Chapter Seventeen #2
Dear God, but he would do this every day to hear that wail of uninhibited pleasure tugged from his wife’s throat.
Montague did not let up, his tongue twirling every jolt of pleasure he could get out of Calliope until she sagged, her hands grasping his shoulders as her body slumped against the door.
There. That was pleasing one’s wife.
Licking her from his lips and knowing no honey would ever taste as sweet, Montague slowly leaned back and removed himself from Calliope’s skirts, ensuring her hands resting heavily on his shoulders were supported with every movement.
When he lifted her skirts up and back down to her ankles, it was to look up into the dazed eyes of a woman thoroughly loved.
‘That…’ Calliope cleared her ragged throat. ‘That…that was—’
‘Good,’ Montague said cheerfully. ‘Are you ready for more?’
Her expression sharpened with unhidden eagerness. ‘More?’
And this was just another reason why he loved her, Montague thought delightedly. Because he wanted a woman who was this eager for lovemaking. A woman who ached for his touch. A woman who would be quite happy to spend most of the day in bed with him and then continue into the night.
Christ, but they were going to have some fun.
As Montague rose to his feet, Calliope half stepped, half fell into his arms.
‘More, I think you promised?’ she said lightly, as though he had not just made her fall apart in climax leaning against his—against their front door.
The grin that creased his lips was not one he hoped he would ever share with anyone, except this unbelievable woman. ‘Oh, I did indeed. Right, off we—’
‘Montague!’
There was no one to hear her cry of astonishment, for which Montague was most grateful. This was not a moment to be shared with anyone. This was something for the two of them and no one else.
Besides, she had only exclaimed because she had not expected him to sweep her off her feet and into his arms, something Montague did without any concern, before he started to talk towards the staircase.
‘You are a dolt, you know,’ Calliope said warmly as she kissed his cheek.
It was a good thing she was not able to reach any other part of him to kiss, or Montague would have a problem. Kissing her secret place to the point of climax had wound him up so perfectly, his manhood was erect in his breeches and threatening at any moment to enjoy a pinnacle of its own.
‘A dolt?’ Montague repeated cheerfully as they reached the top of the staircase. ‘I am not sure is the sort of term one should use for one’s besotted husband.’
Her laughter was the only thing he ever wanted to hear again. ‘Besotted? You?’
He met her gaze and Calliope’s laughter faded at his expression. ‘But of course.’
This time when she kissed him, she managed to reach his mouth. This was most distracting, but Montague was hardly going to concentrate on his footsteps more than the vixen in his arms who was kissing her senseless.
In the short time they had known each other, Calliope had gone from utter novice to minx when it came to kissing and Montague gave himself up to the sensations sparking heat through his body as she kissed him most decidedly.
When they parted, it was only to draw breath.
‘You rascal,’ Montague whispered.
Calliope grinned. ‘Only if you’re very, very good.’
Groaning and trying not to think about how desperately he wanted her, Montague half walked, half ran down the corridor to his bedchamber.
The door was partially ajar, so it did not matter one of his hands was around his wife’s waist and the other held her legs.
After stepping into the room, Montague kicked it shut with his foot and swiftly placed his wife down.
‘Take off all your clothes,’ he said, his voice unexpectedly ragged, ‘or risk me ripping them off your body.’
There was a spark of rebellion in her eyes but Montague did not wait to see what her response would be. Not while his fingers were busy scrabbling at his own shirt buttons.
‘Thankfully, you have done much of the hard work yourself,’ Calliope said lightly, shrugging her shoulders and allowing her gown to—
Montague swallowed. Hard.
All day, she had been wearing nothing but her gown and stays? How the hell had she been able to stand up in church and vow all sorts of serious things when underneath that thin layer of fabric…
His throat was dry, his mouth eager to press his lips upon every inch of Calliope he could not see—and what a sight.
Beauty did not quite describe the elegance, the softness of her skin, the curves of her breasts and her hips that swelled beneath her stays.
Yes, he had stroked those inner thighs and tasted between her legs, but there was something quite different about beholding them.
‘Not much need for cerulean blue,’ Calliope murmured with a wicked look in her eyes as she slowly unlaced her stays, pulling them over her head to release her breasts.
Montague would have swallowed, but there did not appear to be any possibility of his body obeying a single one of his mind’s commands.
