With This Kiss (33 page)

“No. It’s just that I’ve never…” Color stained her cheeks as her words trailed to a halting stop. She looked away, then took a deep breath and bravely returned her gaze to his. “I don’t have a great deal of experience in these matters.”

Morgan studied her for a long moment, then lifted his hand and softly stroked her hair. “You do me great honor.”

Despite his pleasure at her admission, he found himself somewhat at a loss as to how to proceed. While he knew scores of men who preferred to bed virgins, he had always gravitated toward women whose sexual experience matched his own. He strove to find words to lessen the fear and anxiety he read in her eyes, but nothing seemed adequate.

In the end he realized that delaying the moment further would serve only to prolong her sense of anxiety. That resolved, he drew her more tightly against him. Their bodies met and molded, her soft curves yielding to the greater firmness of his lean muscles. He lowered his head, pressing his lips against hers. He waited until she had accepted the feel of his mouth, then delved deeper, using the subtle pressure of his jaw to coax her lips apart. He swept his tongue inside her mouth, savoring the sweetness of her lips and the faint flavor of scotch on her tongue.

They established a rhythm that was slow and steady, moving in a pace of sweet exploration. After a moment Julia shifted slightly and locked her arms around his neck. Her hips rocked against his in time to their embrace. Morgan felt his manhood, already wakened by their kiss, now leap to life, straining against the fabric of his trousers.

Their kiss, initially a subtle, orderly thing, grew sloppy and urgent. Julia’s hands mimicked the pattern of his own, moving with an almost frantic urgency over his back, his shoulders, his hair, and his thighs, as though driven by the same raw hunger, the same aching need. Their bodies rocked together as though leaving a mere fraction of an inch between them simply could not be borne.

Without warning a sense of burning dissatisfaction took root within Morgan. The taste of Julia’s lips and tongue — as profoundly sweet as they were — were no longer enough to gratify him. He wanted more.

He was suddenly overcome with a reckless eagerness to see his bride. He attacked the tiny buttons and stays of her gown, seized by a carnal yearning he couldn’t contain. Frustrated by the clumsiness of his hands, he battled an adolescent urge to simply rip the garment off her back. To his surprise and pleasure, Julia once again mimicked his touch, tugging at his clothing. Together they moved with wanton, random urgency, fumbling with eagerness and giddy, almost drunk with desire.

As though playing an erotic game, they matched each other’s motions one by one. Her hairpins clattered to the ground. His onyx shirt studs followed. He pulled the bodice of her gown past her shoulders. She unfastened his pants. He removed her voluminous underskirts. She tugged his cravat free and tossed it to the floor.

Morgan had the distinct pleasure of finishing his task first. Having removed the last of her clothing — from the brilliant ruby silk of her gown to the soft white cotton of her dainty underthings — he eased her off his lap and onto her back so his eyes could feast more fully on her flesh. She was neither a large woman nor exceptionally waiflike. To his delight Morgan realized instead that she fell perfectly in between.

Julia was graced with womanly curves that would have suited a Roman goddess. As the amber light flickered over her skin, he drank in every stunning detail of her form. Her hair fell in shimmering, autumn richness against the burgundy velvet of the chaise. Her breasts were round, twin globes of soft ivory peaked by the deep rosy coral of her nipples. Her waist was so tiny, he guessed he could span it with his hands. Her hips were full and lush, her legs long and shapely.

Lovely. So very lovely.

He must have spoken aloud, for Julia’s expression shifted from worry and nervous uncertainty into a smile of embarrassed pleasure. “Lovely,” he said, tracing his hand from her breasts to her ribs and belly. “So very lovely,” he repeated, marveling at the softness of her skin, the smooth feminine perfection of her form.

Perhaps emboldened by his words, or merely succumbing to her own curiosity, Julia reached up and parted his shirt, attempting to draw the garment off his back. Instinctively he tensed, clasping her hand to stop the motion. “I’ll leave it on. I don’t mind.”

She studied him with a small, confused frown, then understanding showed in her gaze. She lifted her hand and ran it lightly over his cheek. “I mind.”

