Auctioned Virgin to Seduced Bride (Transformation of the Shelley Sisters 1.50)

‘I…I came?’ she asked, trying out the new word.

‘Yes.’ He flopped down on the pillows next to her, looking smug. Laurel gradually surfaced through the ripples of pleasure, a wicked idea coming to her. She rolled over onto one elbow and found that his head was resting on his loosely clasped hands. She took one, kissed the pulse point, leaned over and kissed the other wrist.

Patrick’s lids closed and he made a sound like a purr. Like lightning she whipped one loop over his right wrist, one over his left. He opened his eyes with an outraged roar and she wriggled off the bed, half terrified by what she had done. ‘Let me go!’

‘Don’t you trust me?’ she teased. His eyes as he looked at her seemed strangely unfocused and she realised that he was finding this extremely arousing, whatever he might say. One glance down at the powerful erection rearing up from the tangle of dark curls confirmed it. ‘Methinks you protest too much, sir,’ she said, trailing one finger up the length of him before she ran to the dresser.

‘Of course I— Leave that alone!’ But she was already digging into the open drawer.

‘What is this? Oh!’ Laurel dropped the intricately carved ivory object back into the drawer with a thud. Why would anyone want… No, don’t think about it.

Feathers. She picked up a handful and regarded Patrick thoughtfully over a bouquet of them. Sauntering back to the bed, she dropped them one after another onto his struggling body and watched the effect. Yes, that was a most satisfactory response. If she brushed the ostrich plume down his chest he moaned and his nipples hardened. She lifted it from his body and let it drift down her own torso. When she opened her eyes, panting slightly, Patrick’s were fixed on her. He licked his lips as though they were dry. His eyes promised things she could only guess at. He had played these games before, that was quite clear.

Laurel dropped the plume, got her unsteady legs under control then went back to investigate further, pulling out another drawer.

Books, with pictures. She leaned down and thumbed through. Her mouth went dry. Oh, my. Perhaps not. Not yet…

The next drawer was full of coiled leather.

‘Oh, no. Absolutely not,’ Patrick said as she pulled out a long whip, its thong trailing across the floor. His hands clutched at the rope in a futile effort to break it as she gave an experimental flick. The crack made both of them jump.

‘No,’ Laurel agreed with some feeling, dropping the whip. Then her fingers found a mass of soft ribbons and she pulled it out. Not ribbon: long shreds of suede were attached to a handle. She eyed it with interest and came back to the bed. There was so much to learn about her own body, about his, but she was beginning to grasp the basic principles. Caress, tease, titillate.

‘Don’t you dare,’ Patrick warned, straining against his bonds. His body, Laurel thought, was magnificent. Dressed, he was tall and lean and moved elegantly. She was still fascinated by how, naked, that leanness revealed itself as hard, fit muscle.

‘But you can’t do anything.’ Laurel trailed the ribbons over his feet, up his leg. She bent over and blew, sending the feathers into the air and removing his last protection. She trailed the suede strips higher, watching his muscles tighten and bunch, his erection grow in the nest of dark curls.

‘You like this,’ she stated when he growled at her and she flicked the implement, raining dozens of feather-light blows across his groin and stomach. ‘Oh, yes, do not deny it. Perhaps I should get that other whip after all.’

Patrick moved so fast that she had no chance of escape. His legs came up, caught her in a tight grip that pulled her to him, trapping whip and feathers between them. He succeeded in catching one loop with the opposite hand and twisted the wrist free. Then she was under him.

‘Wicked,’ he said and grinned. Then the amusement faded away and they lay there, silent, reading each other’s eyes. ‘You are sure?’ he asked after an aching minute. ‘Laurel, my darling. You are quite sure?’

‘Yes.’ Never more sure of anything, Laurel thought. Then she saw the expression of possessive tenderness in his eyes and was suddenly shy. ‘Patrick?’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, sounding as though he understood. He rolled off and began to kiss her—slow, drugging kisses—as his hand stroked lower until he was cupping the mound between her thighs. Laurel gasped as she pressed against his palm, aware that she was hot and wet and aching for him. ‘It will be all right. See—your body knows what to do.’

Laurel wrapped her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in the angle of his shoulder and neck and he laughed, a low, husky sound as his weight shifted over her. She opened for him, wondering at the way her body made a cradle for his, wondering at how slow and careful he was being after the urgency of their lovemaking before.

This was the moment she had been frightened of, she realised, aware of him nudging against her. But this was Patrick and this was right, her body knew. Her mind was still capable of surprise though, she found, gasping at the pressure, the intimacy, the heat. Her hands slid down to his waist, holding him, urging him on when he seemed to hesitate, just at her entrance.

‘Laurel?’

She was not certain what he was asking. Permission? His eyes frowned a little, his jaw was rigid with tension. But she said, ‘Yes,’ trusting him, and he took her mouth as he surged within her, filling her utterly, sweeping away the moment of pain with his strength. He was still again and she struggled to deal with this new feeling, with the fullness, the awareness that they were joined. Tentative, she found new, unused muscles and squeezed.

‘Laurel,’ Patrick said again in a voice she had never heard him use, his hips moving under her hands as he thrust into her, catching her up in his rhythm, making her gasp and sob with the intensity of it. ‘Come with me, Laurel. Come with me, my darling Laurel.’

And sensation splintered and she heard his voice mingling with hers and she was flying, clasped close to his body, and then sinking down, limp and replete and safe in his arms into darkness.

Chapter Five

Laurel woke to the sensation of cool and dampness. When she opened her eyes she found Patrick sponging her body carefully with a linen towel, his face intent, his hands gentle. ‘You’re awake.’ He dropped the cloth back into the basin and she saw he was draped, Romanlike in a sheet.

‘Yes.’ What was he thinking behind those warm hazel eyes? Regret? Disappointment at her lack of skill? Or did he remember their lovemaking with pleasure? She found herself too shy to ask. ‘What time is it?’

‘A quarter past three. We’ll need to wait a little longer—to four perhaps. I rang the bell and someone came?

?it took a while, but they were fully awake.’ He gestured at a side table. ‘I ordered wine and some food and I asked for something for you to wear.’