No Sweeter Heaven: The Pascal Trilogy - Book 2 (29 page)

Lily licked her lower lip. “Yes. I know that carnal desire is supposed to be a sin, and I’ve tried not to feel it, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it—with you, I mean.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, suppressing a stab of anger toward Father Mallet and his depraved teachings. He was determined to banish them as quickly and effectively as possible. “Ah, Lily,” he murmured against her forehead. “Sweet, innocent Lily. My clean vessel. I want to fill you with the potent wine of love. I want you to know it for truth.”

She closed her eyes and arched her neck, inviting a kiss in the hollow of her throat. “So wicked,” she sighed.

“Feeling carnal desire for your husband is no sin, sweetheart,” he said gently. “It’s one of God’s blessed gifts, that we can love each other and take pleasure in that love. Like this…”

He lowered his mouth onto hers, stroking her full lower lip with his tongue, drawing it between his teeth, taking her with his tongue in deep, leisurely thrusts, relishing the feel of her lithe body moving under his in response, the sound of the moan wrung from her throat.

“Oh, Pascal,” she breathed. “Oh…”

“And like this,” he said, brushing her throat with his lips, drinking in the sweet, natural fragrance of her warm skin, savoring her taste, her softness, as he’d wanted to do for so long. He smoothed his hand over her breast, molding its delicate shape, his fingers brushing over the erect bud of nipple. He bent his head and breathed onto that tight bud, touching it with his tongue through the thin material of her dress, taking it between his teeth and gently tugging until she whimpered low in her throat.

His body shook at her reaction. She was everything he’d ever wanted, ever needed to become whole and solid.

He raised his head, his life force an unleashed fire in his blood, searing at his veins. “I want you, Lily,” he said hoarsely. “I’ve wanted you for so long. But you have to know that I never intended you harm that day in the garden.”

Lily didn’t answer. Instead, she moved away from him and stood.

For a terrible moment Pascal thought he had his answer.

Instead, she unwound her braid, combing her fingers through her hair until it streamed down her back in a river of burnished copper. She undid the buttons on her dress with visibly shaking fingers, opening it and letting it drift to the ground. Her simple gesture told him everything he needed to know.

She slipped her shift from her shoulders, standing still as it skimmed down her body and fell on top of her dress. She stepped out of her underthings and stood before him clothed only in the beauty God had given her.

God had not been stingy.

Her high breasts were creamy white, tipped by pale pink nipples, her waist and hips so slender, a lovely triangle of deep auburn curls at the juncture of her long, beautifully shaped legs. Everything that was woman—that was Lily, standing in the moonlight, staring shyly down at the ground, her hair spilling about her shoulders as the moon gilded her with silver light.

Pascal slowly rose to his feet.

“Lily …” he said, his voice thick. “Thank you.” It was the last shackle unbound, the last tiny but infinitely important thing that had been holding him back. And it was gone, as if it had never been.

She lifted her head and met his gaze. “I’m sorry I ever thought it,” she said in a small whisper.

“I’m not,” he said, pulling off his half-boots. “If you hadn’t thought me a reprobate, we wouldn’t be here right now, would we?”

Lily bit her lip. “No, but I ought to have realized sooner.”

“I thank God you’ve realized it now. I don’t know how much longer I could have held out. There have been times I really have wanted to throw you to the ground and ravish you.”

“Rogue,” she said with a faint smile, as she watched him closely, nervously.

Inexperienced blockhead is more like it,
he thought. He undid his shirt and pulled it over his head. A little moan escaped from Lily’s throat at the sight of his bare chest. He grinned wickedly and undid the fastening of his trousers, then stripped them off and tossed them aside to stand as naked as she, his arousal seeming to reach for her. Well, he might be a virgin, but at least it was a good beginning.

He took in the rapid rise and fall of her breasts, the look of complete awe on her face, and with a rush of euphoria he knew it had nothing to do with his gift. All he could do was stare at her—all of her—and wonder where to touch her first … and how.

“Come to me?” he asked, reaching a hand out to her, trusting instinct and hoping it was enough.

Tentatively, she lifted her hand, then dropped it back to her side. Her gaze lowered to the center of his chest.