She reached for his shirt again. This time he didn’t stop her as she drew it off. He held himself rigidly still and watched her face as she scanned his scarred flesh. But rather than react with disgust, revulsion, or pity, Julia simply leaned toward him, gracing him with a lover’s kiss. A kiss of reverence and beauty, pressed against such ugly and undeserving flesh that Morgan almost groaned aloud. Her sweet, guileless touch was nearly his undoing. Overwhelmed by a driving need to feel his skin against hers, he drew off his boots and socks, his pants and underclothes, letting the garments tumble to the floor in a careless pile.

As her gaze moved over his body, her attention was diverted not by his scars but by the sight of his engorged manhood. Color flamed in her cheeks, and she quickly averted her eyes, as though embarrassed by her overt display of wanton curiosity.

Morgan captured her hand in his. “Touch me, princess.” He placed her palm on his chest, encouraging her to explore his flesh, giving her the time to accustom herself to the sight and feel of a naked man. After a moment he guided her hand toward his penis, intent on dispelling any fear she might harbor at the very foreignness of that member.

At first her grasp was light and tentative, merely the silkiest of touches. Then she moved her fingers up and down his shaft in an experimental motion that nearly drove him to his knees. A groan of hoarse pleasure tore from his lips as he shifted reluctantly out of her grasp, lest their lovemaking end too quickly.

He braced himself on his forearms above her and explored her every lush curve and mysterious hollow. No detail was too petty to go unadmired; a freckle on the bridge of her nose deserved the same devotion as the shadowy cleft between her breasts. His caresses were no longer smooth and sophisticated but raw and necessary. His hands greedily skimmed her hips, her thighs, her belly. He pulled his mouth away from hers and traced a path of fiery kisses from the nape of her neck to her collarbone, then across her ribs, her belly, and the slender arc of her hip.

He was dimly conscious of the need to go slowly, but he couldn’t force himself to do it. He was almost frantic in his desire. Morgan had made love to other women since the fire. But those had been empty, furtive episodes, lustful skirmishes that took place in darkened rooms beneath heavy sheets.

This was different.

This was Julia.

He cupped her breasts in his hands, awed at the lush weight of the soft globes and the firm, erect feel of her nipples against his palms. He heard her startled gasp as he rubbed her nipples lightly with his fingertips, gently teasing them into even stiffer peaks. When he brushed his lips over her breasts and drew one stiff peak into his mouth, caressing and teasing her nipple with his tongue, she let out a low moan and arched her back, pressing herself into him.

After devoting the same lavish attention upon her opposite breast, his hands followed the path his lips had taken, heating and caressing her flesh. He felt her shudder at his touch, heard her breathless sighs, and felt her hands clutch and release his skin. Emboldened by her responses, he shifted his body lower still, brushing his lips along her upper thighs, eager to taste the very essence of his wife. But she must have realized his goal. Until that moment she had been relaxed, almost melting in his hands, purring at his touch. But now he felt her stiffen in silent, shocked protest. Acquiescing to her unspoken wishes, he moved on, reserving that intimate pleasure for another time.

He captured her mouth with his own, restoring the mindless rhythm of passion they had enjoyed only moments earlier. As he caressed her breast with one hand, he lowered the other to the tangle of coppery curls at the juncture of her thighs. He cupped her lightly in his palm, letting her adjust to the feel of his hand, then he used his finger to gently part her innermost lips.

Julia instantly stiffened in shock and clamped her knees together.

“Shhh,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He regretted the words the instant he uttered them. He would hurt her. There was no way to avoid it. Nor could he qualify his statement without causing her further distress. Therefore he simply moved on, continuing his loving, lustful ministrations. Finding the tight pearl of flesh at the entrance to her sex, he teased it with his fingertips until she was writhing beneath him, her breath coming in hot, shallow pants. Her initial reticence was transformed into glorious eagerness as she dug her fingers into his shoulders and arched her hips to allow him greater access.

At last judging her ready, he withdrew his hand and adjusted his position, bracing himself on his elbows above her. Primitive understanding showed on her features as she watched him with an expression of wariness and need.

