The Haunting of a Duke (16 page)

"Should we have a toast?” he asked.

"And what should we drink to?” she responded, hating that her voice sounded tremulous to her own ears.

He smiled as he pressed a glass into her hand. “A harmonious union?"

"Very well,” she agreed, and he touched his glass lightly to hers. Her hands were trembling.

Rhys sipped his wine. He had hoped that the wine would relax her. He sipped his lightly, and watched while she drank liberally from the glass. He didn't want her foxed, just relaxed.

The wine was stronger than she was used to and she could feel a different kind of warmth stealing through her. The tension that had knotted her muscles throughout the long day began to seep away. The warmth and languor created by the wine was preferable by far so she continued finishing the glass.

"More?” he asked.

"You will turn me into a drunkard,” she said lightly.

"We would hardly want that,” he said and plucked the goblet from her hand, placing it beside his on the table. He took her hand in his, tracing the delicate bones with the tips of his fingers, savoring the silken texture of her skin. He pressed her hand to his chest, and taking her other hand, pulled her closer, so that mere inches separated their bodies. Even then, the distance was too great.

She could feel the warmth of his body and could smell the mix of pine and sandalwood and man. It was as heady and intoxicating as the wine had been. Beneath her hand, his heart beat a steady tattoo, unlike her own, which pounded erratically. Her eyes traveled over the chiseled planes of his face, and dropped to the full curve of his lower lip, against her will. The feel of his lips was permanently imprinted in her memory. She wasn't aware of moving closer, of stepping nearer, so that her breasts pressed against his chest.

Rhys bit back the earthy groan that welled inside at the press of her lush body against him. Instead, he dipped his head and settled his mouth firmly over hers. He explored every dip and curve of her soft, yielding lips. He nipped gently at her lower lip, his teeth scraping lightly, before soothing the abraded flesh with his tongue. She trembled against him and pressed closer. He closed his arms about her, burying his hands in the silken mass of her dark hair. A low moan of pleasure escaped her, and at that soft sound, he deepened the kiss. When he felt her hands clench in the fabric of his shirt, he felt triumphant.

Without breaking the kiss, Rhys scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed. She was no longer passively accepting his kiss, but was returning it, her lips and tongue stroking, surging against him. She tasted like heaven and her response spiked his own passion. The kiss grew, transformed, into something hot and wild. Lying on the bed beside her, her body pressed against his, he relished the heat and softness of her. He tried to reign in his passions to slow the raging lust that was overtaking him. His breath shuddered out of him, as he reluctantly drew back from her, abandoning the sweet haven of her mouth.

With a single-minded determination to see her lost to her own desire, he began the seduction in earnest. The line of her jaw, the delicate shell of her ear, the slender column of her throat—he neglected nothing. With lips, teeth and the gentle stroke of his tongue over her sensitive skin, he tempted her with pure carnality. She was clutching at his shoulders, his arms. Her body arched beneath him, seeking and needy for something she could not name. When she gasped his name he was lost. Again, he claimed her mouth, but the touch was brief, and he was again moving away from her, using his gifted mouth to torment and tease. He parted her wrapper, tugging the fabric aside. He mapped each area that was revealed with the callused pads of his fingers and the heat of his mouth.

Rhys moved back, pulling away from her to remove the last layers concealing her from him, but also to regain some semblance of self-control, but the vision she created was one that would tempt a saint. Her breasts were clearly visible through the thin cotton of her gown. The taut, dusky peaks beckoned his touch. He closed his hands over the tender globes, kneading gently while he drew circles over her budded nipples with his thumbs. She strained toward him, wanting more than the light teasing touch that he had afforded. He increased the pressure, his fingers stroking her pebbled nipples to aching attention. Through the thin fabric he closed his lips over the aching flesh and suckled deeply, increasing the heat and pressure. He tugged at the ties of her gown loosening them, until he could drag the garment down, freeing her breasts to his marauding mouth.