Not much need for cerulean blue indeed. But rose pink, and that dark crimson, and that hue he’d seen which was almost ivory but a little creamier…dear God, he would need all of those and the artistic talent of God himself to capture the nude standing before him.
Montague almost fell over as he simultaneously attempted to remove his left boot, take a step forward, pull his shirt over his head, and undo his breeches.
He did not manage to do any of these things.
Calliope’s gentle laughter only inflamed his need further, and when Montague had managed to pull his shirt properly over his head and drop it on the carpet, it was to see his beautiful wife stepping away from him now seated on the edge of the bed.
Invitingly.
‘You are so—so beautiful,’ Montague murmured as he managed to take both his boots off without falling over, a real feat.
Calliope glanced down at her hands, now folded in her lap. Her inviting, shell pink lap. ‘Thank you.’
Thank you, he wanted to say, for agreeing to marry an idiot like myself.
But he did not say that. Only an idiot would say that. ‘I will give you such pleasure—’
‘As long as you take some for yourself.’ Calliope looked up now, her nervous eyes still bold, still unafraid of him—and she never had been, not from the very moment they had first met. ‘I want you to feel pleasure, Montague.’
Montague was in great danger, as he tried to undo his breeches calmly without ripping off the buttons, of feeling pleasure now, his manhood was so stiff. ‘I think that can be arranged.’
His breeches pooled in a rush of fabric at his ankles and Calliope’s eyes widened as her gaze dropped from his face.
Her lips parted. ‘Oh my.’
Montague followed her gaze. His manhood was jutting forward, proud and eager. ‘Yes.’
Well, what else was there to say.
When he glanced back up at Calliope, she was smiling. She was also pushing herself back onto the bed with a look Montague could only describe as…invitational.
‘Come and take your pleasure, then,’ she whispered.
Montague hardly needed a second invitation.
Stalking across the bedchamber and clambering eagerly onto the bed, he almost moaned with delight as he settled himself between the warm and quivering thighs that promised so much bliss.
Calliope lifted her lips to be kissed and it was like coming home, knowing that for one’s whole life, you had been waiting for this moment. For this welcome.
For this woman.
Their kisses grew eager, Calliope’s wanton hands caressing him in ways she could not possibly know were driving him wild, and before Montague knew it he had positioned himself at her warm, wet entrance and had to force himself to halt.
‘What’s wrong?’
Breathing raggedly, he looked up and smiled at the woman he loved. ‘Nothing. Are you ready?’
Calliope nodded, her gaze never leaving his own. ‘Take me—take me now.’
Montague groaned as he slid himself, inch by inch, into her welcoming depths. The little gasps of shock and delight escaping his wife’s throat only encouraged him further but he did all he could to keep slow, keep his pace.
He would not hurt the woman he loved.
The sounds she was making did not sound like pain, but rather surprise, delight, perhaps even awe. Only when Montague had sheathed himself completely into the plunging depths of Calliope did he let out the breath he had not known he had been holding.
Her questing hands stroked down his nape. ‘And…and that is it? We have made love?’
Montague grinned as he pressed a swift kiss upon her lips. ‘Not even close.’
Calliope’s finger strokes became grasps as she moaned, perhaps in shock, as he pulled himself almost completely out of her then thrust himself deep within her core.
‘Montague!’
It was not a request to stop and so he did not.
Gritting his teeth and hoping to God he would be able to control himself, Montague thrust a little faster each time, his left hand cradling her face as he leaned on his elbow, his right hand teasing and twisting the shell pink nipple that pebbled with the sparking peaks he was thrusting through her.
‘Montague,’ Calliope gasped, and she was arching her back now, welcoming him deeper.
Trying hard to concentrate and knowing full well he would not last long, Montague released her nipple and slipped his thumb between them where their bodies met, searching for the little nub of pleasure he knew would push her over the—
‘Oh God, Montague!’
The convulsions soared through her and Montague swore under his breath as the ripples within Calliope’s core pushed him past his climax.
Pleasure, hot and steaming ecstasy roared through him as Montague poured himself into her, crying out her name as his body took over, and only when he had rid himself of all seed and sense did he collapse into her arms.
Calliope welcomed him in, welcomed him closer, and as Montague felt her fingers brush through his hair and her lips feather kisses against his forehead, he knew.
He would never be the same again.