Shana Galen (14 page)

“Open your legs, sweetheart. I know what you want.”

She had no choice. She complied, feeling embarrassment and exhilaration in equal measure. Alex trailed kisses down her stomach, then slid her stockings off. His hands stroked her legs again until his fingers were inside her, his thumb caressing her, his breath warming her. She let out a strangled scream at the rush of sensation.

“Do you want me to kiss you here?”

Oh, yes.
Yes
. But she couldn’t speak, only moan some incoherency. And then his mouth was on her. His tongue flicked against her, and she cried out. He did it again, and she almost flew off the bed. She gripped the covers more tightly, and just when she thought she had control, his tongue slicked over her slowly. Arching her body, she screamed at the white-hot pleasure surging through her. Ecstasy. She knew nothing else.

Slowly, through a haze of exquisite vibrations, Lucia returned from her trance. Alex was lying beside her again, kissing her shoulder, her breast. She opened her eyes.

“I never knew—”

“Shh. It’s not over yet.”

Her stomach tightened in anticipation.

He reached down, eyes never leaving hers, and unfastened his trousers, sliding them off. She watched, knowing her eyes were wide as saucers and her cheeks were flushed pink.

He was glorious naked—his legs firm and muscled, his skin bronzed and smooth. She willed herself to peek at his manhood and was then unable to tear her eyes away.

Oh, Lord! It was much too big. This was never going to work.

She could see him gauging her reaction, and his expression was patient and understanding. But behind that patient expression lurked the hint of a dare. He arched a brow and seemed to ask how far she would really go.

Lucia could never resist a dare.

Meeting his gaze unabashedly—though inside she felt complete terror—she smiled. Her fear receded, and she reached out to caress him, watching his expression transform from challenge to shock to bliss. Moving her hand over him, she wondered at the silky, hot flesh between her fingers.

He groaned and stilled her hand.

“Did I hurt you?”

His groan had sounded so full of agony, she was sure she’d done something wrong and ruined everything now.

“No,” he said, and she relaxed.

“It feels too good. I want to be inside of you.”

She tensed again, remembering his size. He moved over her, his body covering hers like a wall of smoldering steel. His gray eyes were dark and heated with passion. Lucia had never felt so desired or so…vulnerable. “Alex?”

“Hmm.” He kissed her, running his hands over
her body. She shuddered and forgot what she’d wanted to say. Then she felt him hard against her.

“Alex.” She gave him a little push. “I don’t think this is going to work.”

“It’ll work,” he murmured against her neck.

She cleared her throat. “What I mean is, I don’t think you’re going to fit.”

He tried to hide it, but she saw him suppress a smile. “Trust me,” he said.

“But—”

“You talk too much.” And then he was kissing her again, his hands moving over her, drugging her, mesmerizing her, leaving her breathless.

And when he whispered, “This is going to hurt a bit,” the words had no meaning. All she knew were his fingers caressing her and the feeling of pleasure rising again.

And then he surged forward, and the pleasure was replaced by a stab of pain. She cried out before she could stop herself and scrambled to get away. Tears sprang to her eyes.

Something was definitely
wrong
. She could feel him inside her, and it was strange and painful and—she moved slightly—wonderful? “Alex?”

His head was lowered, and he was breathing hard.

“Alex,” she said again.

His eyes found hers, and she was intrigued by the look of raw, open need in them. Had she caused that?

“Are you all right?” His voice was hoarse, strained.

She moved and found the pain was fading. “Yes. Are you?”

“Did I hurt you?” he pressed. “Is it very bad?”

Her heart melted. He looked so young, so exposed. Had anyone ever been so concerned for her?

Alex. There was nothing but Alex, the feel of him inside her, his heart beating against her breast, his arms holding her.

“A little,” she whispered, suddenly shy.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Lucia didn’t have to guess at the amount of effort it took for him to utter those words and mean them. She could feel the tension in his arms, his body.

Lucia wriggled, trying to adjust to the feel of him, his body between her legs, his chest rubbing against her breasts. She moved again and felt a spasm of pleasure.

“Lucia,” he moaned.

