Celeste Bradley - [Heiress Brides 02] (21 page)

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Authors: The Duke Next Door

BOOK: Celeste Bradley - [Heiress Brides 02]
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Deirdre gasped as her back hit the wall, then forgot it as Calder’s big hard body pressed against her from shoulder to shin. He took her face in both his large hands and kissed her hard and deep, a parched man at the first well he’d ever seen.
She kissed him back desperately, willing him to feel the love in her lips, in the hands that clutched at him, in the body she offered freely. His hands slid down her jaw to wrap themselves gently about her throat, holding her still but not tightly. She arched her neck and opened her lips to him, her trust complete. Master indeed!
The thought excited her deeply, making her tremble, threatening to steal the starch from her spine as his hands roamed further down, over her shoulders to cover her full breasts. The sensation of his hot riding-roughened palms on her already tender flesh sent a new rush of heat to her lower belly. She felt herself throbbing, dampening until her thighs were slick with it.
She slid her fingers into his thick hair and pulled him close to kiss him deeper still, the action grinding her lower body harder into his, but that only made the ache spread. His hands left her breasts and slid back to cup
her buttocks and pull her hard into the rigid swelling of his groin.
Then shock chased away the lingering alarm when he bent to hike her wrapper high to her waist, and slipped his fingertips between her buttocks, softly stroking the tender place between. Then he lifted her, his hands supporting her bottom, and hefted her thighs high. She wrapped her legs about his waist and held on tight as he ground his trouser-trapped hardness into her soft, parted groin.
It was rough and harsh and she shook with the pleasure of it, curling her arms about his neck and letting her head drop back in surrender. He could free himself now and take her upright like an alley whore if he wanted—she was fairly sure she wouldn’t lift a finger to resist him, unless of course he required help to free himself. She was certain she could manage to lift a finger then.
Yet as thrilling as this clothed play was, she was dying to see the man beneath the woolens once more. As he bent his head to kiss the tops of her breasts, she began to tug at his cravat. The knot was another complicated invention of Argyle’s and quite beyond her. She gave up with a growl of frustration.
Argyle must pay.
Later.
Still, she accomplished drawing Calder’s attention to his state, for he swung her in a circle to deposit her easily upon the mattress. She fell back on the softness, spreading her arms, urging him on with her eyes as he yanked brutally on the offending cravat. In moments he was down to his shirt, which he pulled from his trousers and yanked over his head.
Deirdre purred with pleasure. Her big handsome husband was a sight to behold, all broad shoulders and rippling pectorals, the ridges in his hard belly contracting as he gazed hotly down at her. She let her eyes rove over him, making no effort to hide her desire. When his hands went to the buttons of his trousers, she rose on one elbow to watch. She would never tire of this part.
Her boldness excited and confused Calder. How could she be so open and free after being caught with her lover? Yet he needed her sapphire eyes gleaming hungrily as she gazed at him. He even slowed his motions in order to prolong her suspense a bit longer.
If she was a wanton, then she was
his
wanton and he was determined to benefit from every moment of her bad behavior—even if it meant he had to lock her away in Brookhaven afterward!
Then he stripped away the last of his clothing and stood before her naked. Her eyes widened when she saw his rigid, jutting cock, fully enlarged this time. He waited for her to protest, to demure, to give any sign that she was the virtuous woman he’d once thought her.
With her gaze still locked on his groin, she licked her lips.
Well, hell. He shut away the disappointment and rode the answering surge in his lust, giving up on the dream woman in favor of the lesser, harlot version. Let her work to please him, then. Let her service him once more before he sent her away.
He strode arrogantly forward to lift her chin with his hand until she blinked, her eyes focusing upon his at last. “Perhaps you’d like to use that lovely mouth for something other than arguing with me?”
She swallowed. “All right,” she said faintly, but then
made no move to wrap her soft lips about him. He slid his hand into her golden hair and urged her downward. She bent toward him hesitantly, then stopped. He moved closer, until the thick tip of his cock was nearly at her lips.
Slowly, she leaned forward and kissed it softly. At his murmured encouragement, she opened her lips slightly to tentatively touch her tongue to him, her hot, wet tongue like a lance of fire on his flesh. He flexed without intention, but the motion succeeded in pressing him between her parted lips.
At Calder’s groan of pleasure, Deirdre endeavored to open wider to take the swollen head of his member into her mouth, as he seemed to wish. Unsure but curious, she slid her tongue around it, exploring the taste and texture. He seemed to enlarge further and the hand in her hair began to tremble. Relishing such a newfound power, she dared to let his length slide further into her mouth, until she could take no more.
