Lynn Wood - Norman Brides 03 (26 page)

For a moment, Michel almost grinned at her panicked expression, but he managed to control the inclination in time before taking a few, measured steps into the room, his eyes never leaving his terrified bride’s face.  Her own glance remained glued to his every move, as if she would leap from the open window to escape his manly passion if he pressed her. He had every intention of doing so, but didn’t think admitting as much to his bride was going to soothe her jittery nerves any.

He stopped half-way across the distance separating them and saw Elena release a relieved sigh when he halted his approach.  “Your turn,” he commented in a feigned casual voice.

Confusion came over his bride’s face.  “I don’t understand.”

“I met you half-way.  It’s your turn to meet me the rest of the way.”

Elena eyed him warily and took a cautious step in his direction.  When he merely raised his brows in askance of her tiny advance, she took another wary step towards where he waited for his reluctant bride.  If he hadn’t waited so long to claim his bride, or been so long without the comfort of a woman, he might be able to appreciate the humor of his situation. As it was, he could feel the sweat beading across his forehead from the strain of keeping his masculine passions in check. When his timid bride finally covered the remaining distance separating them, Michel could see her erect nipples pressing against the thin gown she wore.  He clamped his jaw shut over the frustrated groan that wanted to erupt through his tightly clenched lips and reached out to lift her chin so she would be forced to look at him.

“Elena, tell me what’s wrong.  Surely you know me well enough by now to know I won’t force myself on you.”

A bitter, self-mocking laugh erupted from between her lips.  “Don’t be silly.  If anyone was forced into this marriage it was you, not me.”

“Could have fooled me,” he remarked in an attempt to lessen the tension holding sway over the room.

“This isn’t funny,” she protested his weak attempt at humor, but Michel counted it a minor victory when she didn’t step away from him.

He resisted the urge to draw her closer, thinking it would likely do little to lessen her maidenly fears if she suddenly found her soft yielding flesh pressed against his rock-hard erection.  So he gritted his teeth against the alluring temptation standing so close every breath was a test of his prized self-discipline as he was forced to do battle with her floral scent that still clung to her skin from the bath she enjoyed in anticipation of their wedding night.

“Trust me, I’m not laughing.” Elena’s glance locked with his and then quickly dipped again.  “Tell me what’s wrong,” he urged her, and chanced taking her hand to keep his bride from attempting to put any more distance between them.

Elena felt her cheeks fill with color, but she forced the embarrassing confession through her reluctant lips, “I don’t know what to do. Everyone kept trying to tell me how I am to please you, but I can’t remember their instructions.”

Elena’s gaze was directed at her feet, so Michel thought it safe to smile at her ridiculous, but innocently charming confession.  “The good ladies of Calei actually thought to instruct you?” This time he couldn’t suppress an unholy grin at the picture brought to mind of the matronly ladies cornering his innocent bride with their well-meaning advice.

When her only response to his amused query was a dejected nod, he took pity on her, and tugged on her hand to draw her closer.  He noticed it was with obvious reluctance,  a reluctance he’d never before sensed in her to be comforted in his embrace, that his bride allowed herself to be pulled closer to him.  He reached out to cup her chin and lifted her white face for his perusal, wondering with an inward sigh just how much damage the good ladies of Calei had inflicted upon his plans for the remainder of the evening.

”Elena, contrary to the ladies’ erroneous assumptions, it is every man’s very great pleasure and privilege to instruct his bride on their wedding night in regards to her intimate duties as his wife.”

“Truly?”

