The Sherbrooke Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 1)

“Oh goodness,” she said again.

Still he stood there, letting her look her fill at him. Finally, to his relief, she nodded, as if coming to a decision. He hadn’t the foggiest notion of what his next step would have been had she continued to look at him as if he were going to kill her.

“Your nightgown is in the way. Let’s get rid of it.”

He didn’t wait, but pulled her to her feet to stand in front of him. He leaned down, grasped the hem of her nightgown and pulled it over her head. “Now,” he said, “we are in the same boat, so to speak.”

“You’re very dark and hairy and big.”

“Yes, and you’re very white-skinned with no hair at all except between your thighs. Lovely, that.”

“Oh goodness.”

“Touch me, Alexandra. I would appreciate it very much.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere that pleases you so long as it’s between my chest and my thighs.”

She pressed the open palms of both hands against his chest. Black hair crinkled against her flesh. She felt the thud of his heart, slow and steady. Slowly, very slowly, her hands came down.

He sucked in his breath. His sex grew thicker. His hands fisted at his sides, but he forced himself to stand still, to let her keep the control. He would be frightening her soon enough. When her hands were against his belly, his sex was throbbing and he prayed now that she wouldn’t touch him.

“You’re very big, Douglas.”

He smiled painfully. “That’s true, but you will learn that a man is made to give a woman pleasure. It is his role, that, and spilling his seed inside the woman.”

“I can’t believe this will work.”

Then before he could think of anything to say, her fingertips lightly touched him. He jerked and moaned.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Yes and it was wonderful. Don’t touch my sex again, Alexandra, else I might embarrass myself.” Douglas couldn’t believe it. He was the man Ryder accused of being a cold fish, the man who would control himself with an angel, and it was true. He’d never had to fight for control in his life. Yet she was touching him and it was making him crazy. He’d been without a woman for too long, that was it. But he hadn’t, not really.

“But you are so—”

“So what?” he said between gritted teeth. Her hands were hovering over him, her face lowered, and she was looking closely at him, and he suddenly saw her on her knees in front of him, and she was going to take him into her mouth. He could practically feel the warmth of her breath on his sex. To have her take him into her mouth—the thought made him tremble and shake, and in that moment, he simply couldn’t bear it any more. He couldn’t call up a bit of cold-bloodedness. It was insanity and it had him. He jerked her close and pressed her hard against him.

“I want you,” he said against her mouth. “Part your lips, now, now, yes, that’s it,” and his warm breath was inside her mouth and his large hands were stroking wildly down her back and cupping under her buttocks. Then he was groaning into her mouth, his tongue touching hers, and he was pressing her upward against him and he was hard and hot and his hands were on her bare legs now, feverishly stroking upward, and his fingertips pushed against her buttocks and touched her. She flinched, and in that instant, he realized she was scared. She was stiff as a board.

Douglas got hold of himself. Too quickly, he was going much too quickly. It wasn’t at all like him. He was careful, slow, very deliberate, yet here he was, acting like a wild man. He, the excellent lover, was scaring the devil out of her. Ah, but he wanted to part her woman’s flesh and he wanted to thrust into her this very second, this instant, deep into her, and hard, but he’d told her he wasn’t a pig. Damn, he’d even bragged about how good he was to a woman. He had to gain control. She was a virgin and he wasn’t. He was an experienced man, he knew how things were to be done. This grabbing and pawing and panting wasn’t a sign of excellence. He drew a deep breath. He set her away from him and took a step back. He grabbed up his dressing gown and shrugged into it. He wouldn’t spill his seed too quickly and leave her to wonder how he could ever believe himself a matchless bedmate.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raw and low. “I frightened you. I’m sorry.” Then he laughed at himself. “You won’t believe this, Alexandra,” he said, grasping her arms and stroking them, up and down and up and down because he had to touch her, just have contact with her. “Never, please believe me, never have I felt so frantic before, so damned urgent. It’s true and it shocks me that I could lose my control. I don’t like it a bit. It isn’t at all like me. You’re just a woman, truth be told, like any other woman, despite the fact that you’re my wife. I’m not lying to you, Alexandra. No, don’t look at me as if I’m a monster. I am not rejecting you, never that. That other time I was a fool and I want to make it up to you tonight. I don’t want to hurt you, to frighten you. God, your breasts are lovely.”

He was breathing hard, as if he’d just run to Northcliffe’s north field and back. His sex was thrusting outward still. Alexandra pressed her palm against his heart. Fast pounding. He wanted her.

And she’d acted like a stupid ninny, freezing up on him. “Please, Douglas, I’m sorry I’m afraid. I won’t act like a virgin again.”

He laughed and it hurt. “You are a virgin.” Yet he marveled at her unquestioned acceptance. She still looked wary, but also she was eager and he was more than eager to teach her.

“Come here.”

She took the three steps until she was standing directly in front of him.

“As you can see, I still want you very much. As I told you, I can’t control my reaction. Do you want to stay here or come with me into my bedchamber?”

“I want to go with you.”