Justin's Bride (27 page)

At the first touch of her lips, he squeezed her tighter against him. As she parted her mouth and eased her tongue inside of him, he shifted her slightly so that she was flat against him and her legs slipped down along his. He supported her with his arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

He answered her kiss and the past faded away, leaving nothing but the feelings between them. When he flexed his hips, she felt the hard ridge she'd thought about. It pressed into her belly, sending an odd aching up her thighs. Nothing seemed to help and squirming against him only made it worse.

He groaned low in his throat. She felt him moving, then he lowered himself to the bed. Her knees bent and she found herself straddling his lap. The moist, aching part of her came in contact with his maleness and she jumped.

He grinned. “Scared?”

“Of course not.”

His smile faded. “You never were a good liar.” He reached up for the ribbon of her corset cover and pulled the edge of the bow. “The first time is painful,” he said quietly, staring into her eyes.

She swallowed. “All right.”

“I've heard it can be a slight pressure or a lot of pain. I can't tell you which.”

“You can't make it not hurt?”

He shook his head. “I wish I could, Megan. I'd do anything for you.”

“I know.” She bit her lower lip. “I'll be brave.”

“You don't have to look like that. It's not as if I'm asking you to take medicine. It'll be worth it, I promise.”

She was doubtful. Colleen had never mentioned pain. But then, Colleen had never mentioned much of anything. Her entire discourse on the subject had been a smug reminder that it was something Megan was unlikely to ever know.

Justin pulled off her corset cover. She turned to let him tug the fabric down her arms. He started on the hooks down the front of her corset.

Wait until Colleen finds out about this, Megan thought with glee. Her sister was going to be so surprised, she would probably—

Then Megan felt her corset fall away. She stared down at herself in amazement, then blushed. She could feel the heat flaring on her chest and face. She'd been so caught up in thinking about her sister's reaction, she hadn't paid attention to what Justin was doing.

“My clothes,” she said, protesting their loss after the fact.

“You're not going to need them.”

She opened her mouth to speak, then couldn't think of anything to say.

“Don't be afraid,” Justin said softly, and drew her onto the bed. In the process, she lost her shoes. As she stretched out on the coverlet, she tried not to think about the fact that she was wearing her chemise, pantaloons, stockings and nothing else. She also tried to ignore her shaking.

“Don't be afraid,” he repeated.

“I'm not.”

“Yes, you are. Would you feel better if you kept on the rest of your clothing?”

She smiled with relief. “Could I? That would be wonderful. I wouldn't feel so vulnerable.”

“It's not a problem.”

“Good. It's very sweet of you to be so thoug—”

His mouth came down on her nipple. She forgot what she'd been saying and closed her eyes. The warm heat was exactly as she remembered it from when he'd touched her there before. Only this time, he drew more of her breast inside. This time, she didn't have to worry about falling down in the hall. This time, she could cling to him, then fling her arms out in abandon as he suckled her and flicked his tongue back and forth against the hardened tip of her nipple.

He was at her side, barely touching her at all. She raised her knees and rotated her hips as the sensation shot through her. His hand reached for her other breast. She held her breath in anticipation. He was warm through the thin layer of her chemise. The calluses on his palm caught at the delicate fabric. She loved the faint rasping sound as he moved against her, circling her breasts, then slipping closer over the full curve, touching the underside, the top. He teased her nipple with his thumb, brushing it back and forth slowly. Then he took her hard point in between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed gently.

“Justin?” she breathed.

He squeezed again and tugged. Her hips arched upward, her toes curled, as did her fingers. He raised his head and blew softly on the dampened fabric. She shivered as the cool air tingled against her flesh.

He raised himself on one elbow and stared at her. “You're very beautiful,” he said. “More perfect than I'd ever imagined you to be.”

His words soothed her, even as the fingers still on her breast made her feel warm inside, as if she'd been sleeping under a too-heavy quilt.

“How does it feel?” he asked.

