Gideon's Bargain (3 page)

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He stepped away from her so abruptly, she swayed, unprepared for the loss of his support.
"Remove your gown."
"What?"
"Remove your gown." He stood back and remained deliberately separate from her.
Sarah felt the old fear rise up in her, the need to escape, to hide behind delaying tactics. She opened her mouth to question him, but caught herself before she uttered a sound.
Gideon smiled. "Very good. Now, remove your gown."
She reached behind herself, and her hands fluttered for a moment over the short row of buttons that fastened up the back of her evening gown. His eyes stayed on her, and their heat and expectation encouraged her cooperation. She began to slip silk-covered buttons from their moorings. When the last gave way, the gown slid down her arms, and she crossed one in front of herself to hold it in place.
"Off."
Thighs trembling, she obeyed, letting the concealing silk slither to the floor and pool at her feet. Beneath, she wore a soft cotton chemise and long stays. One silk stocking still covered her legs, the other sagging in a silky pool around her ankle.
"The stays."
Mouth dry, she removed them as well until all that kept her from his view were her stockings, her chemise and her defiance. She might as well have been naked before him. She felt his gaze that clearly.
It raked over her, lingering on the darkened valley between her breasts and the rounded curve of her hip. Abruptly, he turned and strode toward the bed. She watched, unsure what he wanted. Should she follow or stay still?
He ignored her while he stripped back the covers from the unfamiliar bed. She'd barely had time to glance at it when she'd arrived, with her abigail rushing to ready her for dinner, but now she couldn't tear her eyes away. Its four, carved posts supported a canopy of rich, gold velvet that dripped to the floor in the form of matching curtains. The dark, polished wood contrasted with the lighter material, but couldn't soften the impression the huge bed made in the feminine room.
Nothing could soften the impression her husband made.
"Come."
His one word commands made her feel something like her brother's favorite pointer, Flossie, and as obediently as that liver-tick bitch, she crossed the distance that separated them, stopping directly in front of the marquis. She wondered if Flossie ever looked at Robert with the wary sort of fascination Sarah presently felt for her husband.
Away from the fire, her underclothes failed to warm her, and she felt the chill begin to seep into her bones, intensified by the contrasting heat of the hands he laid on her bare shoulders.
"Tell me, wife," he murmured as he watched her, his eyes intent and his thumbs idle as they stroked the pale skin at the sides of her throat. "How much does an innocent young miss know about sex?"
His blunt question made her eyes widen, then narrow. "If the young miss grew up in the country, my lord, she can hardly escape a passing knowledge. Animals are rarely circumspect when mating. Servants even less so."
At Marsh House it hadn't been the servants who had been reckless, but her father and brother. They had pumped between the thighs of more than one housemaid under the harsh light of day, regardless of who might stumble upon them.
Gideon's lips quirked. "Ah, yes. One can presume, therefore, that a miss knows at least the mechanics of the act."
"One can." Her tone sounded sharp and cold in her ears.
Her husband did not seem phased. "Good. Then we can dispense with the mechanics and proceed straight to the subtleties. Give me your mouth."
Surprise provided obedience, or at least convenient rebellion. Her chin jerked up at his command and her jaw fell slack, which suited her husband perfectly. He set his mouth atop hers and proceeded to draw her soul out from between her lips.
With teeth and tongue and brutal skill he consumed her. She trembled and moaned a protest, but the sound went no further than her throat, stuttering against the hot, blunt pressure of his thumbs. He moved the pads in slow circles around the hollow at the base of her throat, while his tongue tasted every surface of her mouth and filled her with the flavor of spice and brandy and man. Beneath her closed eyelids, her world became a wild swirl of color and heat. She felt her muscles easing, her stiffness dissolving until her body pressed along the solid length of his, breast to chest, woman to man, wife to husband.
His hands shifted, one burrowing in the honey curls at the back of her head, cupping the curve of her skull, pressing his thumb against the tender spot at its base. The other arm carved around her waist, holding her to him as his mouth left hers and nipped a slow path along her jaw to the hollow his thumbs had recently abandoned.
She felt a dizzy rush of heat course through her, felt her knees buckle for an instant before she steadied herself. The powerless feelings he could incite terrified her. This could hardly be his way of helping her find her control.
"If this is your way of demonstrating subtlety, my lord, I fear for those you treat with more directness." Her voice trembled and panted for want of breath, but she forced her tone at least to imply independence. If she could fool him, perhaps she could fool herself.
In answer, his teeth closed with careful restraint on the skin of her throat, which did nothing to control her trembling, but did solve her problem of unsteady breath; it halted it completely.
"I will treat you with more directness," he said as he raised his head to meet her cloudy gaze, "when you are ready for it."
"And if I tell you I am ready now?"