Morgan let out a low groan as he slowly guided himself into her. She clutched him unbelievably tightly, sheathing him in her wet, silky warmth. He could have found his release that instant, but he gritted his teeth and willed himself to hold back. He pulled out slightly and eased himself more deeply inside her, only to find his passage blocked. He could go no further. Although instinctively loath to hurt her, he had no choice. Rather than belabor the moment further, he drew his hips away, then gave a sharp, quick thrust forward, tearing through the fragile barrier that had held him back.

Julia’s cry of shock and betrayal was captured against Morgan’s mouth.

“Shhh, let it go. The pain will ease. It will ease.”

His words were nothing but foolish nonsense, based only on hearsay. Nevertheless Morgan desperately hoped that they would prove true. He moved his hands up and down her body in long, comforting strokes, doing what little he could to take away her pain.

After a moment he felt her relax beneath him. “Yes,” she murmured against his cheek. “Yes. It’s all right now. It’s all right.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, he slowly eased himself forward once again, watching her face for any sign of pain. He felt her inner walls stretch to accommodate him, tightly clutching his manhood. Soon she began to thrust her hips upward to meet his strokes, urging him on. Her breath fell against his neck, hot and shallow. He met her fervent pace, driving deep and hard into his wife. Suddenly Julia stiffened beneath him. She let out a cry of release as a shudder ran through her body.

Morgan froze, allowing himself the pleasure of watching his wife as she found her satisfaction. Her sherry eyes were glazed with wonder. A flush spread across her chest; her nipples were drawn tight and hard. A fine, silky sheen of perspiration glistened on her skin, coating her body with a fine mist that sparkled like fairy dust in the amber light.

Pressure swelled within him, a pressure so intense it was almost pain. Unable to hold back any longer, Morgan thrust forward once again. Two hard, sharp thrusts were all he needed to reach his own satisfaction. He poured into her with an explosion that rocked him to his very toes. His strength depleted, he collapsed on top of her, breathing hard.

After a moment he rolled off her and onto his side, cradling her body against his while they both fought to regain control. He traced his hand over the lush curve of her hip, her belly, and her breasts in a relaxed, unthinking motion. Like breaking free of a raging fever, he slowly regained his senses. His breathing became almost level. He was once again aware of the heat of the night, an owl hooting outside his window, a carriage passing in the street.

Julia shifted against him and released a long, deep sigh.

“Did I hurt you very badly?” he asked.

She shook her head, snuggling against his chest. “I didn’t think it would be so…”

Whatever she had been about to say was lost as she caught his hand and pressed it against her belly. In a voice of wonderment she asked, “Do you think we made a baby?”

Morgan swallowed his disappointment at the stark reminder that she had come to him to get with child, rather than out of any sense of longing or sexual desire. “We won’t know for at least a few weeks,” he replied.

“Is it always like that?”

“You mean the wait to see if one has conceived?”

“No, I mean… what we did. Our union.”

“No.”

She turned in his arms to face him, searching his gaze with a small frown. “No?”

“No.” He smiled and pulled her back into his embrace. “It gets better.”

Lazarus held the
London Review
in his hand, squinting over Flame’s column by the light of the moon. This was it. The Cat’s Paw, the brothel she had written about.

The smell of sin surrounded him. The fetid stench of debris churned up by the river, the horse droppings, the drunks who relieved themselves in the alleyways, baring their arses to all who passed. Such filth. No wonder Flame had sent him here. To purify. He paused in a shadowed alleyway, eagerly feeling in his pocket for his phosphorous sticks. Such glorious work to be done.

But as he glanced back up at the brothel, a movement near the rear door caught his eye. A man. One of the sinners who frequented the establishment, no doubt. No sooner had he formed that opinion when the first man was joined by two others. The threesome briefly conferred then dispersed, assuming clandestine positions in the dark alleyway that led to the brothel.

Almost as though they were lying in wait for someone.

Panic seized Lazarus. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. He must have made a mistake. A bad mistake. He shouldn’t be here. The realization made his throat go dry and his heart pound against his chest.

He took what comfort he could from the darkness, shrinking back against the wall, cowering in fear, trying to make himself invisible. He could hear his father’s hoarse voice even now, ringing through the night air. “Idiot! Worthless idiot!”