Seducing The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 1) (17 page)

Good Lord, what was he doing to her?

His lips closed around a hard nipple. He flicked his tongue mercilessly back and forth across it, and her knees went weak at the exquisite agony.

As she clutched at him, he lifted his head and growled, “You like that, don’t you, my sweet?”

Isobel whimpered as an almost painful desire teased the tips of her breasts and snaked down to curl between her legs.

“Should I continue?” He kissed her mouth hard, then turned his attention to her neck.

“Yes,” she gasped, breathless and weak, though she would surely die if this torment did not stop. Suddenly, she was as wild and feverish as he was, her hands running over his bare back, down over his hips and over the buckskins that covered the round muscles of his buttocks.

Beckett groaned at her challenging touch, and responded in kind, gripping her bottom and pulling her to him. She felt his hard arousal through his buckskins.

His hands went under her dress, sliding over her bare thighs. Isobel’s eyes flew open as his fingers stroked her in a place for which she didn’t even have a name.

Her heart beat so fast she thought it would burst. All her muddled brain could think of was how terribly good it all felt, and how much she wanted to continue this mad, incredible game.

“I think it’s time I took you to bed, wife,” Beckett said, swinging her up into his arms and carrying her to the bed.

She wanted him to hurry, though she feared what that would mean. Had this island’s powerful spell turned her into a wanton? However it had come to be, when Beckett put her down on the bed, she pulled him on top of her, wanting,
needing
to feel the weight of him.

“Soon, darling,” he whispered, and she heard a hint of laughter in his voice.

Oh, how could he be laughing at a time like this—when she was dying?

“Let us dispense with this bothersome garment,” Beckett said, quickly undoing her laces and sliding the dress over her head. “And this one, too.”

She twined her fingers in his hair as he peeled away her underthings, her body wriggling shamelessly beneath him. His own clothes joined hers on the floor. Isobel felt the length and hardness of him, and her hands slid down to explore his body which was so different from her own.

Beckett hissed a breath inward, and she felt him shudder as she stroked his manhood. She marveled at how something could be so very hard, and yet silky-soft.

Beckett moaned and pulled her hands away, holding them above her head as he whispered, “Eager little vixen, aren’t you? But I’m not done with you, yet.”

Now it was Isobel’s turn to moan, and she struggled to touch him again but he held her hands fast. She opened her eyes, imploring him.

Beckett took one hand away, but kept both of her wrists imprisoned in the other. With his free hand he teased her sensitive nipples and she arched her back. She heard her own short, desperate panting.

Dear God, she was losing her mind…

“What do you want, Isobel?”

She whispered feverishly, “Don’t you know?”

“No, I don’t,” he taunted. “You’ll have to tell me.”

Oh, she would throttle him for this! But as she stared up into his heated blue eyes, she knew he was the master of this game. For now, anyway.

“Tell, me,” he insisted.

She bit her lip. “I—I want this aching to stop.”

“Aching. And where are you aching, my beauty?”

“Inside…”

“I can make that sweet ache go away, Isobel,” he said. “I can make you feel better. If I do this.” His fingers delved between her legs.

She gasped and closed her eyes as he stroked her.

“And this.” He rolled on top of her and spread her legs with his knees. He released her hands and positioned himself above her, piercing her with the intensity of his gaze.

“And this.”

Isobel gasped as the hard silk of him slid inside her. She closed her eyes in disbelief but gave herself over to the invasion of her body. Because she wanted it. More than anything else in the world, she wanted
him.

Her back arched against the pain and she gasped and clutched at him, but as soon as it had come, it was gone. The only thing left was his delicious thickness inside her and the pulsing rhythm of the drums driving them on.

Her hands roamed over the straining muscles of his back and buttocks, his skin slick with sweat. She pulled him hard against her, trying to take in more of him. His tongue penetrated her mouth, mimicking his sex, and she thrilled at how completely he possessed her.

The burning that had tormented her for so long became hotter, but it also held a sweetness, like warm, sticky honey. The sensation traveled through her veins and warmed her whole body, all the while getting hotter at its core.

Then a thundering pleasure so elemental, so complete, burst outwards from her very soul and left her trembling in its wake.

Beckett groaned as he gave a final thrust. He buried his face in her neck, and his body relaxed on top of hers. He stayed there for a moment, panting.

With a soft kiss he rolled off her, pulling her close in front of him. And though it had been the last thing she’d meant to do, Isobel fell asleep exhausted in her husband’s arms.

* * *

Beckett lifted one of Isobel’s golden curls in his fingers and watched the light from the window play upon it. It shone as bright as a moonbeam.

Pale moonbeams, that was the color of her hair.

It must be the middle of the night, he thought. They had both fallen asleep after—

He felt a smile come to his lips.

Her response to his lovemaking had been hotter and wilder than any husband had a right to dream. His little wife had been as uninhibited as one of the undulating Bajan dancers last night at Cropover. Her passion had excited him unbearably.

Now, she slept in his arms, her warm, naked body curved into his, her round little buttocks deliciously pressed against his hips. He felt himself getting hard just thinking about her, about what they’d done together in this bed.

Perhaps he would wake her.

No. A good husband would let her sleep.

As he played with her hair, he doubted he was anything resembling a good husband—though perhaps he was making too much of this. It would have only been a matter of time until he had given in to his desire for her. What difference did it make if it was sooner rather than later? He had warned her not to expect more from him.

