered and made a show of yawning before she allowed her eyelashes to flutter closed.
“Enough,” he said softly and yet with a hard edge of warning.
It spurred her sufficiently to peek at him from beneath the barrier of her lowered lashes. His jaw was drawn tight, his full, sensual lips thinned to a grim line. Determination? Vexation? Perhaps both.
She opened her eyes fully. “Is it over, then?”
He growled and reached for her again. “You bloody well know it’s not. It has yet to even begin. Cease playing games with me, madam.”
This time, he peeled away the other half of her night rail, baring both breasts.
Cool night air kissed her heated bare skin.
He lowered his head, but instead of taking her nipple into his mouth as he’d done before, he nipped her.
Not hard enough for it to hurt, but the sting sent a jolt through her, making Sybil gasp.
“Do I have your attention yet?”
He flicked his tongue over the pebbled pink tip. It felt wrong to watch him, and yet she couldn’t look away from the sight of his handsome face so near to her breasts. His breath fell hot upon her, replacing the chill and sending longing to another forbidden part of her.
She didn’t answer him, holding her tongue as well as her breath. She may have to share her body with him, but Sybil didn’t owe him her thoughts as well. He could take what he wanted and leave her in peace.
He’d already taken so much.
His tongue swirled around her nipple again. “Answer me.”
And still, she didn’t. She hadn’t meant this as a game, but if he accused her of playing one, then perhaps she ought to.
It certainly seemed that he was. Toying with her like a cat pawing at a defenseless mouse it intended to slaughter and leave lifeless in the garden path when it wasn’t of interest any longer.
She was no mouse.
He drew her nipple into his mouth again, sucking and then releasing her with a loud, sinful sound that echoed in the hushed quiet of the chamber.
Then he moved to her other nipple, treating it to the same.
Heaven help her, she liked it even more.
The evidence was between her thighs, a steady throb awakened by his touch and the sinful suction of his wicked mouth.
She pressed her legs together and discovered she was shamelessly damp.
He kissed a path from the curve of her breast to the hollow between them next, his hand settling on her hip to hold her still.
It was a gentle grasp, that of a lover rather than a captor, and she knew she could escape if she wanted.
But she also knew there was no point in doing so.
She had to give him this if she expected him to grant her freedom in return.
Except, freedom was the last thing on her mind as Riverdale’s wicked lips continued their path, moving higher.
To her throat. His lips feathered over her bare skin, and she wondered if he could feel the rapid beat of her heart.
His hands moved with slow, tantalizing precision, caressing over her breasts, guiding her night rail down her arms and unwrapping her as if she were a gift.
He opened his mouth, his tongue flicking out to taste her skin. Her breath caught, heat licking through her like flames in a hearth. He cupped her breasts and kissed higher, finding her ear as his thumbs toyed with her aching nipples.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
She hadn’t expected him to proceed so slowly. To make her feel.
She had hoped he would simply do what was necessary and leave her in peace. Not that he would unravel her both literally and figuratively.
“The act is meant to be pleasurable,” he murmured into her ear. “Why do you lie as stiffly as a branch?”
Sybil clenched her jaw. “How dare you?”
He chuckled, the sound bitter and without mirth. “I dare everything, madam.”
Swiftly, he shifted positions, his gaze blazing as he leveraged himself on his forearms and loomed over her. “Including this.”