Barely a Bride (Free Fellows League 1)

Alyssa closed her eyes and arched her back as Griffin teased her with his tongue, pulling her nipples into his mouth, dampening the fabric before breathing upon it, forcing his hot breath through the wet material. The sensation sent delightful shivers up and down her spine.

“Like it?” he asked, leaning back just far enough to breathe the words against her breasts.

She nodded.

“Good.” He placed his hands on either side of her ribs and palmed her undergarment off her breasts, trailing it over her stomach, motioning for Alyssa to lift her hips so that he could push the chemise down her thighs and allow it to fall in a puddle of delicate lawn fabric at her ankles.

Pressing his back against the wall of the coach, Griffin shifted Alyssa’s weight until she was able to lie comfortably on her back against the velvet seat cushions. He knelt over her and cupped her bottom with his hands. Leaning forward, he placed his mouth against the dark triangle of hair beneath her lacy drawers and blew warm, moist air through the fabric, then he slid her drawers and her stockings off her hips, down her legs, and over her feet.

Alyssa kicked free of the remainder of her clothing, sighing with relief, welcoming her nakedness as clothing—any clothing—had suddenly become a hindrance. She wanted to feel him against her skin.

Griffin surprised her by sitting back on his heels and declaring, “Your turn.”

Achy and trembling with a need she couldn’t name, Alyssa pushed herself into a sitting position and reached for him. She placed her palms against his chest and then traced that intriguing arrow of rough hair down to its base.

His skin rippled beneath her delicate touch, and he gasped aloud as she gripped him.

The feel of him caught Alyssa by surprise. She expected the hardness, but she never expected the exquisitely soft feel of the flesh that encased it. He was hard yet velvety soft, and the contrast intrigued her. She discovered that she enjoyed caressing him, enjoyed experimenting with the weight and feel and the motion of him. And, she discovered, she loved the sense of accomplishment she felt when she gave Griffin such obvious satisfaction.

Griffin quivered with pleasure and came very close to spilling himself in her hand as Alyssa fondled him without shyness and with what could only be termed a natural talent.

“No more,” he muttered, leaning his head against her breast.

“More?” she asked, pumping him slowly and gently.

“No!” Griffin reached down and placed his hand on her wrist, forcing her to cease the exquisite torture.

“Don’t you like it?”

“I love it,” he groaned, panting for breath. “But there is a limit to how much I can endure.”

His rationalization captured her imagination. How much could he endure? And what happened when he could no longer endure? What would be the outcome of her teasing? Alyssa decided to ask him. “What happens when you exceed your limit of endurance?”

Griff struggled to catch his breath and process her question. “I reach satisfaction by spilling my seed.” He opened his eyes and focused his gaze on her. “Right into your clever hand, my lady.” Or her mouth. Or the intimate part of her his body was begging to explore.

Alyssa wasn’t ignorant She had no practical experience, but she was very well read. She knew enough to know that in the Bible, men spilled their seed all the time—often with undesirable results. She knew it could be done; she had simply never seen the process…

Except when she’d sneaked peeks while Abrams and the stable hands were breeding the studs and mares.

She’d seen the stallions about to cover the mares. And she knew that about a year after the mares were successfully covered, the foals arrived.

Alyssa glanced down at the hard member in her hand. The equine and the human male anatomy was remarkably similar. She supposed the results would also be similar should Griffin cover her and deposit his seed in the right place at the right time. Somehow, she didn’t think her hand was the right place.

Alyssa gently released her grip on him, then smiled ever so sweetly and whispered, “Your turn.”

“You’re very good at this game, my lady,” Griffin praised her.

“I’m very good at everything I do, my lord,” Alyssa informed him.

“And modest, too,” he teased.

“Yes,” Alyssa retorted. “And I’m certain you were able to discern that little trait just by looking at me.”

“But of course,” he agreed, staring down at her. By Jove, but she was beautiful. And witty and intelligent and as uninhibited as a wood nymph. He ought to be on his knees thanking the gods for his good fortune in having her choose him.

“Lord Abernathy?” She caught his attention by trailing her fingers along the top of his thigh, dangerously close to the conflagration she’d aroused.

“Yes, Lady Abernathy?” Griffin decided he liked the sound of his name and his title on her lips.