Chapter 25 #2
Having been exposed to her amorous betrothed’s methods of seduction, Lily glanced nervously about. She would have preferred darkness.
Edward sensed her unease. His gaze pierced her, though he appeared relaxed in a large carven chair before the hearth. After a moment, he pulled off his boots. He had already divested himself of all but his snug-fitting hose.
Lily remained frozen where she was.
He watched as she tried to erect every piece of armament she possessed about herself, while all the while his impatience rose.
Edward steepled his fingers, stretched out his lanky, sinewed legs in front of him, and frowned. “Could you tell me what you are frightened of, Lily? You wanted to be here, so you told me. You know I would never hurt you. The discomfort of the first time is fleeting, and I am not unskilled.”
Lily looked mortified. She could not meet his gaze.
Finding a spot in the far-right corner of the chamber, she fixed on it.
“It’s n-not that. Well, not altogether that.
I find I am suddenly reluctant. You know, as happens at times.
You don’t know why you don’t feel like… like playing drafts, for example, you just don’t want to. ”
“Reluctant. I see. And yet, if I recall, you have found all our previous encounters pleasurable. Do you deny it?”
Her eyes came back to him, and she shook her head.
“Do I have it right?” he insisted. “You do not deny it?”
“No, I do not deny it.”
“Then? What is the problem here?”
He rose and, coming to her, took her hands, placed a kiss on each upturned palm, and nuzzled her neck.
“You are mine, my lily flower. Let me make it easy for you. Let me show you.” He punctuated his words with small kisses to her hot temple, her nose, the corners of her mouth.
His tongue touched her lips and the hollow of her throat, and he kissed there too, tiny molten kisses that set fire to her wherever they touched.
“I will play ladies maid,” he said between kisses.
“And you will worry about naught,” he said, unlacing her kirtle, “save the pleasure of my touch.” He claimed her lips in a drugged, passionate kiss that wiped all coherent thought from her mind.
She hardly felt the rest of her clothing melt away.
At some point, he lifted her in his arms and lowered her onto his bed.
He followed, never breaking his kiss, but now his tongue began to claim her mouth, probing and retreating in a hot and steady rhythm. She felt the rise of her own passion still edged with maidenly fears.
Soon though, his skilled caresses swept away the obstacles and doubts, banishing them from her mind.
Pleasure flowed swift as silk through her body, and with that rush of sensation another was born.
Hunger, but of a different kind. This was an ache, a wanting that throbbed and pulsed and knew no relief. Lingering shyness vanished.
Lily gave herself over to his long-fingered hands as he stroked her breasts and played homage to them with his teeth and tongue.
Streaks of pure pleasure coursed through her, down even to the apex of her legs.
Agitated, she began to strain against the wash of delight, reaching for it with flickering hips.
Edward came over her, positioning himself between her open thighs. She felt the compelling strangeness of being pressed down, the insistence of him enveloping her body and her soul.
She gasped as the sensations threatened to drown her and slid her arms around his powerful neck, desperate to hold on to him, to feel his heat, his heft, the maleness of him.
She desired to bring him closer. It wasn’t nearly so scary when he held her tight.
She ran her fingers through his night-dark hair and smoothed her hands tentatively over the bulging muscles of his shoulders.
They seemed to go on forever. Massive, solid, emblematic of his protection.
She felt dizzy, reveling in the potency of him.
She could smell his particular scent, an exotic, timbery, amber smell. She drank enough to quench her thirst.
He lifted himself onto one elbow and looked down into her flushed face, his eyes kindled. They were two golden flames. Alight with passion. For her. The light compelled her and she could not look away. He held her fast.
“You are beautiful, my lily flower,” he said.
“Not as beautiful as you, Edward,” she answered him and he kissed her.
She almost cried out when, for a moment, he left her to divest himself of his hose, but he was soon back, naked and very much aroused. Lily saw the beauty of his masculine form through the haze of pleasure his magic had already woven, but she felt uncertain still about where her eyes should go.
