“Into bed,” he commanded.
She shed her shift and climbed into bed to lie on her back in the middle, liking very much the way Braydon looked her over, head to toe, his cock rising higher.
She’d expected another fierce joining, but he lay down at her side and explored her with only one hand. His touch was delicious and wandered to places never touched in that way before, but she wanted to protest the delay.
Especially when he stopped and said, “Sit up.”
Trying to anticipate the next surprise, she obeyed.He began to take pins out of her hair. She raised her hands to help him, but he said, “No. I’ll do it.”
“Damn you,” she muttered.
Though her back was to him, she could sense his smile.
All very well, sir, but your need is more urgent than mine, I’ll go odds.
She sat as still as she could as her hair was loosed, but struggled under every touch. Could he know how arousing she found it?
He fingered through her hair, his mouth playing on her shoulders, then on her back. All the way down her spine, even to the cleft at the top of her buttocks. She wanted to command him to cease, to turn and take him. She was sure he was beyond protest. But there was mysterious pleasure in this slow, torturous play.
This is seduction,she realized. Seduction of her body. It had never happened before.
She broke and turned, lying back, legs wide, pulling him to her.
He resisted, hotly smiling.
“Damned torturer!”
He trapped her hands and tormented her breasts. At first he only licked and kissed, but then he drew a nipple deep in his mouth, and a cry escaped her. She clenched her jaw to prevent another, but wanted to plead.
He released her, but instead of entering her then, he slid fingers inside her. She couldn’t help but thrust against his hand to drive to her release, and he caught her choked cries in a blinding kiss. No sooner had she crested and sunk down, gasping, sweaty, spent, than he entered her, thick and hard.
Her mouth was free and the noise she made might have been protest, but immediately she was caught up again, driven up again, with nothing to do but surrenderto the pounding wave of passion even more intensely than before.
Eventually, surely much later—in fact the candles were almost spent—she opened her eyes to see he was as hot, sweaty, and disheveled as she.
“A box of fire,” she said.
“What?” he mumbled without stirring an inch.
“Nothing.”
Stroking him, she recognized that that had been a performance of sorts. It might simply be to outdo Marcus, but it probably rose from jealousy.In that case,she thought,there is something to be said for jealousy.
Relaxed in sleep, his handsomeness came close to beauty, and she wanted to stroke his lean cheek and straight nose and even the little indentations about his nostrils. She wanted to lick and kiss, but he deserved his sleep and, in truth, she felt worn out. She might be a little sore tomorrow, but she had no complaint.
None at all, for here was a man capable of many variations. Odd that she’d never imagined variety in marriage, even though she’d seen pictures. She’d separated one from the other, but there was no reason for that.
She couldn’t help wondering about other marriages. Did all couples play games with undressing, join together standing up, or drive one another to the brink? She closed the door on that. Each to their own, but her own was full of promise.
She woke in the pitch-dark night to find his arm over her, holding her close. Thinking him asleep, she curled a hand around his forearm, but he said, “Are you all right?”
“Of course. Did I wake you?”
“No.”
“Areyouall right?” she asked.
“Of course.”