Suddenly, his thoughts skipped to Cordelia.

During their engagement they had never made love, though it hadn’t been for his lack of trying. But she had always turned prudish in his arms. He’d thought her to be just playing coy, protesting her virginity for form’s sake. Now, he had the feeling that Cordelia would never have warmed to him as Isobel had done. It simply wasn’t in her nature.

Oh, but these were preposterous thoughts.

He did not want to let any lustful feelings for Isobel trick him into thinking he was the slightest bit in love with her. Nothing would make the
ton
wag their tongues faster, than if he came back besotted with his new bride.

Though Isobel had proven a superb bedmate, it didn’t mean she was any different from Cordelia, deep down. Certainly, Isobel was beautiful, but Cordelia also had been beautiful. He had fancied himself in love with Cordelia. Hell, he
had
been in love with her, with a woman who had never truly loved him. And he had been pitifully blind to the truth. He would not let that happen again.

Cordelia had lied to him, and so had Isobel. He mustn’t let himself forget that.

In her sleep, Isobel squirmed her bottom against his hips, fully hardening his arousal.
Oh, damn.
How would he be able to get back to sleep now?

She did it again, and he decided to take it as an invitation. Perhaps she was dreaming about their lovemaking, and wanted nothing more than what he was about to do.

Beckett slid his hand down and tenderly touched her nipple.

She moaned.

Gently, he pressed his hardened sex against the softness of her buttocks.

She sighed.

Then he reached down and softly stroked the velvet flower between her legs.

She whimpered adorably.

He flicked his tongue out to tease the edge of her ear, and heard her intake of breath as she awoke.

“Hmmm… Beckett?”

He chuckled lightly. “Were you expecting someone else?”

She looked back at him, and he smiled at her sleepy face in the moonlight. “What are you doing?” she mumbled.

He resumed his caresses and she closed her eyes.

“That
is what I am doing,” he answered. “But only if you want me to. I’m afraid you’ve been wiggling your bottom against me in your sleep, and damned if it didn’t harden me up like stone.” He kissed the back of her neck. “Are you ready for more of your husband’s loving?”

“I think so.” She started to turn to face him.

“No, you can stay like this.” He pressed his chest against her back. “I’ve had dreams about loving you this way, and I would dearly like to see them become reality.”

He gently pinched her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and heard her gasp.

“You see,” he said, “I can pay your lovely breasts all the attention they deserve this way, and I know how greedy those beautiful little darlings can be.”

He snaked his other hand down to keep stroking between her legs, and she reached back and grabbed his hip, pulling him against her.

Beckett nuzzled the softness of her hair, caressing her neck with his cheek. She moaned as his fingers slipped into her. Damn if the feel of her so hot and wet didn’t threaten to make him spill right now.

“I can’t wait any longer. I’ve got to be inside you. I’ve got to—” He groaned as he slid from behind into the slick heat of her.

Then, thrusting with long hard strokes, he drew out his pleasure until it was an unbearable madness.

Oh God, she felt good.

He was near release, now, and he wanted her with him, wanted her breaking as he was going to, and he stroked her little pearl of pleasure until she cried out.

He groaned, then pushed himself deep inside her. As the wave of his own pleasure approached, he thrust powerfully, and Isobel cried out as she climaxed.

Beckett gave in to his own surrender, letting out a shuddering breath. He pulled her close, squeezing tightly and kissing her shoulder, whispering, “Isobel, you make a man lose his senses.”

Sated, he settled against her. As he drifted off to sleep, he thought it was a good thing he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t fall in love with Isobel.

A very good thing indeed.

Chapter 16

Isobel curled up on her side, watching the sunlight stream through the ivory curtain and onto the floor of her room. She sighed, feeling as warm and weightless as the light itself.

Was this the way every woman felt after the first time?

Just saying his name in her head made Isobel thrill uncontrollably.

Beckett.

Her husband.

Last night he had taken her body with his own, truly making her his wife. And she had enjoyed every moment of it.

Her only regret was that she had awoken in this bed alone. How she had wanted his arms about her this morning, hugging her tightly. How she had wanted to feel his lips waking her with a kiss.

Well, it would not be the least good manners to be greedy, she admonished herself. Beckett did not have all day to lay in bed with her. Doubtless, he had to see to the business of the plantation.

There would be plenty of time for these wicked games between them.

Thoughts of Beckett danced in her head. The texture and warmth of his skin, the strength and thickness of his hands, the muscles in his forearms, the way his eyes held the light of the torches as he’d watched her dance—these were the things that made him so beautiful, so powerfully masculine.

Isobel sighed as she remembered his hard hands on her body, pressing her hips against his as they danced, and later as he had loved her here in this bed. Beckett had awakened something in her—something she had never known existed. It was mysterious and powerful and made her almost giddy.

Not like the distasteful business with Sir Harry at all.

The vile touch of Sir Harry had made her want to be sick.

She shuddered involuntarily.

Isobel rolled onto her side, clutching at the bed linen and pushing the memory away. She was safe from that blackguard, now. Safe with her husband, thousands of miles away. She would never be Sir Harry’s wife, and he would never be able to do
that
to her. No matter what he had threatened.

With Beckett it had been like a dream. She had not been afraid. She had welcomed her husband’s instruction in the art of physical love. And she had received him with an open heart.

Isobel pushed that thought away. It would not help matters and would only complicate things.

They had
made
love, not fallen in love.