His eyes sparked, amber lights like glowing coals glinting in the dark irises. "If you tell me that, I will take you at your word. But once you take this step, wife, there will be no opportunity to turn back."
"You said you would teach me, my lord, yet still I remain ignorant."
"You remain safe. Do you tell me you wish to be reckless?"
"I wish to be more."
"And if I tell you the path to more is one that allows for no protest? No second chances? No regrets?"
"I wish to be more."
Again his mouth curved in that Son of the Morning smile and he straightened, towering over her once more. He closed his hand around the neckline of her chemise, his fingers toying with the tiny satin bow. "If it is your choice then, Sarah, let us see what we can make of you."
His fingers clenched and the sound of tearing cotton drowned out her gasp. The scraps of her chemise fell away and left her naked before him.

Chapter Four

"Turn and face the bed."
He gave no quarter, not even a moment to allow her to regain her balance. Naked but for her stockings, she stood shocked and immobile before him too long for his taste. After the cold air against her bare flesh, the next sensation she felt was his hands on her shoulders forcing her to turn and face the bed beside them. She had but a moment to register the height of the soft, down mattress and the luxurious brocade of the silk counterpane before those same hands pressed her shoulders forward toward the surface.
She leaned forward to crawl into the bed, but he stopped her with a warm palm against her stomach. "No. Keep your legs straight and bend from the hips."
Chilled and confused, she obeyed, her breath going ragged when she felt her bottom brush against the front of his trousers. She tried to lean forward, away from the contact, but his hand on her belly held her still.
"Now stretch your arms out above your head and keep very still."
"Wh-" She drew in a deep breath and tried again. "What are you doing?"
His hand settled on the taut skin of her bottom and squeezed. "No protests, Sarah."
"It was not a protest. It was a question." Her hands stretched forward, reaching toward the far side of the bed, just as he had ordered.
His chuckle drifted down to her, warm and rich. "Good. It is your prerogative to ask questions of me, Sarah." His hand drifted to the right, fingers tracing the valley between her buttocks and drawing a heated path down to her core. "And it is my prerogative not to answer."
Long, blunt fingers pressed forward, parted slippery folds and invaded.
Sarah cried out. Her head flew up, her hands clenched in the bed covers. She began to rear up, but he moved like lightening. The hand on her belly pulled away and pressed between her shoulder blades, forcing her gently but deliberately back down.
"I said to stay very still."
Fingers twisted, slid deeper, calling a whimper from her throat. "I can't. You can't…It stings."
"Is it painful?"
"Yes. No. I don't…It stings," she repeated.
"It will ease."
She didn't see how that was possible. She felt stretched, invaded, split open and vulnerable. Still, this fingers slid easily through her copious fluids, and when his fingers hooked and scraped delicately along her inner tissues, her muscles clamped around him and excitement made her squirm. The hand on her back felt like a support. More than the bed beneath her, it held her in place before him. His long fingers massaged the giving walls of her channel as his other fingers massaged the barely discernable ripples of her vertebrae. Moaning softly, she shifted to cant her hips up toward him.
"You see. It eases." His fingers drew back, slid deeper, parted and stretched. "A woman's body is a wondrous machine, Sarah. It is built to accommodate."
His fingers drew back until just the tips remained inside her, and she felt a third digit circling her opening. Her fingers clenched in the bedclothes and her body wept, releasing more fluid to ease his way. She felt his two fingers slide deeper, felt the flat of his knuckle as the third bent to remain pressed against the tight opening. She felt her hips shift as if they had their own intentions, felt them press back as if urging the third finger to slide deep.
"You see. Your body is eager to accommodate me, Sarah." The third finger shifted forward, nudging for entrance. "But a strong woman's body is controlled by her mind. Your body may want another finger, Sarah, but your mind must agree."
Her breathing, a series of ragged pants, made speech difficult, but Sarah had grown accustomed to difficulty. "I agree with my body, my lord," she bit out. "I want another finger."
The third fingertip pressed. She bore down. He slipped inside to his first knuckle. The two fingers inside her shifted, caressed. The third fingertip flexed, teased. "Where do you want another finger, Sarah?"
A shudder seized her, made her tense and buck beneath him, left her panting and limp. "Inside me." Her voice a whisper. "Inside me. Please."
Two fingers hooked, rubbed. "Where inside you?"
Her mind raced, no match for her heartbeat. Her vocabulary failed her, all its entries modest or clinical, both equally distasteful to her in the moment. Cornered, needing, she raided her brother's storehouse of terms, found one soft and pettable. "My pussy. Inside my pussy."
He hummed, a sound of pleasure and approval. She echoed it when the third finger slid past the resistance at her opening and joined the others, now three blunt fingers stretching and filling her.
"Oh, God!" She squirmed atop the downy mattress, every nerve in her body consumed with the fire between her legs, the empty place his stretching fingers had opened up inside her womb. "My lord!" she gasped. "Please."