She moved slowly, pushing upward, then gasped at the feeling it created. “No, don’t stop.”

He groaned and thrust upward, deeper into her. She cried out with joy as he moved first slowly, then faster; thrust deep and hard, then gently and skillfully.

Her hands were in his hair, clawing at him, and she found herself matching his thrusts, his rhythm, then arching against him and gasping his name, unaware of anything but Alex surrounding her, overwhelming her.

“L
ucia,” Alex murmured, encircling her in the warm harbor of his arms. She heard the logs in the hearth crackle and opened her eyes. The flickering firelight cast their silhouettes on the walls. Two shapes joined as one.

Alex pulled the bedclothes around them, tucking the material, still warm from their bodies and sweet with the scent of their lovemaking, around her. Lucia marveled at his sudden tenderness, so different from the wild, demanding man who had given her wave after wave of ecstasy a few moments before. She liked this new side of him and took full advantage of it, snuggling on his chest and tracing his muscles lightly with one finger. In this calm after the storm, her feelings were a jumble. She wanted to shout for joy and, at the same time, hide under the covers. That was a new feeling. She could count on one hand the times in her life she’d felt shy.

One feeling she could identify. She felt right. She
belonged here with Alex, and try as he might to deny it, she knew he sensed it, too.

She should be ashamed of herself. She was engaged to be married, and only bad women made love to men they weren’t married to. She was truly past all hope of redemption because she didn’t feel any shame. Not even a twinge. She only felt warm and happy and loved.

Her eyes flew open.
Love?
Oh, Lord. Alex didn’t want to talk about love, and neither did she. It didn’t matter anyway. She was engaged to Dandridge, and she’d known being with Alex was only for tonight. Tomorrow he’d want another woman.

But she was with him now, and that was what mattered. She’d never known that she could feel these sensations. Alex had been with many other women, if his reputation was any indication. Women far more experienced in lovemaking than she.

She emerged from her cocoon again. “Alex?” Her voice squeaked, and she swallowed.

“Hmm?” His voice was a sleepy rumble in her ear. Good. Somehow half asleep he seemed more vulnerable, more approachable.

“You’ve been with many women, haven’t you?”

He started awake. “What?”

She quickly tucked her forehead under his jaw, feeling her body go warm with embarrassment.

“I don’t want to talk about that right now.” His voice was hard, gruff. So much for approachable.

“Neither do I,” she said quickly. “I was just wondering if I—” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I mean, did I—” Oh, why was she such a coward? Now he was going to be confused, and when she tried to explain, everything would come out all wrong and he’d probably end up laughing at her.

He squeezed her waist, and she was surprised
when he nudged her face toward his, one finger under her chin. Lucia felt pink as the walls of her bedroom.

“Are you worrying over that?”

She nodded, biting her lip, and feeling ridiculous now that his warm gray eyes were on her. “You were perfect,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Exquisite. Beautiful. Irresistible.”

“You’re not just—”

He put a finger on her lips. “No, I’m not just saying it, and I may have to show you how much I enjoyed you again in a moment.”

Lucia laughed, then caught the desire in his eyes and shivered.

Whenever she laughed, Alex had the urge to kiss her, as if that one act could somehow infuse him with her joy, her spirit. She was so alive, so open to every new sensation, every experience. Nothing seemed to faze her. When she smiled, he felt he could be happy lying here with her forever. He almost chuckled. She was worried if she’d pleased him. If only she knew how much—far more than he’d ever imagined. And he had a vivid imagination.

But the feel of her body against his, her heat, her languid breathing was not his imagination, and he had no doubt reality would soon crash in. Guilt would smash into him like a bullet. Not only did his actions put her in danger, he had no intention of doing the honorable thing and marrying her.

He should have stopped it. He should have taken her home or thrown her back out the bloody window. She was too dangerous, and he too apt to act the fool for her. But he hadn’t wanted her to leave tonight. He’d wanted her in his arms, in his bed, and he’d never wanted anything—or any woman—this much.

Of course, she’d almost killed him.