Elena’s hesitant uncertainty brought a gentle smile to his lips.  “Truly,” he confirmed in all honesty then released her hand and slid his fingers up her arm to cup her chin.  He held her still while he bent his head and claimed a groom’s rightful kiss from his very reluctant bride.  He felt her sigh in response and let his free hand grip her hip and pull her against him. When her flesh brushed against the noticeable bulge in his breeches, she instinctively attempted to retreat away from him, but he tightened his hold on her and kept her close against him.  In the meantime, he deepened the kiss, forcing her to focus her scattered attention when he pulled her mouth open by tugging on her chin with his thumb.  As soon as her lips parted in response, his tongue swept inside her mouth to taste, to test, to possess. When she moaned softly in response and her hands clutched at his shirt, Michel deepened the kiss, and let his hand drop away from her face to capture her straining breast in his seeking hand. She whimpered in response and pressed herself closer against him.

Elena was overwhelmed by the riot of chaotic emotions swamping her.  She was afraid of the intensity of her feelings, but she no longer wanted to run from them.  This was what she wanted. This was what she’d been dreaming of since the first kiss they exchanged and Michel awakened her to the glorious wonder she could find in the right man’s arms.  She was here in those arms now, exactly where she longed to be all of those lonely nights in her bed.  She tried to draw back from the strength of his arms, but they only closed more firmly around her.  At the same time, his hot mouth moved from hers to slide along the column of her throat to close over one straining breast through the thin fabric of her gown.  Her knees buckled and she would have fallen if his strong arms weren’t holding her so close against his strong, masculine chest.

Her hands were still pressed between them, and she let them explore his hard flesh through his crisp white shirt.  Then growing impatient at even the thin barrier the fabric of his shirt presented, she slid her hands down and under his shirt to trail across his hot skin, marveling in the differences between their bodies.

He was hard all over, from where his flesh stretched taut across his broad, muscular shoulders to his flat stomach where his manhood strained against the opening of his breeches.  Curious, she let her fingers brush across the manly bulge and thrilled at Michel’s groan in response to her soft touch.

“Show me, teach me to please you,” she whispered, as his mouth drifted across her skin and he used one hand to impatiently loosen the ties to her gown.

“Touch me, Elena.  Let me touch you.  Let me love you.”

Elena felt her heart melt at the sound of his deep seductive voice, trailing across her skin in mindless pleading.  “Yes, anything, everything,” Elena let the words of her surrender whisper through her lips.

Hearing them, Michel lifted his head.  His eyes blazed blue fire into hers.  “Are you certain?  Because if we proceed and then you change your mind, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop.”

Elena stepped back away from his encircling arm and watched his face fall.  Then she reached up to push the clinging gown away from her shoulders and let it fall in a gauzy heap at her feet.  She made no attempt to hide her naked flesh from his suddenly avid gaze as it roamed almost violently over her.

“Come to me, wife.  Let there be no misunderstanding between us and no misgivings in the light of dawn.”

Elena wasn’t certain her legs retained enough strength to carry her even the slight distance separating them, but her will instinctively surrendered to her husband’s greater strength, the feminine in her responding in some deeply buried place within her to the will of her mate.  When she reached him, and there was only the barest breath of a space between them, she boldly reached up to slide his shirt away from his broad shoulders, all the while, his glance held hers a willing captive beneath his seductive spell.  The unusual stone around his neck burned in blue communion with the eyes that willed her to him.  Her hands gripped his shoulders as her new husband reached out and cupped her soft breast, his thumb teasing the painfully erect nipple.

“Please…” she moaned, leaning into his strength when he bent his head and let his mouth replace his hand to suckle at her straining breast.  Elena’s head fell back and she would have fallen to her knees if Michel hadn’t reached out and swept her off her feet and into his arms.

“Thank God,” she whispered against his seeking mouth, prompting a chuckle from the lips covering hers.

When he laid her on the bed, Elena lay staring up at her husband, admiring his male beauty as he undid the ties of his breeches with hands that shook slightly.  He turned his back towards her when he stepped out of his breeches. If he thought to ease her maidenly fears at the sight of his engorged male member, he was only minimally successful, because as soon as he turned to face her, Elena drew in a sharp breath. 

