Seducing the Groom (7 page)

“Could we commence with your calling me Stephen?”

She quivered with mirth, a delectable rumbling shaking her tummy and chest. “You don’t care for
Lord
Banbury?”

“I you
milord
me one more time, I just might strangle you.”

“I’ll try to restrain myself.”

She laughed again, then it tapered off, and there was only the two of them, in the hushed, shadowed room. The moment grew intimate, agonizingly so, and a thousand words were perched on the tip of his tongue.

He wanted to make love to this woman—his wife. The proof was explicit by the cockstand that was wedged to her thigh, but he also wanted merely to talk with her. Surprisingly, he was desperate to learn all about her. Every detail, tiny and large, was abruptly paramount.

What was her favorite food? Her favorite color? What were her hobbies? He was curious about her home and life in America, why she’d journeyed to England in pursuit of a husband, why she’d chosen him over the others. Did she like to ride? To read? Could she play the pianoforte?

As fervently as he craved knowing about her, he was dying to prattle on about himself, and he was frantically praying she would inquire so he could explain the forces that had molded him. He longed to unburden himself about his horrid childhood, his deceased mother whom he didn’t recall, his undemonstrative, aloof father, who had chastised and berated him at every turn, the parade of apathetic governesses and tutors who’d flowed past in a steady stream.

He wanted to tell her about the sweet-tempered nanny he’d had when he was eight or nine, how the woman had been fired for holding him as he’d cried after his kitten had been trampled by a horse.

His father had insisted she was transforming him into a sissy, that he’d develop into a gay blade under her tutelage, and he’d sent her away, had thrown her into the streets without permitting her to pack her bags. Stephen had never seen or heard from her again, and to this day, over twenty years later, he still speculated as to what had become of her.

Numerous events had coalesced to shape him into a harsh, indifferent man, and he was convinced that—if he apprised Ellen of his background—she would grasp why he was so impossible, so detached and solitary in the midst of so many. With an abiding certitude, he knew that she would understand and, absurdly, her knowing would correct many of his afflictions, would cure much of what ailed him.

Detestable, forlorn memories were crowding into his head, so many of them that he couldn’t keep track, and he felt nine years old once more. He was positive that if he uttered a single comment, he’d blubber like a baby, so he kissed her instead, needing to be close, to surround himself with her essence and femininity.

Her proximity was a healing balm and, instantly, he was pacified.

“I would be most honored,” he cautiously posed, “if I could make you my wife in every way.”

“You’d like us to be lovers?”

“Yes.”

“What brought about your change of heart?”

He couldn’t elucidate the arduous rumination in which he’d engaged during his walk, or the stunning conclusions he’d reached. Before their wedding, he’d thought he could frivolously take a bride, that he could pick someone to flaunt at his father, but now that he’d done it, his perspective had been altered.

She was his, despite his idiotic state of mind when he entered into the union, and he was duty-bound to succor and preserve, to respect and treasure.

It was those accursed vows!
he grumbled to himself.

He’d recited them before God and the assembled company, so he’d been obligated and, for once, he didn’t chafe at the responsibility. A small part of him, one that seemed to be expanding with alarming rapidity, was excessively delighted that she’d waltzed into his life, but he’d never acknowledge so much. Not yet anyway. A man had to be allowed some secrets.

“Let’s chalk it up to temporary insanity,” he said.

“Let’s do.” She chortled, then laid her palm on his cheek. “Are you absolutely certain?”

“Yes.”

“Then so am I.”

“Have you ever...?” he indelicately probed. After their previous bickering, he didn’t know what he would encounter. If she was a virgin, he didn’t want to rush or overwhelm her. If she wasn’t? He’d be disappointed, but they’d deal with it, and he had to admit that her missing maidenhood would definitely make things easier.

“No. I never have.” Genuinely chaste, she blushed prettily.

He hadn’t anticipated being so exhilarated by the news, but his relief was so enormous that he felt as if he’d been hit with a battering ram. The air hissed from his lungs, and his pulse raced. He wanted to whoop with joy, but he managed to hide his exuberant reaction.

“I’ll be your first.” He couldn’t keep from preening.

“I’m glad it will be you.”