She was a virgin, and he’d tried to move slowly. But every time she moaned and pressed innocently against him, he lost all restraint. He’d pulled himself back from the precipice of wild abandonment half a dozen times, in agony with need for her, wanting to tear the chemise from her body and plunge his hard member into her softness.

But his suffering had been rewarded. Her response to him had been so open and passionate, so trusting and curious, that he’d found himself caught up in the moment—relinquishing control and surrendering himself to the experience. She couldn’t know how rare a sensation surrender was to him. She couldn’t know that even now he was still awed by the experience, the torrent of emotions assailing him.

And she’d asked him if she’d pleased him.
Pleased
did not begin to describe it.

And he knew he’d given her pleasure—more than once. He glanced down at her. She was pink as Freddie’s new waistcoat. He grinned, wondering how she’d look in crimson. “What did you think, sweetheart? Was it what you’d expected?”

“Oh, no, that wasn’t at all what I’d expected!” She propped her elbow on the pillow beside him, chin on one hand.

He almost groaned. She wasn’t at all embarrassed by his question. In fact, she seemed eager to talk about it. But this
was
Lucia. The woman had more to say than three females combined.

“I’ve heard things.” The sheet slipped down, giving him a view of her breasts—creamy ivory with delicate pink nipples.

“What have you heard?” he murmured, distracted. His fingers ached to rub one of those ripe nipples between them.

“Ladies do talk, you know,” she said. “When men are not around.”

“Ladies talk?” He grinned devilishly. “I had no idea.”

She punched him lightly. “You are
horrid
!”

“Now give me a real insult.”

She rolled her eyes.

“But,” he said tilting her chin toward him again, “you’ve aroused my curiosity. Whatever
do
ladies talk about when we gentlemen are locked up with our port and cigars? Surely not their…intimate moments? Not to innocents like you.”

She frowned, obviously annoyed by the social etiquette. “No, they don’t discuss such things with me. But I did overhear Mrs. Witherspoon and Lady Danville once.” She lowered her voice to a whisper and scooted closer. The sheet slipped again, and he felt the soft flesh of her breasts pressed against his arm. He was hard and getting harder.

“Mrs. Witherspoon said that Mr. Witherspoon extinguishes all of the candles and the fire before he shares her bed. He insists the room be completely dark.” She surveyed his room. “You didn’t do that.”

“Mr. Witherspoon probably doesn’t want to see Mrs. Witherspoon.”

“Oh, that’s cruel!”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. If I had my way, we’d be in broad daylight right now.”

Her eyes widened. She looked the perfect innocent, and he couldn’t resist kissing her. Her response—immediate and eager—turned what he’d intended to be a playful kiss into something more serious.

A long moment later his body was thrumming with need. It didn’t help that Lucia had wrapped her
long limbs around him in a provocative move straight from his imagination. He told himself it was too soon for her and forced himself to untangle their bodies. Reaching for a modicum of control, he grit out, “What else did Mrs. Witherspoon have to say?”

It was several minutes before she answered, and even then her voice was breathless. “What else…” She blinked, trying to compose her thoughts. He knew the feeling.

“Oh, she said that after all the lights have been put out, Mr. Witherspoon climbs into bed with her, raises his nightshirt and hers, then wiggles around like he has a spider in his breeches. He huffs and puffs for three minutes, and it’s all over.” She nodded, seeming pleased that she’d got it correct.

“I suppose Mrs. Witherspoon survives the ordeal by mentally reciting Scripture?”

“Actually.” Lucia tapped her lips, now deep in thought. “She said it offers her the perfect opportunity to plan the menu for the next day.”

Alex burst out laughing. “And were you able to plan any menus tonight, sweetheart?”

A slow smile parted her rosy lips. “You know I wasn’t.”

He squeezed her waist. “You’ll find most marriages in the
ton
aren’t so different from the Witherspoons’.”

“Is that why you’re so afraid of marriage? Oh!” She cupped a hand over her mouth in a gesture that Alex found almost comical. She definitely talked too much, asked too many questions, but Alex had known it was coming.

“I told you, I don’t like entanglements. A wife is an entanglement.”

She frowned. “But what if you fell in love, like Ethan and Francesca?”