“Oh, God, what is it now?” he asked with a groan.

“I think I’m suddenly afraid.”

He exhaled and closed the distance between them, his arms wrapping, winding, enfolding her as he lowered his head and kissed her, his mouth warm against hers, his lips shaping her own, breathing in her breath, her heat, her life, tasting her until her fear dissipated and she gasped with pleasure, asking for more.

He explored the silk of her flesh, the generous curve of breast pressed against his chest, the soft curl of feminine hair brushing just under his aching arousal, her yielding belly cushioning his length. It was the nicest thing he’d ever felt, exactly right, just perfect.

He stroked her shoulders, down her arms, up again, his fingertips outlining the shape of her breasts, around, underneath, up again, brushing his palms over her taut nipples. He ran his hands down the smooth skin of her back, cupping her buttocks, tracing the curve of her hips, up to her waist, then buried his hands in her soft hair as she did the same to him, smoothing her hands up and down, over, around, until the trembling of his body matched hers.

“Lily,” he sighed. “My sweet, sweet duchess.”

She turned her face against his chest, sweeping her mouth over his skin, opening it over one of his nipples and suckling, drawing a groan from his throat.

He lowered her onto the soft, springy earth, his body pressing over hers, more than ready to discover what God had had in mind when he’d designed man and woman to find pleasure in one another.

He pushed her shoulders back against the grass, moved her arms up over her head, imprisoning her hands, lacing his fingers through hers, and bent his head to her breast, taking it into his mouth. She moved beneath him as desperate little noises came from her throat, sweet noises, Lily noises.

A cool nighttime breeze danced over the flaming skin of his back, his buttocks, his legs, cooling. Beneath him, Lily’s flesh scorched his as he explored her. Everything was body, dense lovely body, hands and mouths and heat—soft curves molding into hard ones, the different shapes of bone and muscle, the insistent ache of desire pressed against that which he so desperately needed.

He shifted slightly onto his side, taking her two wrists in his one hand, her bones so fine, so small. His other hand drew a line up and over her fragile rib cage, spanning her back, trailing down her shoulder to cup her breast, to lift it and mold it in his palm, bending to her erect nipple, pulling it into his mouth, tasting her yet again.

“Pascal—oh, Pascal … I can’t bear it…”

His senses swam at the sound of her heated whisper—he definitely had to be doing something right. He lightly bit down, and Lily cried out.

Yes, he was definitely doing something right.

“Duchess,” he breathed, releasing her wrists, moving up to her mouth, covering it with his own. “I love you,” he murmured, then kissed her until she moaned, having mastered that art fairly early on.

It was an extraordinary sensation, being able to turn her body to pure flame with his mouth and hands, mortal hands, flesh and blood, and that blood pounding and racing in his very mortal veins.

Lily, precious Lily, supplicant Lily, his love, his heart.

He could smell the heady feminine scent of her arousal, as primal and rich as the earth she was lying on, her downy curls now damp as the night-cooled grass. He bent his head to her breasts, pulling on them as hungrily as the newborn he was, reveling, like a newborn, in intense pleasure and satisfaction, in Lily’s cries, her hands clenched in his hair. It was good. God, it was good. And there was more to come. He was close now, so close to becoming one with her.

He arched up to look at her and Lily’s eyes opened, soft, liquid, filled with love and heated desire. She smiled up at him, a wobbly sort of smile.

“What?” he murmured, stroking his finger against the corner of her mouth.

“Oh, Pascal,” she whispered achingly, running her fingers through his hair. “I’m so sorry. How could I not have known? I love you more than life itself. I love you so much it hurts.”

Pascal shuddered at hearing words he never thought he’d hear from anyone, words that were infinitely precious coming from Lily.

“You’re so beautiful. God, how I want you, to be inside you. Do you want that too?”

Lily nodded, but he saw the small flicker of fear in her eyes, and he felt a stab of remorse for what he had to do. “I’ll be careful, sweetheart. I swear I’ll be careful.” He stroked her hair off her smooth brow and kissed it. “Don’t be afraid of me—please don’t be afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of
you,”
she said softly, drawing her fingers down his back. “I just … I hadn’t realized.” She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, embarrassed. “What I mean is that no one mentioned anything about the male, umm … the male
organ
changing so—so drastically. What I really mean,” she finished in a rush, “is that no one said anything about it standing up like that.”

