Wizard's Daughter (Sherbrooke Brides 10)

"You would deny me pleasure on our wedding night? You do not care for me at all?"

She saw him between her legs, his mouth, his tongue, touching her, kissing her, and she nearly folded up into noth­ing at all at the mortification of it.

He gave a very deep sigh. "I see you do not trust me to do what is right and proper." He sighed again, not looking at her, but at his toe, which was throbbing again.

"Oh, no, Nicholas, it isn't that, it's—"

A man made a decision and acted, he thought. He grabbed her, flattened her onto her back again, pulled her legs apart, and sat on his heels between them. "Now," he said, "you will enjoy this." Again he gave her his mouth and this time, to be on the safe side, he held her down with the flat of his hand on her belly. When, thank the blessed Lord, her shock became astonished pleasure, she moaned, twisted the sheets in her fists, and moaned again. If he could have thought of any words, he would have sung to the heavens. When her hands were wild on his naked back, on his hips, her nails scoring his flesh, he was quite willing and ready to conquer the world.

Her fists struck his shoulders, her fingers shoveled in his hair, yanking hard, but it was nothing. Suddenly, quite sud­denly, she heaved up, arched her back, and screamed as her orgasm tore through her. It was wonderful, beyond wonder­ful, and he reveled in it, holding her firmly in those precious moments, pushing he

r, giving her all he could. He welcomed the strength of it, the intensity of it, and it burrowed deeply inside him. He began to love her more gently now as he felt her ease. Finally, when she was as limp as the sheets, he raised his head to see her staring up at him, her eyes a deeper blue, if that were possible, dreamy and bewildered. Her red hair was tangled around her head and face and all her beautiful white flesh, her legs sprawled—he reared up and came inside her, hard and fast and deep. When she screamed again, as he knew she must, his palm was over her mouth. He felt her pain, but he didn't stop, not until he pressed against her womb. His heart pounded, he trembled like a palsied man, but discipline was the important thing hare.

He pressed his forehead against hers. "Your maiden­head," he managed to whisper against her hot skin, "I had to get through your maidenhead. I swear it will never hurt again. Lie still, get used to me. Let your muscles relax. No, don't curse me, you'll just make me laugh. Breathe deeply. Feel me in you, Rosalind. All right?"

Relax? With that man part deep inside her? How could that be possible? Curses bubbled up, but she held them in. She leaned up and bit his earlobe. Not at all loving or gentle, but that was all right, it steadied him. He whispered against her temple, "I won't move, I promise. Please, try to relax."

She bit him again.

Not such a violent bite this time. He kissed her cheek, the tip of her nose. He was a man in pain, a man whose muscles would lock for all eternity if he didn't move, and quickly.

"Surely this is the hardest thing I have ever attempted to do. Surely this makes me a very fine man indeed. Lie still, that's right, just lie still."

How could his voice sound so soothing, so gentle, when he'd skewered her? Men came into women, she wasn't stupid, but still, she'd simply never imagined how it would actually work. She could feel him, and wasn't that the oddest thing, hard and smooth and he was pulsing. How could that be?

He was heavy on top of her, and hot and sweaty. He didn't move. Nor did she.

She began to ease, began to let herself feel the length of him, the heat of him, and how very alive he felt. It was the small clenching of muscles deep inside her that sent him over the edge.

"Rosalind." His brain blurred, every feeling centered on her, driving into her—and her womb, oh, merciful heavens, her womb—he yelled his release.

He collapsed on top of her, feeling the slick of her sweat. Blessed be, he was still alive and of this earth, and she was holding him, her arms tight around his back.

Rosalind said against his shoulder, "I can feel you inside me. It is a very strange thing, Nicholas."

He'd never understood how women could find the breath and brain to speak after having sex. No, this wasn't simple sex, this was the hurtling of self into chaos, and exploding, so many vivid colors filling his brain. This was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him.

He nuzzled her neck. "I can feel you too. You're soft now, Rosalind , and wet from my seed and wet from you. Did I yell louder than you did?"

She leaned her head up and bit his shoulder, then licked where she'd bitten. Now that was a lovely bite and so he pushed a little, felt her tighten, and stopped. She said, her eyes as bemused as her voice, "I did yell, didn't I? I couldn't help it, it just came bursting out of my mouth. It was proba­bly close either way. I love the taste of you, Nicholas." And she bit and licked him yet again. "And the way you made me feel—your mouth on me—it is something I could not have imagined."

Her words settled deep inside him where he usually didn't spend much time, deep harrowing feelings, powerful feelings that pooled into soul-deep pleasure, filling all the empty cor­ners of him. He managed to bring himself up on his elbows. He wanted to say something clever, something with a touch of world-wit to it, but instead, he stared down at her face, her cheeks flushed in the candlelight, her hair stark red against the white pillow, and those eyes of hers, the blue so deep, so fathomless. No, no, he was fast becoming a moron. A woman's eyes weren't fathomless. He swallowed. He realized in that instant that this woman was his. She was his wife until he died. If her eyes were fathomless, so be it. He felt her mus­cles squeezing him, then easing. A man could happily expire.

She smiled up at him. "You're sweating, Nicholas."

"So are you."

She looked thoughtful. "Do you know I've never liked sweating before, but now?" She gave him a dazzling smile. "Now, who cares? That was wonderful, really, until you had to shove yourself inside me."

"My coming inside you, that was your reward, your bonus for having a very good wife and letting me love you with my mouth."

"Oh, dear." She pressed her face into his shoulder.

"Rosalind , I am inside of you, my naked self is pressed against your naked self. There is no reason for you to be em­barrassed, ever again."

She looked at him. "Some reward. It hurt."

"I know, but do you hurt now?"