Emme gasped at the feel of his hot mouth on her naked flesh. With each tug of his mouth, she felt an answering pull deep in her belly. She should have been embarrassed. Being nearly naked in front of him should have roused her maidenly sensibilities, but she could think of nothing but the feel of his mouth and his hands on her skin. The languid heat that had pooled there became more insistent, spreading outward to the juncture of her thighs. She pressed her legs together, trying to ease the ache that was building within her. When his teeth scraped lightly over her nipple she sobbed his name, overwhelmed by the fire he stoked within her.

She didn't recognize her own voice when she gasped his name. She could only tremble beneath his questing hands as he took her to new heights of desire. His hand slid over her belly, between her thighs and there was no fear, only the anticipation of something she did not understand. He cupped the mound of her sex, pressing lightly, and she flexed beneath him, countering the thrust of his hand instinctively. Her head fell back and she arched into his touch, eager for more.

Rhys was breathing hard when he parted the slick folds of her sex and stroked her gently. He found the small nub of flesh that was the seat of her pleasure. He caressed it gently, circling it with the pad of his thumb. She shivered and moaned, and instinctively parted her thighs wider, allowing him greater access.

Rhys looked down at her, her face flushed, her lips parted with desire. It was a heady thing to witness the awakening of her passion, but it wasn't enough. He needed to feel the softness of her skin against his own. He rose again, stripping off the remainder of his clothing, eager to feel her softness against him. He rejoined her quickly, resuming the sensual onslaught before any sense of reality could return. That she came willingly into his embrace did not escape his notice.

"Do you trust me?” When she nodded, he claimed her lips again, kissing her until she was dizzy and breathless. “If you wish me to stop, at any point, all you have to do is tell me."

She nodded, still breathless and reeling from his kisses. She could feel the press of his bare chest against her. She couldn't imagine ever wanting it to stop. His skin was smooth and hot to the touch, slightly roughened by the dark hair that swirled over his chest and tapered to a slim line, growing thicker again around his rampant sex. His body fascinated her. She wanted to touch and explore, to learn every inch of his masculine frame, but there was no time as he reclaimed her mouth. The weight and heat of his body against her own was heady. As close as they were, it wasn't enough. She wanted more.

He stroked his thumb over the delicate line of her jaw, his fingers tracing the column of her throat, feeling the staccato rhythm of her pulse. The press of her breasts against his chest was the sweetest torture. He pressed kisses against her jaw, her throat, and into the sweet hollow below her ear, all the while his hands caressed her back, skimming over her hips and down the sinuous curves of her legs. Her skin was like silk, and his blood heated, demanding fulfillment. Unable to wait any longer, he tugged at her night rail, removing the garment entirely, letting it fall forgotten and discarded to the floor.

His gaze roamed over her, reverently, reveling in her lush curves. Greedy for more, he lowered his head to take the pink, furled tip of one breast into his mouth. She moaned, and writhed beneath him as he laved the taut bud with his tongue, alternately sucking and nibbling at her turgid flesh. There was no hesitation, no question as she parted her legs and invited his touch. He swept his tongue inside her mouth, where it tangled with hers, before flattening his palm over the soft mound of her femininity, cupping her possessively. He traced the delicate folds, wet with her desire, until she cried out, clutching him. He swept his thumb over the tiny pearl, flicking, caressing again and again.

He was in an agony of desire. He slipped a second finger inside her, marveling at how exquisitely tight she was. He wanted nothing more than to slide his aching member into the welcoming heat of her body, but he hesitated. He didn't want to cause her more pain than was necessary, but he was unable to deny himself any longer.

He settled himself between her parted thighs, the head of his erection nudging the slick folds of her cleft. “It will hurt,” he said, “but only this once, and only for a moment."

She nodded, and opened herself more fully. The pain didn't matter, and even with the pleasures he had shown her, she knew there was much more. She felt empty and hollow, her body crying out for him. She wanted to feel him inside her, to be filled by him.