“Oh, Ellen,” he murmured happily.

He was promptly panicked. What had she envisioned gaining in a husband? Would he match up? Would he compare with her maidenly fantasies?

How he yearned to satisfy her! To enchant her beyond measure!

“Do you know what’s about to happen?” he asked.

“My sister Alice told me.”

Briefly, he’d met her sister, and she’d seemed like a no-nonsense sort of individual, like Ellen herself, but what would Alice have imparted as wedding night advice? Concerned that he might have to rout imprudent apprehension, he asked, “Are you worried about what will transpire?”

“A little. But mostly, I’m excited.”

“We’ll take our time. “I’ll—“

“Don’t hold back on my account,” she interrupted. “I want you to show me how it can truly be.”

How had he gotten so lucky? A beautiful, captivating bride who was wanton as hell! What a wedding night this was going to be! He was elated that he’d tossed aside his asinine reservations. Only a fool would have passed up this chance.

He searched her eyes for vacillation, anxiety, or dread, but he saw only curiosity and an eagerness to please that stirred his manly appetites and made him wild to proceed, mad to ascertain how glorious it could be.

Slow down!
The warning rang out.

He as so provoked he felt he could spill himself against her leg like a callow boy of fourteen. His cock surged to attention, pushing at the front of his robe, intent on being immediately serviced, but he couldn’t progress as swiftly as his anatomy was ordering him to go. He needed to familiarize her, to let her become accustomed to his masculine physique.

Sliding over her, he covered her with his body, so his weight pressed her down, his thighs cradled hers. He was hard, his cockstand excruciating, and she splayed her legs, so she was open, adjusted. At her core, the fabric of her night rail and his robe provided a cushion, and he held his hips stationary and began kissing her in earnest.

It started tamely, mildly, but his passion for her escalated, and he tantalized her, his tongue mating with hers in a torrid dance. His hands went to her breasts, kneading the soft mounds through the sleek material. He teased and toyed with her nipples, impatient to suckle at one of them.

Nibbling a path down her neck, he rooted and nuzzled at her cleavage. She smelled good, like soap and sleep and the rose-scented oil that had been added to her bath. He inhaled sharply, wanting to implant the aromas into his memory so he’d never forget.

Her breasts were so fine, and he massaged them, playing and shaping. Then he tugged at the straps of her nightgown, yanking them down so her bosom was exposed, so the creamy flesh was offered up for his enjoyment and delectation.

For a long while, he stared, his gaze potent and intense, making her writhe uncomfortably, then he dipped down and kissed her nipple, laving it, then sucking it into his mouth. Like a babe, he nursed, soothed by the precious motion, but his hunger for her was too fierce, and the subdued indulgence fleetly augmented so he was using her roughly, pinching and biting with enough pressure to make her squirm.

Merciless, he kept on to where her pulse was hammering at the base of her throat, her respiration labored and difficult, then he moved to the other nipple, giving it the same turbulent manipulation.

“I want you naked,” he said, as he abandoned her inflamed bust and kissed down her stomach.

“Yes. Oh, yes,” she moaned as he nipped at her navel.

Pulling at her nightgown, he drew it down inch by inch, to her waist, her hips, her thighs, and over her toes, then he pitched it onto the floor. Poised over her abdomen, he positioned himself between her legs as he burrowed across her belly and the silky tuft of her womanly hair.

“I’m going to kiss you here.”

“Whatever you wish.” She gulped, reminding him that, though she was game to try what he initiated, she was still an innocent.

With two fingers, he touched her, finding her saturated and slippery, and he delved inside, caressing her, preparing her for what was to come. She was tight and wet, and his cock inflated to an embarrassing length, hurling him to a frightening level of desire. To maintain his languid pace, he had to muster all his fortitude, and he fought against a savage impulse to pin her to the mattress and take her, brutally and crudely, while totally ignoring her virginal condition.

“You’re so ready for me,” he said.

Unable to delay, he tasted her, and her erotic tang was an ambrosia that called to his wicked instincts. The aphrodisiacal fragrance was one he recognized. It tempted him in a primal fashion that went far beyond rhyme or reason.