Michel saw the fear return to his bride’s eyes, but he was losing the battle with his failing patience. It had taken him almost all of his carefully honed discipline just to get his young bride into his bed.  Now as he gave into the urge to cover her soft, silky flesh with his hard frame, he didn’t bother to disguise his need or his groan of longing when she squirmed beneath his weight.  When she tried to push against his chest with her puny strength, he nearly laughed, wondering if she truly believed he would deny himself now, after his epic struggle with his self-control.  He bent his head and let himself feast on her soft skin.

“Michel?” At the sound of the worry in her voice, he slipped one hand between their joined bodies and found the damp flesh between her legs. She gasped at his boldness, and tried to push his hand away from her heat. When he ignored her paltry attempt to dislodge him, he pushed one finger inside her heat to stroke, to temp, to tantalize until his bride cried out and lifted her hips against his stroking hand.  Soon, it had to be soon, he promised himself as he continued to awaken Elena to the depths of her feminine passion, hoping to drown out her fear with the same overwhelming need for completion that was driving him.  When she began to tighten around him, clench his finger deep inside her and rock her hips against his stroking rhythm, something inside of him snapped. 

He ignored her cry of protest when he removed his hand and he poised his straining manhood at her moist opening.  “Elena, you asked me to teach you to please me.”

“Yes.” Her soft eyes locked with his, drawing him deeper beneath the spell of her feminine appeal.

“Don’t fight me, love.  Open your legs for me.” He waited for her to obey his command, and then added huskily, “That’s it, love.  Now put them around me and draw me close to you.”

He waited for her soft legs to wrap around him, then he used his hand to ease himself into her.  Elena closed her legs tighter around him in instinctive protest.  Michel let himself sink deeper into her damp heat and bent his head to capture her lips as he came up against the barrier of his bride’s virginity.  He coaxed her response to his kiss by sinking his tongue deep into her welcoming heat in an insistent rhythm she was no longer able to resist. She surrendered her weakening will to his stronger one, at the same time he buried himself deep into her virgin’s body, in a single stroke breaking through the barrier blocking his entrance.

Their cries echoed in unison, his one of intense male satisfaction, hers in painful, tearful protest.  Michel kissed her tears away, but he could no more stop his instinctive male response to her tender, pulsing femininity than he could prevent the pain he knew he was inflicting on her untried flesh.  He let his instinct take over, and released his body’s natural urging.  When Elena attempted again to push him off of her, he reached down one seeking hand to stroke the damp opening straining to accommodate his thrusting passion.  Another cry echoed through his bride’s soft lips, this one not prompted by pain, but a never before experienced, intense, awed pleasure.  Her hips lifted against his hand, then began moving in rhythm with his.  His strong thrusts rocked the bed, until Elena, her young body responding to his demands with a will of its own separate from her mind’s direction, suddenly tightened around him and she screamed in awe of her first release.

Michel finally let go of his discipline, of his control, of all the months of longing and denying himself, and let his own release roll through him, as with a loud groan of satisfaction, he poured himself into his young bride and then collapsed on top of her. 

The space of a breath later, Elena poked him in the shoulder protesting his weight and Michel summoned the last of his strength and rolled off of her and collapsed onto his back.  His lips curved in a smile when his bride, bereft of his warmth, scooted close against his side.  He reached out one arm to draw her close against his side where she rested her cheek against his bare flesh.  Michel bent to kiss the top of her head.

“Michel?”

He thought it was a little late for the anxiety he could hear in her hushed whisper.  “Yes?”

“Did I please you?”

His shoulders shook with laughter at the worry in her voice.  She hid her face against his side and he rolled over to face her and lift her chin so he could peer down into her face.  “How can you doubt my pleasure in you, Elena?”

She blushed at his intense gaze trailing over her naked flesh and sighed happily, scooting closer against his side and resting her head back against his chest. “Is it all right if we go to sleep now?” She asked sleepily and he reached down to draw the quilt over them.