Instinctively, she reached a hand to touch the rest of him, sliding her fingers over him in hesitant exploration. She began to move backward then, forcing a harsh sound from him, making his hand fist in her hair. She froze, then when he did not pull away, she repeated the motion, taking him as deeply as she could, then pulling back, letting her tongue play around him as he slid in and out of her.
He was panting now, his hand heavy on her head as she moved closer, then away, helpless with pleasure in her hands. This must be a very naughty thing indeed, for she’d never heard of it at all. Then again, anything worth doing was worth doing well, wasn’t it?
An accidental bit of suction caused a strangled cry to
rip from his throat. She played with this knowledge, letting his reactions tell her what felt good to him, until she could feel his great body trembling.
Finally, he pulled away from her. “My God!” Then he lifted her in his arms to stand on her knees on the mattress, pulled her hard to him and drove his tongue into her mouth, mimicking the motions she’d just created for him.
Her jaw ached and she’d lost a bit of her fervor in that time of experimentation, but his powerful need soon overwhelmed her once more. When he fell with her back down to the mattress, she welcomed his warm, muscled weight over her. When his knee pressed between hers, she parted them willingly, ready to be his at last.
Until his mighty erection pressed hard into her and pain ripped a shrill, surprised cry from her throat.
It was too soon. Calder knew the moment he began to enter her. She was still too sore from this morning.
He withdrew at once, kissing her lips softly in silent apology. Then he worked his way down her curves and slopes, kissing and tasting her creamy skin, her sweet nipples, the salt of her slitted, hidden self. When she gasped and tried to pull away in shock, he held her wrists in a gentle lock and spread her thighs with his body. So innocent she’d never heard of such a thing? After what she’d just willingly done to him?
He pushed such whirling doubts to the back of his mind and slid his tongue between the plump hot lips of her, soothing, stimulating, determined to make her entirely ready for him.
Deirdre lay captive in his grip, flayed by startled embarrassment and aware of a crazed pleasure rising through her from his busy mouth. This was mad—and marvelous—and more than she could bear, oh heavens, the
pleasure!
Lost in the ecstasy of his darting, twisting, restless tongue she gave in, submitting completely, spreading her thighs, rolling her hips, madly panting as each stroke drove her higher to a wild, aching place she’d never been before!
The darkness exploded behind her closed eyes. She dimly heard someone keening high animal noises, but she ignored it as the rippling waves of pleasure swept her thoughts away.
When the world righted itself and her breath returned to her in rasping gasps, he was smoothing his large hot hands back up her body, rising from between her thighs to kiss her breasts and her neck, whispering soothing words as the last shudders still racked her body.
She limply allowed him to wrap her in his arms once more as he pressed his erection slowly into her. This time, he slid more easily in the wetness and relaxed heat of her. Touched, she slid her hands up his arms, relished the corded muscles there for a moment, then moved them down over his wide back, daring at last to cup his rigid buttocks in her palms.
When she relaxed at last, he stroked the hair back from her face to gaze down at her in the dimness. “Is all well with you?”
She melted further as she nodded, suddenly shy again. This man, this powerful, dark, brooding creature—who people called Beast—had not a cruel bone in his body. She curled her arms about him, tucking her face into his neck to hide the sudden dampness in her eyes, for he’d think them tears of pain, not of empathy and aching, bone-deep understanding.
Slowly, he began to withdraw from her, then press deep again. She forced her body to relax into the movement, feeling the tightness easing a bit with every stroke, although she didn’t think she’d ever not feel stretched to the limit by his largeness!
Then the tight ache began to be replaced by a sliding, growing ecstasy. She knew this pleasure! Eager
now, for it would be a lifetime before she tired of that place of exploding stars, she lifted her hips to take him in, unable to resist sliding her hands back down to those delicious hard buttocks to feel them flexing and thrusting beneath her palms.
She slipped her fingertips between them, just a bit, the way he’d done to her. He hissed a startled breath, but she felt his member swell further and a new tension in the controlled rhythm of his thrusts. She appreciated his taking such care with her, but she was bloody well tired of his everlasting control! On impulse, she squeezed his buttocks hard and bit the rigid muscle wrapping his chest.
The animal roar that erupted from her husband vibrated deep within her, sending up an answering tremor of wildness that emerged as a wordless cry as he lost his grip on that famous control and drove deeply into her!