Flinging her thighs over his shoulders, he settled in, savoring her, then he chased after her sexual nub. It was taut and enlarged, and he grazed over it, brushing it with fast strokes. She panted and fidgeted as he held her down and inflicted thrilling punishment.

At the edge, she battled the rising tide even as her body propelled her toward the climactic end. She grappled against the onslaught, but he wouldn’t let her evade the torrent. Straining, her hips worked against his mouth. She was so close. So close.

“Let go darling,” he said.

“I can’t.” Delicious noises of want and need were emanating from the back of her throat. “It’s too much. Too soon.”

“Do it for me, Ellen. Let go.” He reached up and grabbed for her nipples, squeezing them as he wrapped his lips around the tender morsel that would bring her the ultimate rapture.

“Stephen...oh...”

His lusty wife trusted him enough to leap into a powerful orgasm. As she bucked and thrashed, he rode the wave with her, embracing her and cherishing her as she spiraled up, up, then fell to earth and he was there to catch her.

Lingering over her stomach, her bosom, her ruby lips, he let her sample the sex on his tongue, but he couldn’t wait for one more second to have her, and he loosened the belt on his robe, wrenched the lapels aside. Stimulation rocked him as his naked torso connected with hers.

“Stephen...that was...was...spectacular.”

“Yes.”

He kissed her forehead, her nose. Her cheeks were flushed from their exertions, and she was smiling at him with profound affection.

Near to love
, he thought.

Could she grow to love him? What a marvelous notion! How he hoped she would. He’d spent his entire life avoiding attachment to any woman, but now, with his wife peering up at him, glowing from her inaugural experience toward intercourse, he couldn’t imagine why he’d eschewed the situation.

“It’s time, Ellen.” Kissing her again, he clasped his cock, establishing himself at her very center.

Her virginal trepidation apparent, she beseeched, “Take me gently.”

“Always,” he vowed.

He eased himself in, the blunt crown stretching her, then he pushed in a tad more. Her eyes widened at his invasion, and he stopped, letting her acclimate, then he advanced until he was wedged inside, pressing against the maidenly barrier that blocked her passage.

“You’re so big.” A frown wrinkled her brow, and she twisted her hips from side to side, her innate response to flee from the incursion. “It hurts.”

“The pain is normal.” He was barely able to hold himself in check. “Lie still. Try to relax.”

“Please...I...”

With a typical fear of the unknown, she was panicking, and he understood he should pause, perhaps retreat to let her adapt more fully, but he was beyond the point of logic or restraint. He
had
to be inside her.

“Don’t be afraid.”

Clutching her hips, he steadied himself, but she was wrestling with him, frantic to escape the inevitable. He knew it was wrong to be titillated by her struggles, but her alarm ratcheted his ardor a notch higher, and he braced her and plunged inside in a single, smooth thrust.

He was her first! Her very first! His pride and arrogance soared.

No matter what happened between them in the future, this one extraordinary fact could never be changed. A dangerous vigilance flooded through him, and he swore to himself, then and there, that she’d never intimately know another man. That he would care for her, would make her happy, so she would remain his and his alone.

She arched up off the bed, crying with dismay, and he captured her wail with an ardent kiss.

“Ssh,” he calmed, “that’s the worst of it.”

“I didn’t believe you’d fit.”

He quashed an insolent smirk. He was a strapping man, and hers was a narrow, slick haven that would cradle him through years of divine excess.

Her inner muscles contracted round his staff, her virgin’s blood and sexual juice a steamy cauldron, urging him to the culmination, but he gritted his teeth, tamping down on his vehement need for satiation.

Eventually, she mellowed, the tension reducing, and he reposed with her, dropping down to rest on top of her, to feel her everywhere. Tentatively, her arms went around him and tremulously, she smiled and hugged him. He placed a kiss of reassurance at her nape.

“Better?” he inquired.

“Much.”

He raised up, balancing himself on his palms, and studied the carnal scene displayed below.

She was a prurient fantasy come true. Her blond hair was spread across his pillows, her body sundered and welcoming him. He glanced down to her breasts, to the peach-colored nipples that were erect and aroused. The golden hairs of her mound tickled and massaged his turgid cock. He was buried to the hilt, her anatomy having accepted every inch he had to bestow.