“Wonderful,” she admitted shyly. “I feel tingly inside.”

“You're flushed.”

“It's a little warm in here.”

He raised one eyebrow. “It's all the clothes you're wearing.”

“Oh.” She glanced down at herself. Dry, her chemise was sheer. The damp portion over her breast was transparent. “Do you think it would help?”

He nodded solemnly.

“All right.” She reached for the ribbon between her breasts.

“Allow me.”

He tugged on one end, then helped her into a sitting position so he could pull the garment over her head. As it fluttered away, she started to bring her hands up to cover herself. Before she could, he lowered his head to her other breast.

His touch was as delicious as it had been before. She vaguely noticed he lowered her back to the bed. She felt him moving over her, his chest pressing against her side as his hand came up to tease her other nipple. The heat was overwhelming. Removing her chemise hadn't helped at all. If anything, taking it off had made the situation worse.

He drew his mouth down from her breast to her belly. His lips tickled her skin. When he came to the waistband of her pantaloons, she had the thought that she should push him away. Touching her in other places was one thing, but touching her
there
had to be wrong. Everyone knew that.

Yet when he stroked her thighs, she was surprised to find it felt almost as nice as when he touched her breasts. And when his fingertips whispered across the fabric covering her blond curls, she was struck with shivering, not disgust. It didn't seem so odd then to part her knees a little.

He ran his hands down the tops of her legs, then up the outside. His thumbs swept dangerously close to her most secret place. She jumped in anticipation or perhaps even in shock when he paused and deliberately touched her there. Just one finger, just for a moment.

Delight ripped through her. She thought about opening her eyes, but she didn't want to look at him. Not just after he'd done that. She shifted against him, feeling the hard strength of his legs beside hers.

He returned his attention to her chest, touching her with his mouth, making her forget everything. She felt his hand moving once more over her belly. She didn't mind. He could stroke her legs if he wanted to. It didn't matter if he—

Her eyes flew open. He put his hand there. Right there! Over her. She glanced down. Justin wasn't looking at her. He was poised over her throbbing nipple, his eyes closed, his mouth parted. She told herself to look away, but she couldn't. It was too amazing. He lowered his head slowly, achingly slowly, then stuck out the tip of his tongue. As she held her breath in anticipation, he touched the tip to her nipple. The combination of watching and feeling what he was doing almost made her faint. He did it again and again, until she was forced to close her eyes in ecstasy. She arched her hips, then felt the weight of his hand.

She'd been able to forget it for a while, but now she felt each individual finger through her pantaloons. The middle one started to move. Up and down, moving lower and lower with each stroke. Pushing the loose fabric against her until he suddenly touched something that made her gasp. A tiny jolt of heat singed her, like an ember from the stove. Only better. She froze. Would he do it again? Should she let him?

He did. He touched that place again. It was wrong, she told herself. It had to be. Nothing right could feel that good. She should tell him to stop. But his finger circled the magic place and she didn't want to tell him to stop.

Just a few more minutes, she promised herself. She would count to a hundred, then make him stop.

“One,” she whispered. “Two, three—”

Justin raised his head from her breast. “What are you doing?”

“Counting. When I get to a hundred, you have to stop.”

“Why?”

“It feels—Ah!” He brushed over her again and her thighs parted completely. Again and again, and the bottoms of her feet started burning.

“Go ahead and count,” he said. “I'll stop when you get to a hundred. Don't forget to tell me.”

She could have sworn he was laughing, but she didn't have the energy to open her eyes and look. It didn't matter, anyway. She would remind him. Now, what number was she on?

She thought it might be ten, then decided it couldn't be more than five. He moved his finger slowly against her. Around and around, building a sensation she didn't understand. It was as if every muscle in her body was straining toward a common goal. She tensed and relaxed. She tossed her head from side to side. Nothing helped. It was definitely warmer in the room.

“Justin, it's hot.”

“Maybe it would help if you took off your pantaloons.”

She opened one eye. “You think so?”

