Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

She poked him in the stomach. Obligingly he grunted and pulled her tightly into his arms again. “I want to make love to you, sweetheart. Actually, I’ve thought of little else all evening. I was a complete bore. Now, let me tell you what I’m going to do to you.” He whispered his quite explicit plans into her ear.

She felt her heart rate increase, felt the strange, utterly swamping sensations build in her body, felt her mind grow languid.

“I don’t want to feel like this,” she muttered, her voice sounding so worried that he wanted to laugh.

“I know, but you will. Come, love, I want you naked.”

By the time they reached their bedroom, Chauncey had regained something of a hold on herself. She shivered as she knelt in front of the hearth and built up the fire. Despite her half-dozen petticoats and her heavy burgundy velvet gown, she could feel his hands stroking her, feel his tongue curling . . . Stop it, you witless idiot!

Her breasts were heaving slightly when she finally rose. He was standing in the middle of the room watching her, stripped down to his black trousers. The firelight cast enticing shadows on his chest downward to his flat belly, and her eyes were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

“I don’t know about all this, Delaney,” she began, feeling like a complete and abject fool. She jerked her eyes away and looked up at the ceiling. “I am mentally negligible,” she said.

He laughed, and she watched unwillingly the play of muscles over his stomach. His eyes never left her face as he pulled off his trousers. He knew she was studying his body, and the intense look on her face pleased him. He felt himself becoming aroused. “Come, love, it’s my turn to drink my fill of you.”

Her gown and piles of petticoats lay on the carpet in but a few minutes. He kissed her lips lightly as he pulled down the straps of her satin chemise. “Ah,” he said, pulling her against him, “there can be nothing this side of heaven like a soft woman.”

“Just any woman?”

She could feel him smiling at her sharp tone as he nibbled on her throat. She felt herself easing, her body responding quickly to his caressing hands, his mouth, the pressure of his member against her belly. She sighed, standing on her tiptoes to fit herself better against him. Suddenly he stilled. “Damn.” He pulled away from her and gave her a rueful look. “I did promise, Chauncey.”

She looked at him, a bit dazed. “What?”

“Children. You don’t wish to become pregnant too quickly.”

“Oh,” she said. “Do you mean that you won’t—”

“Never that,” he said with sincere conviction. “Stay put a moment, love, and I’ll fetch the necessary items.”

When he showed her the sponge and the liquid a few moments later, she said blankly, “I’m supposed to bathe with this? Drink it?”

“Well, not really. Actually, the liquid goes on the sponge and the sponge goes deep inside you.”

She felt embarrassed now standing in the middle of their bedroom without a stitch of clothing on, staring at the stupid sponge. “I am to do what?” she gasped, backing away several steps.

He smiled at her incredulous tone. “First of all, don’t put on a dressing gown, it’s the last thing we need. We need to have . . . easy access, so to speak. Come lie down and I’ll show you what to do.”

She scampered to the bed and immediately pulled the cover over herself. She stared up at him wide-eyed, watching as he poured the clear liquid over the sponge. “It’s primarily vinegar,” he said when she sniffed. “Love, please don’t look at me as if I’m going to do reprehensible things to you.” He set the sponge on the night table and sat down beside her. “It won’t be bad, you’ll see. You’ll not be able to feel it”—he smiled wickedly—“and neither will I.” Slowly he pulled the cover away. “Onto your back, Chauncey.”

“I don’t want to,” she said in a thin voice, her eyes glued to the sponge.

“All right, we’ll wait awhile.” He eased down beside her and drew her now stiff body against him. “Now, what’s all this? There’s no reason for you to be so embarrassed. I am your husband, you know.”

His thoughts, for the most part, remained with the sponge as he kissed her and stroked her. When his hand drifted to her belly, he felt her stiffen, not with fear, but with anticipation, and he smiled. He teased her until she clutched her hand about his neck and forced his face down to hers. Her hips arched upward and he felt her shudder when his fingers found her and began to move sensuously over her.

Her soft flesh swelled under his fingers, growing warm and moist. “Ah,” he whispered into her mouth. “That is so very nice, Chauncey.”

She whimpered, pressing against his hand, her body squirming to meet his. He nearly consigned the sponge to limbo.

He moved away from her and slowly eased her thighs apart. “You are so lovely,” he said, “so very lovely, and ready for me.” He quickly grabbed the damned sponge. “Don’t move now, love.”

Chauncey shuddered with need when she felt him touching her. But the cold sponge slipping inside her made her jerk upright. “Shush,” he said, concentrating on the task. “There now”—he smiled at her—“that wasn’t too bad, was it? Now, back to the business at hand.”

His mouth replaced his fingers and within moments Chauncey felt as if she were going to scream with the pleasure of it. He took her to the very edge, then quickly reared over her and buried himself deep in her body.

Her cries he caught in his mouth. As her trembling eased, she stared up at his face and watched as his climax overtook him. She felt an odd surge of joy at the intense pleasure she had brought him. When he collapsed on top of her, she held him close, small quivers of pleasure still washing through her.

“Del,” she cried out suddenly, “I cannot . . . that is, I don’t . . .”