Pascal grinned down at her, loving her all the more for her forthrightness. “You saw a child born tonight, didn’t you? I’d judge he was about seven pounds. Surely you can accommodate something as modest as myself?”

That drew a small smile from her. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. But Pascal, I don’t think you’re modest in the least.”

Pascal took her hand in his and kissed the palm, then put it between them, wrapping her fingers around his erection, although he had to squeeze his eyes shut and fight for control.

“There,” he said after a moment, his breath coming in hard pants. “God made me for you, to give you pleasure. He wouldn’t have been so inconsiderate as to make me the wrong size or shape, would He—not after everything else He’s put us through?” Pascal hoped to heaven he was right. Such things were not unknown.

Lily tested his dimensions with a light skim of her fingers, and Pascal closed his eyes again.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered. “You’re so beautiful.”

Pascal couldn’t have spoken if he’d tried. He took her mouth in a fevered kiss, drinking of her until his senses swam and his heart hammered inside his chest.

“Lily,” he said hoarsely, “it will hurt the first time, but just for a few moments.” He hoped he was right about that, too.

“I know,” she said.

“Then will you have me?” He stilled, waiting for her answer.

“Yes—oh, yes, Pascal.”

She gasped as his hand moved down over her belly and his fingers slid into her warm damp curls.

“Good,” he said. “Oh, that’s so good.” His fingers moved lower, finding the soft flesh of her womanhood. It was silky wet, and he knew that despite her fear she was ready for him.

He gently parted those delicate folds with his fingertips, petals like a rose all full and wet with dew, and eased two fingers into her—oh … she was hot, like the white molten heat of a fire. At the same time he could feel the warmth of her breath against his cheek, little gasps as he caressed the heart of her, gently stretched her to receive him, then ran his thumb over the nub of that other exquisitely sensitive place that made her quiver and moan.

“Lily,” he said, and kissed her, his tongue thrusting in and out of her mouth in rhythm with his fingers, ruthlessly invading, plundering, taking what he wanted from her like a true rogue.

Lily liked rogues—he could tell by the way she writhed beneath him, by the way she opened wider for him and plundered right back with her own tongue.

Wave after wave of desire rolled through him, shaking him to his very core. He brushed his mouth down to the tender juncture of jawline and throat, his tongue stroking the rapid pulse there, as rapid and desperate as his own.

She shifted under him and her thighs opened to embrace his hips, asking for more, calling for him in the timeless way of women, her head tossing back and forth on the grass, her hands restlessly kneading the muscles of his back.

“Sweet duchess,” he groaned, answering her. He rose over her, wondering where best to put his weight so as not to crush her. His forearms, he decided, but first he had to position himself correctly. It was an awkward business, having to use one arm to support his weight, then get his hips at the right angle, and finally to use his other hand to guide himself into her.

He managed it, and hoped he hadn’t made
too
much of a fool of himself. He eased slowly into her, feeling those incredible folds opening, giving around his tip, wet satin against velvet, heat against heat. Oh, yes, the same, but so very different, hard against soft, male against female. God definitely had done it right, although why He had included a maidenhead, Pascal really couldn’t understand, coming up hard against that barrier.

She cried out and dug her fingers into his back. He leaned his forehead against her neck for a moment, collecting himself, fighting for control against the surge of sensation that touching her had caused, feeling guilty for enjoying it while she suffered.

He lifted his head and looked into her smoky eyes, wanting her to know how much he loved her, how much this moment meant. “Lily, I’m sorry to hurt you. I’m so sorry.” He moved his hips to put a very gentle pressure against her.

Lily put her hands on both sides of his face. “I
want
you to love me. It’s our wedding night.” She smiled bravely up at him as he stretched her as gently as he could.

“Our wedding night,” he said, loving her more by the moment. “You’re so right.” He pushed a little harder as he spoke. “And I vow to you, I will be all the things I said I would be in that ghastly chapel and didn’t mean. But I mean them now, Lily, as God is my witness.”