She heard his soft chuckle, but soon all thoughts of maidenly bashfulness were erased. With every skill he possessed, he took command of the gentle business of seduction. And all the while, the thread of hunger inside her pulled tighter.
In a daze, she watched as he played his palms over her nipples, and now his mouth swooped down and claimed one hard tip, and he sucked. Lily groaned, and her hips lifted off the bed in response.
As if in answer, Edward smoothed his hand over her stomach and painted lazy circles there, seeming to know where agitation plagued her.
Somehow, it did not quell the burgeoning need but fed the hunger that was beginning to drive her wild.
And then, just when she thought she could stand no more, his long fingers stroked lower to claim the silky curls that covered her mound. It set off a whole new torment.
She breathed in as his fingers found the seam and slid inside her satin smoothness. He stroked deeply into the slick passage, a point of sweet torment. And the thread tightened another notch. Lily made a small sound of wanting in her throat.
Helpless against the exquisite sensations, she writhed, closing her eyes against the overwhelming tide. With gentle insistence, he wedged her legs further apart with his own.
“Edward,” she gasped as sensations too powerful to bear spiced her blood. She clung to him, like a boat caught in a maelstrom, reaching for stability from the very power responsible for the whirlwind into which she spun.
He rose over her fully, and his hands took firm hold of her sleek hips. His breath came harsh to her ears.
He was hard and impossibly big, and she tensed against his entry. He weighed her down, pressing her into the mattress as he steadied her. He lodged the tip of his root just inside her. Lily went taut.
“Be easy,” he breathed in her ear. “Stay with me, my flower.”
He moved forward, one single thrust. Then, another and one more.
Lily felt herself alternatively tighten against his intrusion and welcome it.
He whispered encouragement and surged steady and sure into her virgin passage, and she found herself willing to cede power to his mastery.
The emotions, the sensations bound one to the other were far too overwhelming to gainsay.
He began to move more, testing at first and then more forcefully.
She made a mewling noise in her throat.
“Je regrette, ma fleur,” he whispered in her ear.
His arms went around her like iron bands. He held her tight to his body and drove deep and smooth into her, moving with constraint that he tempered with vigor enough to take her maidenhead.
Lily gasped as a sharp pain spasmed within her. He caught her mouth and claimed it as his own.
While he kissed her, he eased up onto his elbows and remained perfectly still.
Her eyes flickered open, and she saw his expression, and it squeezed her heart.
He had not wished to cause her any hurt.
He looked deeply into her eyes as if she were something wonderful to him.
He stroked her hair and kissed her eyelids.
“It will not hurt again, be easy,” he told her, and already she could feel the quivering of passion bloom again.
“My Lady Flower,” he breathed into her mouth. Surely, she told herself, he was well pleased with her. It was all the encouragement she needed.
He began to move again. Slowly at first and then as she became more accustomed to him, his strokes became more assertive, deeper, faster. The hungry thread drew unbearably tight.
She responded with eager passion, wanting to answer his unspoken need.
She felt wild with the desire to do so, and somehow the urge transformed into her own mounting passion.
The feeling caught her up as it whirled and spun and the world shuddered out of her control.
She sought to satisfy the unleashed fury that built and built, until with a musical cry she burst asunder.
He held perfectly still once again, as the tide of pleasure overtook her thundering heart. He kissed her brow, marveling at the tight sheath she offered him. She was exquisite torture, a torment of cream and silk.
Already he was gently moving inside her again.
Slow, sensuous movements that grew steadily more powerful, and built as he surged into her, hard, rapid thrusts that swept away all restraint.
She felt his heat, his own supreme dance as he claimed her with every thrust until with a low growl deep in his throat, he spilled the pent-up tide of his desire into her.
Later, with his lily flower curled trustingly against his side, Edward chuckled under his breath. A wild one in Camelot. He had not expected that.
And he fell asleep with the satisfied smile of conquest on his face.