Margaret stroked her hand down his back and watched his nostrils flare. She licked her lips as she’d often seen the dairymaid do when she sauntered past the knights.
Roland’s avid gaze followed the slow swipe of her tongue.
She tightened her legs around his waist and discovered that her inner muscles could clench him tightly as well.
Her husband shuddered, and his eyes closed.
Perhaps, if God hadn’t given her the knight of her dreams, she held the means to mold him into a more suitable husband.
With another feminine squeeze, she whispered into his ear, “Teach me, husband. Teach me how to please you.”
Chapter Three
‡
Roland congratulated himself. He’d persevered despite her trepidation. He’d been firm but gentle with her initiation into the marriage bed. His reward for his patience and consideration manifested in her soft husky voice and the snug clasp of her legs as she drew him closer into her embrace.
Teach me how to please you.
He’d nearly spilled his seed inside her heated depths then and there. Could a man ask for more than a wife eager to learn her duties? Eager to fulfill his needs?
But they were far from finished, and he still had to prove that her confidence in his ability and his gentleness wasn’t misplaced.
Despite the moist warmth that surrounded his cock and the capitulation that shown in her wide, curious eyes, he tamped down the urge to plunge deeply, harshly inside her. Instead, he ground his teeth and pulled away.
“Can you not continue?” she asked, her hands clutching at his back.
He barely concealed his snort and pressed a quick kiss to her pouting lips, determined to draw on his arsenal of sexual knowledge learned in the beds of many women to deliver to his new wife an experience beyond her belief.
Perhaps the way to cement her devotion would be to provide her satisfaction. That his own body clamored for release was an impediment, but he would carry on. And Lord this first time, he wanted to see delight rather than fear or pain in her expression. Her sweet features would soften and glow with pleasure before he took his own.
“Let go with your legs,” he rasped.
Her brows drew together—confusion and impatience warring in her expression. “But—”
“Trust me.”
Slowly, she lowered her legs to the bed, and her arms fell to her sides, sweeping over the sheets as though looking for a place to brace herself. She must have read the intent in his eyes because her eyes widened.
Was his expression feral, hard-edged? Because he certainly felt like an animal. All of his body was primed to pounce. She brought every low instinct to the fore. Something in her quiet watchfulness—her delicately flaring nose, the downward curve of her pink lips… Lord, was there nothing about her that didn’t make him hard?
Her breath hitched—a soft, delicate gasp that only tightened his balls closer to his groin. But he slid down her body and latched onto a rosy, puckered nipple and drew softly. When a hand clasped the back of his head to pull him closer, he obliged and suckled harder, drawing a delicate moan from her sweet lips.
Her legs moved restlessly against him. Her thighs quivered along his flanks. He moved to the other breast and ignored her breathless cry when he nipped the flaring bud and pulled it between his teeth to lavish it with wet strokes from his tongue.
Never had he given more than a passing thought to the delight he could wring from a woman by merely playing with her breasts, but Margaret’s excited little gasps kept him there, sucking, biting, lapping at her stems until her thighs splayed wide and her belly trembled and pulsed.
Her innocent invitation didn’t go unnoticed, and his groin tightened. Roland drilled his cock into the bedding for relief. When he moved further down her belly, he pressed kisses to her soft skin, tongued her belly button, and then glided lower still.
As his lips met the soft curling hairs at the top of her sex, her hands slid between them, and she covered herself. Her thighs clamped around his sides.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, her voice high and strained as she tried unsuccessfully to close off access to her femininity.
He bit back a grin, knowing he’d probably shocked her to her toes, and gave his scowling brown mouse a hot glare. “Open your legs for me, love,” he said, growling, liking the hectic color that tinted her cheeks and the high rounded arches of her fine dark eyebrows.
“But you can’t—”
“Of course, I can,” he purred. “Open your legs, and I’ll prove it to you.”