He nodded solemnly. “What number are we on? I don't want you to lose track.”

Number? Oh. “Ah, twenty-five.”

“Is that all?” he murmured as he untied her pantaloons. He slipped them off her legs, leaving her only in stockings and garters. Somehow, she knew taking them off wouldn't help at all. “Twenty-five? You're sure?”

“Yes, yes, hurry, we have to get to a hundred.”

The first time he stroked the dampness between her legs without the barrier of clothing between them, she forgot to count. The second time he did it, she didn't care if he continued to touch her forever. Nothing mattered except the magic he created. She hadn't known there could be such sensation or feeling. Every inch of her quivered. She couldn't focus, couldn't breathe, could only feel those gentle fingers moving back and forth, around and around.

And then she couldn't feel them anymore, either. There was nothing but tension and heat, the deepest of aches as she arched herself upward, her hands clinging to the coverlet.

She spoke his name, at least she tried to. She wasn't sure what sounds escaped her parted lips. She inhaled deeply, needing to breathe, to find the surface of this sensual pool into which she'd fallen. Justin was close by. She could feel his sweet breath on her face, hear his whispers of encouragement. His fingers moved faster now, faster and lighter, brushing over her until she couldn't think, could only wait for something, anything, to rescue her.

Then his hands froze in place and she cried out her need. He moved swiftly, carrying her deeper into the pool, farther down than she'd known she could go. Her muscles clenched one last time, tighter, then tighter still until there was nothing left to do but explode back to the surface of the pool.

She cried out as her body flew upward, as the waves swept over and around her, as his fingers continued to touch her, still moving quickly and lightly, still urging her on even as she broke the surface and could gasp for breath. Even as sanity returned and she could speak his name. Even as the tears fell softly, rolling down her temples into her hair. Only then did he stop touching her so he could hold her against him.

Their hearts thundered in unison. He brushed her tears, then kissed her mouth. She stared up at him.

“What happened?”

He smiled gently. “We almost made it to seventy-five.”

“But there was something different, something—”

“Wonderful?” he offered, settling next to her and pulling her against his side.

“Oh, yes, wonderful. Even more than wonderful.” She snuggled close, absorbing his warmth and curious about the lethargy that seemed to be stealing over her.

He stroked her hair, gently tugging at the pins and loosening the braids until the long strands fanned out over her shoulders and back. With his other hand he unbuttoned his vest and shirt and drew her palm close to his exposed chest. “Touch me, Megan.”

Her first thought was that she was suddenly far too shy to agree. But when he kissed the top of her head, she reminded herself this was Justin and that they'd just shared the most incredible experience of her life. Besides, she'd been wanting to touch his chest, really touch it, for years.

She slipped her fingers under his shirt. His skin was hot and smooth, the hair there cool and crinkly. He felt different, harder than she'd imagined. She closed her eyes and absorbed the sensations. The clean scent of his body, the sound of his steady breathing, the heat their bodies generated and the achiness that slowly slipped between her thighs.

Over and over she stroked him, finally raising herself onto one elbow to tug his shirt free of his trousers and part it. She stared down at the broad expanse of him, then at his face. His eyes were closed. The trust in that gesture made her swallow thickly. She leaned toward him and kissed his cheek.

Her hair fell around her like a silk drape, shielding them from the outside world. She moved to his mouth and paused, knowing he would part his lips for her. When he did, she dipped inside delicately, tasting him, teasing him, taunting him as he had done her just a few moments before.

She felt his arms move for a second, then he pulled her closer. This time, as her hand moved lower on his chest, there was no barrier of trousers to stop her. She lifted her head and stared at him. His eyes opened. Fire burned there. Hot, passionate fire. She wondered if the flames would consume her.

“I want you,” he whispered.

A ripple of pleasure swept through her. She hadn't known he felt like that. She'd hoped, but hearing the words, seeing the proof in his eyes, erased the last of her fears. Boldly, she moved her hand lower until she encountered his maleness.