Lost in her now, he bucked and thrust powerfully, driving into her, forcing guttural cries of maddened pleasure from her throat as she reveled in his wild strength.
Then she fell, or rose—she knew not, nor did she care. All she knew was that this raging vortex of pleasure sent the memory of the exploding stars right out of her mind. She wanted more now, she wanted something darker and harder and so true that the resulting ache would only prove its certainty. No barriers of thought, no walls of prudence or planning lay between her and her man now.
With a final roar, he thrust hard, swelling into her, erupting within her, stretching her to her last fraction of room, driving her pleasure to a new height until she wailed freely at the rapture flooding her.
Then … silence but for their mingled gasps and thudding hearts. The dimness enveloped them, protecting the moment, keeping them still and wordless long after their breathing eased and their pulses slowed.
Then she felt him stir and stiffen and knew the walls were rising once more, though he still lay half-hard within her, though her arms still clung to him, though he still held her naked next to his heart. When he lifted his head to look at her, she could see in his eyes that her beloved Beast was caged once more.
“I hurt you.”
She sighed. “You did not. I am fine. A little … saddle-weary … perhaps, but otherwise perfectly well.”
He withdrew from her slowly, but her quickly stifled gasp gave the lie to her claim. She was
sore!
He climbed from the bed and strode naked to the washbasin to wring out a fresh cloth. Deirdre didn’t let the very attractive view pass unnoticed. She might be sore, but she was not dead!
“I should not have allowed you to shake my control,” he said stiffly when he returned. “That was more difficult than necessary.”
She could not resist a disbelieving laugh at that. “That was difficult? Were you
there?
” She blushed. “I think I might have disturbed the Tower ravens with my caterwauling!” Then realization made her bite her lip. “Do you think the servants heard?”
He grunted at that. “No. They’re paid extremely well to hear no such thing.” He reached to cleanse her, but suddenly shy, she took the cloth from him. He did not turn away, however, but lay back next to her.
Then again, it was his bed.
Deirdre swiftly cleaned her thighs, though there was
little she could do about the stain on the coverlet. She looked up to see if Calder had noticed, only to find that he was sound asleep, naked and unwary, the strain of the last weeks clear on his handsome face.
She’d driven him mad, she knew. Mostly it had been intentional. Some of it was definitely mutual. That didn’t keep her from being sorry at what she’d put him through.
Tossing the soiled cloth beneath the bed—a childish move, but she couldn’t bear to leave it out—she curled up on the bed next to her husband, watching him sleep.
His lovemaking had held a trace of bitterness—or was it hopelessness? She had held him so tightly, but now she wondered if he had felt her arms about him at all.
She would protect him from his own darkness if she could—rip out the years of loneliness and regret and replace them with contentment and joy.
Yet how to make him know that? This man had heard every lie a woman could tell and he’d believed them—once. How was she to make him believe in her now, when she’d done nothing but push him away since she’d walked back into this house as his lady?
He’d damaged her pride. He’d knocked down her expectations as if they’d been nothing but a house of cards. He’d barked orders and given ultimatums without a single care for her opinion. She’d known right then that he hadn’t the slightest idea what sort of woman lived behind the perfect face, beneath the stylish gown. She’d loved him from the age of sixteen. He didn’t even know who she was.
She stroked the dark hair back from his proud forehead as he slept. “You stupid man,” she whispered. “Honestly, I don’t know why I love you so.”
He didn’t love her. How could one love a stranger?
Her first mistake, it seemed, was to propose to him in the first place. She’d done it all wrong, thinking she was so clever—seizing the most vulnerable moment, offering the arguments most likely to win him.
She’d behaved just like Tessa—only worse, because Tessa’s motives were always clear, always true. Tessa wanted what was best for Tessa, in the most material sense.
She, Deirdre, had been after bigger game. She’d proposed a heartless union—a lie, for every word had been uttered in the hope of capturing his heart. Now she had no hope of making him see the truth.
So now what to do? She could not turn back the clock. She could hardly go back to that house on Primrose Square, don her virginal gowns and win him through the usual means, the age-old ritual of courtship. A man need not court his own wife!
Unless …
She rolled onto her back and gazed intently up at the tester above the bed. Shadows from the dying coals turned the vast room into some primeval cavern, without corners or straight lines.
Coming at her husband sideways had failed her.
Perhaps it was time to try something a bit more direct.

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