Alex looked away. Love. He knew it would come
to this. Alex had never been anyone’s first. He hadn’t wanted to be. The first time was special. Even he half believed it should come out of a feeling of love. But he didn’t need that feeling, and he didn’t want it from her.

But her feelings were fleeting. She was in love with the idea of him, not the reality. He wasn’t the man she’d built up in her mind over the years. He’d tolerated her silly crush when she was fourteen, but now he had to end it. End her fantasies before she came to hate him. “Lucia, I told you, I have no intention of marrying, and I meant it. And as for love…” He laughed ruefully.

“Only fools fall in love,” Lucia interrupted, “Yes, I know. I suppose all of the unhappy wives keep you too busy to fall in love, at any rate.” She flopped back on her pillow.

Alex felt a bitter laugh well inside him. The thought of most of his past lovers left an acrid taste in his mouth. He’d cared for some of the women, but many had been brief diversions—their couplings hasty and meaningless. So unlike what he’d felt with Lucia tonight.

Beside him, she huffed, and he leaned over, brushing the hair away from her face. “Right now there’s only
you
, Lucia. No one else.”

There will never be anyone else
. The words sprang from deep within, but he shut them off, refused to say them or even acknowledge them. Then she wrapped her arms around him, and he was enmeshed in her scent, intermingled with that of their earlier lovemaking. He kissed her neck, breathing her in.

“Mrs. Witherspoon never said anything about this.” Her voice was breathless.

He smiled against her collarbone. “That’s because
Mr. Witherspoon doesn’t have anyone as tempting as you in his bed.”

“Oh,” she murmured. Then, “
Oh
!” as he moved over her, molding her slim body against his and tracing the soft curve of her stomach and the swell of her breasts. The sensation of skin against skin intoxicated him, and his mind reeled as she rubbed against him, increasing the contact between them. He slanted his mouth over hers, and when she opened her lips to him, he slid his tongue inside, stroking her, probing deep, showing her what he’d do with his body. She caught his tongue mid-thrust and sucked on it playfully. He hardened at the sensation and her boldness.

Unable to resist, he reached down, caressing her calves and draping her legs around him. Her legs were lean and shapely, the skin of her inner thigh like silk. He molded his palm to the curve of her hip, liking the fullness of it next to her small waist.

Reluctantly, he pulled his mouth from hers, wanting to taste more of her. He trailed kisses down her neck to her breasts. Her nipples hardened, and she moaned when he took first one, then the other into his mouth.

His hands moved between them, and she shifted restlessly. “Alex, Alex,” she moaned in his ear. God, he wanted her, needed her, hot and wet, her tight body cinched around him. But it was too soon. He didn’t want to hurt her.

“Alex, please,” she said on a sob.

“Sweetheart, you don’t know—”

“I want you,” she breathed, and he lost the battle. He entered her gently, testing her readiness. She was slick and wet against him. He pushed, feeling her muscles clench around him—giving, accepting. She gave a ragged cry, and he froze.

“Sweetheart, did I hurt you? I’ll stop,” he whispered.
God,
he prayed,
please don’t ask me to stop
.

In answer, she kissed him, pulling his head to her mouth and savaging it with her own. Her tongue met his wildly, and he returned the kiss with equal fervor. Between their bodies, he readied her, stroking the nub at the center of her folds until her head was tossing back and forth on the pillow, and she arched against him. On her scream of pleasure, he entered her, thrusting hard, burying himself in her sleek folds.

Her legs tightened around him, squeezing him, pulling him deeper. And he was far from gentle. He had no restraint, no boundaries. With a groan, he thrust into her, movements slow, then fast, deep, then hard.

He was out of control, overwhelmed by the sound of her cries, her touch, her taste. Instinct took over, and he held nothing back, left no part of himself untouched by her. At that moment she was his, and he gave equally of himself.

Ecstasy and something else—something more than the physical—shuddered through him. He was part of her. They moved together, breathed together. It seemed even their hearts beat as one. Together their bodies tensed, and he felt her tighten, felt her tiny convulsions. With a last thrust, they rose to meet the pleasure as one.