Pendragon (Sherbrooke Brides 7)

“You aren’t beautiful, Thomas.”

“You see, I told you I was just a big hairy creature, and that—”

“You are magnificent. I did not know what a man really looked like. But I do kno

w, all the way to my toes, that no man could be as fine as you.” And, really without thinking, she reached out her hand to touch him.

He closed his eyes, so tense he couldn’t breathe. He wanted to spring, jump right on her, but he held himself perfectly still. He felt her fingers lightly touch his belly, just stay there, not moving, her fingers warm, until he thought he’d yell with it, then she stroked her fingers down the line of black hair over his belly, lower and lower, tangling her fingers in the hair at his groin, moving, still moving until she touched him, so lightly, as if she didn’t know what to expect, but she didn’t stop. When her fingers went around him and he felt the warmth of her hand, his breath whooshed out, nearly bowing him to his knees. All things being equal, he didn’t want this ever to end. Yes, maybe her mouth as well as her fingers, oh God, this was too much, just too much.

He could stand it—a man could stand this sort of exquisite torture forever—maybe even beyond forever, but then, of course, he knew he couldn’t, and it nearly killed him when he gritted his teeth and whispered, in obvious pain, “Meggie, please remove your fingers. Back away. Get to safety. I simply cannot bear that.”

“I don’t want to, Thomas. You feel so very different from me. Your belly is all hard and hairy and it makes me feel very strange to touch you.”

That gave him a moment’s respite. “It does?”

“Yes, so let me keep—” Her grip tightened, moved up and down a bit.

He nearly lost control of himself. He couldn’t allow himself to spill his seed in her hands, he wasn’t that great of a clod. He groaned in despair, in utter misery, as he forced himself to pull away from those hands of hers, drew a very deep breath, knew it was going to be close. He couldn’t help himself, he had to be inside her, and it had to be now. He came down over her, nearly knocking the breath out of her. He was flat on top of her, pressed against her closed thighs, aware that she was stiff and so soft he just couldn’t stand it. He tried to smile. He knew she was worried about all this. And now he was naked and on top of her, and he was big and hairy, so much physically stronger than she was, and his control had gone into hiding, far away, on the other side of the planet.

“Oh God.”

She tried to rear up at the pain in his voice, but he was holding her down. “Thomas, whatever is the matter?”

“You’re still wearing your nightgown, Meggie. That will never do.”

“Perhaps I could leave it on for a little while longer?” She was afraid now, he heard it, but it just didn’t matter.

He pressed his forehead to hers, his breath hard and fast, his body pulsing with lust. “I’m in a bad way. Give me a moment, and I’ll give you a moment as well and then we’ll proceed.”

It wasn’t even a moment before all he felt was his climax building, building, overwhelming him, and he reared up, slid his hand between her legs and came down on his knees between them. “Sit up.”

“Well, I—”

He pulled her up, raised her hips off the bed, lifted her nightgown off her, and threw it over his shoulder. “Oh dear,” Meggie said, but he was kissing her, not looking at her, just kissing her and kissing her, her neck and her breasts, kissing each rib, going down her stomach and then he was actually between her legs and she felt his mouth touch her—no, surely that couldn’t be right—and he groaned, and then his breathing was sharp and he was looking down at her while his fingers were touching her, pressing against her, and she was staring up at him as he eased one of his fingers inside her. Actually inside her. She’d never imagined such a thing. It wasn’t nice at all.

It hurt.

She tried to push him off, but she couldn’t. “Meggie, Meggie, just lie still, relax, trust me.”

“No, no,” she said, trying frantically to scramble away from him, to get his finger out of her, “it’s far too late for any trust. This isn’t going to be nice, it’s going to be bad. That’s just your finger, Thomas. I held you between my hands. You are much more than just one of your fingers, and that’s what you’re going to do, isn’t it? You’re going to stick yourself inside me.”

He managed a “yes.” It was bad? What he was going to do to her was bad? He eased his finger a bit deeper, then stopped. Oh God, he wanted her so much he ached to his feet, and she was claiming his damned finger was bad? He wanted her this very instant, and by God, he wasn’t going to wait. He just couldn’t. He came over her, his eyes on himself and on her, and came slowly inside her. Slowly, he moved forward. She was stiffer than a board. Her hands were fisted at her sides. Well, damn. He went just a bit more, felt her maidenhead.

“Meggie.”

He looked down at her, really looked at her despite feeling like he would explode inside her at any instant, and this time he looked into those bright blue eyes of hers. Seemingly so guileless, those blue eyes of hers, filled with openness, no shadows lurking about anywhere at all in the depths of those eyes, but he knew it for a lie, a lie that had cut him to his knees, just hours before, but there was no going back. He hated her at that moment because of her goodness, because of her damned sense of honor, because of her betrayal. He hated the man she obviously still adored, hated that she adored him, and not her husband. She shouldn’t have led him on, shouldn’t have made him want her so quickly, so effortlessly, made him want to marry her. The fact was, she was betraying him in her heart and it was their wedding night. Was she thinking of him even as he pushed into her? He saw Jeremy’s face, heard Meggie’s voice. It all mixed with his lust and he butted her maidenhead. She yelled, struggling beneath him, trying to throw him off, but unable to. He paused for just an instant when he butted against her maidenhead.

“Thomas, no!”

She’d forced him into a life of lies. He looked into her eyes as he yelled his pain, his fury, his lust, and pushed through her maidenhead.

Meggie didn’t have the breath to yell again or to curse or the will to move. It was very simple, really. She knew he’d killed her, a body couldn’t continue after what he’d done. She realized that she’d been told a very big lie. Surely a man didn’t treat a woman like this if he loved her, surely. But then again Thomas had never said he loved her.

He suddenly stopped cold, and he was staring down at her again, looking right into her eyes, and he seemed to be fighting with himself about something she couldn’t begin to understand. He said, “No, I can’t do this. Not with you feeling the way you do. I can’t, just can’t.” And he moaned, deep in his throat even as he jerked out of her, came to his knees, stiffened, and climaxed. Then he hung there, his head bowed.

Meggie hurt inside, he’d made her bleed, she just knew it, and then he’d left her, rejected her. She yelled now, but not with pain, it wasn’t all that bad now, truth be told, but she yelled at the top of her lungs with resentment, with rage that she’d actually been excited, actually anticipated this lovemaking business, and just look what he’d done—he’d hurt her, then left her. A man wasn’t supposed to do that, was he?

He was breathing hard, his head bowed, and he’d not wanted to stay with her. And now she’d bleed. She should have demanded to know about the bleeding business before she’d even let him unfasten all those nice safe buttons on her gown. But no, she was an idiot, she’d trusted him, and now he was on his knees between her legs, heaving, looking at if he were dying. It was as if a sort of cataclysm had racked him all the way to the soles of his wretched feet.