The effort required to be gentle was Herculean for him, as he parted the honeyed folds of her sex and pressed his hips forward, sliding partially into her. He struggled for control, for some semblance of the self-discipline that he prided himself on. His breathing was ragged, as he struggled with the need to bury himself in the enveloping heat, to drive deeply into the welcoming warmth of her sex.

Emme shuddered as her flesh burned, stretching to accommodate him. It was such a foreign sensation and so different from the pleasure of his skillful hands and wicked mouth. Slowly the discomfort abated, leaving only a feeling of fullness and an urge to move against him, to explore the curious sensations. He felt thick and hot inside her and instinctively she knew that there was much more.

Rhys held his weight on his forearms, his forehead pressed against hers as he waited for her to relax and to ease his passage. He eased in further, relishing the feel of her sheath clenching around him. He moved his hips in a series of light, gentle thrusts, creating a delicious friction that had her lifting her hips toward him, her legs coming up to wrap about his hips. She melted around him, and each thrust went slightly deeper until he could feel the barrier of her innocence.

He whispered an apology against her cheek and then took her lips in a fierce kiss as he thrust deeply, breaching her maidenhead. He wanted to lose himself inside her, to thrust into her moist heat again and again, but with sheer force of will he managed to control his urges, and held himself rigid inside her as he waited for her to relax beneath him.

Emme didn't cry out, though she had bit her lip at the unexpected pain. She had been warned, of course, but the reality surpassed what she had expected. She knew that he was struggling, that he was trying to be gentle. She forced herself to relax, to accept the invasion. She was aware of him inside her, filling her, his flesh mingling with her own. She knew that the worst was over, but the intense pleasure he had given her earlier seemed far way. Disappointment was blossoming inside her, taking root, but then he moved.

The anticipated pain did not materialize. Instead, there was a deep coiling of pleasure. Each small movement of his hips, as he withdrew from her, only to press deeper again built on that pleasure, until it was overwhelming in intensity. She closed her eyes, her neck arched and her head thrown back in pleasure.

His lips pressed against her neck, his teeth scraping lightly as he quickened his pace, thrusting harder and deeper. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she gasped and shuddered around him. She found the rhythm and began to meet his thrusts, lifting her hips to welcome him.

When her hands slid down his back to his taut buttocks and pressed him more deeply inside her, he lost his battle with restraint. His control snapped and he drove deeply inside her, losing himself in her soft heat.

Knowing he would not last much longer, he brought his hand between them, touching her where their bodies joined, each caress sending her closer and closer to the precipice. Her hips flexed instinctively, arching upward to meet his thrusts as his skilled fingers played over her.

With the first spasm of her orgasm, as the muscles of her sheath rippled around him, clenching tightly, he could no longer wait. He thrust deeply, as the tension coiled within him. He withdrew and thrust again, and was lost. He groaned, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. He shuddered with pleasure as he spilled his seed deep inside her.

Emme's hands stroked over his sweat-slicked skin, reveling in the pleasure that he had given her. Tremors wracked her body and each one elicited an answering shudder from him. She noted that he was careful of her, holding his weight on his forearms above her. He kissed her, gently, sweetly before withdrawing from her. He rolled to his back and pulled her with him so that her head was pillowed on his chest, and his heart still thundered beneath her ear. In moments they were both fast asleep, replete and sated.

Rhys awoke in the hours before dawn, his new wife tucked against his chest. His body stirred but he ignored the burgeoning desire. He had tried to be gentle, but he knew that she would be sore. He had known that she would be passionate, that they would find pleasure with one another. The extent of that pleasure had been beyond anything he had ever encountered. Ignoring the response of his body at the memory of their lovemaking, he contented himself with holding her, feeling the weight of her against him in the darkness.

When light began to filter through the windows Emme stirred, turning to face him so that her lush, tempting breasts were pressed against his chest. He stifled a groan as his member hardened without deference to his good intentions. Rather than continue to tempt fate, he extricated himself from the tangle of her glorious hair and slumberous limbs. She had moved at one point during the night, with the intention of going back to her own chamber. He had unceremoniously pulled her back into the bed with him. He liked having her there.