His free hand slid from her shoulders, brushed a damp, tangled curl behind her ear. "I did promise I would please you, Sarah, but I also promised you would learn control. If you want more from me, you must ask for it."
She sobbed, pressed harder against his thrusting fingers. "I-ah! I…don't know how."
Trailing streamers of fire across her skin, his fingers drifted lower, curled around her throat, firmed. Her felt the motion of her throat press against his hand when she swallowed, felt her throat tense and relax with each panting breath. It felt like a mark of dominance, and her body protested and thrilled to the gesture. "Then I'll show you."
His fingers slipped from her pussy, and she cried out in protest. He hushed her, but he couldn't hush her channel that wept and wailed for missing him. Without the presence of his long, thick fingers inside her, she felt hollow and vacant. All her life she had been hollow and vacant. Now that she knew what it meant to be full, she did not want to lose the feeling.
Gideon ignored her quiet whimpers, moving about behind her. She heard a rustled of cloth and felt his free hand reach above her, grasping her wrist and bringing her right arm back behind her. He wrapped his fingers around hers, then wrapped her fingers around something smooth and hard and very, very hot. She heard his hissing intake of breath and tightened her fingers experimentally.
He groaned and leaned toward her. "This is what you want, Sarah. This is what your lovely pussy weeps for. My cock, deep inside you, stretching your cunt and driving you hard toward orgasm." He guided her hand in a long, milking stroke, helped her sweep her thumb against the bead of moisture at the tip. "My seed filling you."
She savored the thick weight of him in her hand, noted how much wider it seemed than his fingers. How would it feel pressing inside her? How deeply would it reach? "Show me."
He took her hand away, pressed it back to the mattress and notched his cock against the tender opening of her pussy. "Ask me nicely, Sarah."
His words had a taunting note, something colder and harder than he'd used even in the library, but her need was on her, and she couldn't bring herself to care. Not while he hovered so close to filling her, showing her the pleasure he'd promised, the possibilities she had longed for. Here she had no room for dignity.
"Please, my lord."
He thrust forward, hard, and her world turned over.
Fingers clenched in the bedspread. Throat convulsed, in a scream that vibrated against his circling fingers. Body bowed in pain and pleasure. She heard her own cry echo in her ears, heard his groan of pleasure as he hilted against her, but all she could feel was the burning inside her, the stretching that even his fingers had not prepared her for.
"Too much!" she gasped. "My lord, too much!"
"No protests, Sarah," he said, his voice low and tense above her. "No regrets."
"I burn." Her eyelids screwed shut as she struggled to master her breathing. He had felt like a branding iron, forcing his way inside of her, but already the feeling faded, replaced by something else. Another flame, equally strong, but not at all painful. He pulled back, his hard cock dragging along her sensitive walls and making her scream. "I burn!"
He grunted. "I'll make it hotter still."
His words served as warning, but she didn't heed them quickly enough. She didn't even have time to brace her thighs more firmly against the side of the mattress before he thrust forward again, driving her hard into the giving down. She didn't have time to draw a breath before he set to a pounding rhythm, slamming his hips repeatedly against her, making her feel the hard bones of his pelvis at the bottom of each thrust.
She would have sworn he was killing her, for surely no woman-no mistress and certainly no wife-could withstand the intensity of the sensations he forced on her. She felt surrounded by him, consumed,
as
if each thrust forced not only his cock but all of his body inside her. As if before he finished, he would have crawled beneath her skin and become one with her.
Unable to stand the tension, she clenched her fists in the coverlet and tried her drag herself from beneath him, but his hand, still clasped gently about her throat, tightened just enough to remind her who held the power in their mating.
Men always held the power, and suddenly, Sarah felt every thrust as a blow to the independence he had promised to teach her. She felt him hammering inside her and knew that he hammered away at the dream of self-determination she had harbored so secretly. They very dream he had drawn out of her in his dark library. She began to struggle and thrash beneath him, trying to get away, frantic to get back the chance he had promised her to be an intrepid woman. A woman who did not live in fear, who did not live imprisoned. A woman who matched a man and bested him.
He subdued her struggles with absent strength, and the casual way her controlled her made her scream. Her lust and her fury twined together, feeding each other, each growing hotter and wilder with every stroke of hard cock into yielding cunt. She wanted something else, something she could handle, but he shattered that dream with two fingers. The ones he closed about her nipple and pinched tightly together.
The sharp pain in her breast shot her into heaven. In the fury of their passion, no gentle touch could have done it, but the pinch of his fingers made her come, crying and crying out as she did so. Her cunt squeezed him in rippling contractions, dragging him into orgasm with her, making him shudder and roar. It prolonged her own ecstasy until the fires of sex burned through the anger and the passion and left her limp and breathless in her soft, down marriage bed.