Innocent on Her Wedding Night (20 page)

‘Yes, sweetheart,’ he whispered, as if she’d asked a rational question. ‘But let’s take it easy, shall we? Because there’s no hurry—no hurry at all.’

And she believed him, as she sank, yielding, into his embrace.

He was exploring her entire body with his fingertips, learning her inch by inch, every line and each curve, as if he was blind and she was the landscape he must discover in order to survive. Turning her in his arms so he could trace the long, shivering curve of her spine, the soft swell of her buttocks. And where his hands touched, his lips followed.

And sometimes he spoke to her, his voice sinking to a husky murmur as he told her how lovely she was, describing the texture of her skin, its scent, its taste, with a mesmerising candour that should have embarrassed her but instead made her burn and shiver with excitement.

She was shy of him only once, when his mouth began to caress the little silky triangle at the joining of her thighs, his purpose intimately apparent, and she told him ‘No’, in a small cracked voice she did not even recognise.

‘Let’s say—not yet,’ he whispered, and began to kiss her mouth again, moving a little, so that she felt the length, the hardness of him pressing against her as his hand slid between her legs, stroking her slick, hot wetness, his long fingers moving on her, inside her, with exquisite thoroughness, until she was writhing under his caresses, pleading without words as she gasped against his lips.

Until the moment he lifted himself over her, guided himself into her, and her gasp suddenly became one of pain as she flinched away from him in shock and disbelief. Because she’d never expected it to hurt—how could it when she wanted him so much? And yet it did.

He stopped instantly. Waited. ‘Laine?’ Her name was a question, demanding an answer. Then, in the same moment, the pain was gone—but so was he, pulling out of her to lie beside her, not touching her, his face buried in the pillow as he struggled to control his ragged breathing.

Laine turned away, curling herself into a ball, closing her eyes as she whispered, ‘I’m sorry—I’m so sorry,’ because she could think of nothing else to say. Because she’d wanted so desperately to please him, to be everything he wanted. Instead she’d turned—once again—into this hideous disappointment at the mercy of her own inadequacies.

‘Sorry?’ His voice was husky, incredulous. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I thought it was just an old wives’ tale.’ Her voice was a small wretched mumble. ‘I didn’t think it could happen—not to me. That I could be so unlucky.’

She felt his hand on her shoulder, soothing her damp skin, quietening her sudden uncontrollable trembling. ‘Laine, look at me.’

She turned slowly to face him, lifting reluctant eyelids.

He said gently, ‘There are old husbands’ tales too, about the astonishing thrill of knowing that the girl in your arms has never belonged to anyone else. I didn’t believe them either. Until now. And I don’t feel even slightly unlucky.’

She said, faltering a little. ‘But you haven’t—’

He laid a silencing finger on her lips. ‘And nor have you,’ he told her softly.

‘But you will, and so shall I. That’s a promise.’

He wrapped his arms round her and they lay quietly together, Daniel dropping gentle kisses on her hair, her forehead and her eyes, tiny contacts that made her skin tingle with the beginning of renewed arousal, until she reached up, drawing him down to the soft eagerness of her parted lips.

As his hands resumed their seductive journey over her skin, she sighed, stretching the entire length of her body against his, feeling once more, in the throb of her pulses, the glow of her quickening blood.

He fondled her breasts softly and voluptuously, turning them to aching delight under his touch. And she lifted herself towards him, glorying in the balm of his lips and tongue as he caressed the swollen mounds, then tasted the fragrance of her own skin as his mouth returned to hers, kissing her deeply and lingeringly.

But when at last his questing hands reached her thighs Laine felt herself tense involuntarily.

‘Relax, sweetheart,’ he whispered, his mouth tender on hers. ‘I’m not going to hurt you. Not again.’

And slowly she surrendered, allowing him the access he was seeking, hiding the warmth of her face in his shoulder as he caressed her.

His touch was different this time, delicate, but infinitely sure, like the subtle friction of silk on silk, as he sought and found her tiny female bud, brushing it gently with his fingertips, creating the merest whisper of sensation at first, then slowly increasing the pressure, persuading it into throbbing, startled tumescence, and beyond.

Taking her to a place where the sheer delight of this sensual teasing drew close to torment. Making the bewildered breath catch in her throat as she felt her control began to slip from her, became aware she was approaching a brink that she had not known existed until this moment. Until this driven, spiralling moment that possessed her utterly, transcending all else in its sheer intensity.

That lifted her to some peak, held her there endlessly—then released her in a sunburst of amazed pleasure, her entire body convulsing in one exquisite spasm after another.

And as she cried out against his skin, bemused by joy, his hands slid under her, lifting her to him, and this time her rapturous body’s moist inner heat offered no resistance to the smooth, powerful thrust that made her his.

For a while Dan remained still, holding her, kissing her, murmuring reassurance as her quivering senses swam down from the heights he’d guided her to. Until, eventually, she was ready for the new and astonishing reality of his body sheathed inside her, and the gentle rocking of his loins against hers.

Until she realised too that this quiet, subtle motion was already having its own insidious effect, creating other extraordinary and quite enchanting sensations that were demanding her renewed concentration.

So that her own body was not merely adapting itself to these new circumstances but becoming dizzily, gladly accepting of every warm, vibrant inch of him. Even, she thought dazedly, wanting more.

That, as a result, her hands were sliding up to lock at the back of his neck as their mouths met and clung, lips and tongues meshing in unrestrained urgency and need. And that, at the same time, some instinct was urging her to raise her legs and clasp them round his hips.

Then, as if some switch had been thrown, Daniel moved, arching himself above her, his former languor forgotten as he began to thrust into her, slowly and rhythmically at first, each driving movement seeming to carry him ever more deeply inside her, then more swiftly and forcefully.

And she went with him, caught suddenly and helplessly in the irresistible tide that was sweeping her away. Aware that her body, incredibly, was responding once more. That from some unknown core, buried far down inside her, she could feel the first stirrings of a pleasure that she could now recognise and welcome. That she could consciously seek after. And that she could not allow to escape her.

And he was speaking, telling her, his voice hoarse and shaken, that it was now—it had to be now—and that she must—she must…

Gasping, sobbing in her throat, she reached for ecstasy with her whole being and felt its first harsh pulsations tear though her as he cried out in turn, the sound ripped from him, as his body shuddered into its own fierce, seething climax.

Afterwards there was silence. Daniel lay slumped and still against her, his head pillowed on her breasts, his body still joined to hers.

Eventually he stirred, peeling himself slowly and reluctantly away from her, and she realised he was getting out of bed, and crossing to the bathroom where, a moment later, she heard the shower running.

Laine stayed where she was, drained and boneless, but realising as the minutes passed that the euphoria which had brought her floating down from the heights was beginning to fade under the onset of reality.

Daniel might have shown her heaven, but there was no promise of lasting bliss.

This was no bridal night—just a girl having sex with a man, and wholly at her own instigation, too.

She bit her lip, wondering what she should do now—whether there was some post-coital etiquette that should be observed.

Should Daniel’s departure be regarded as a signal for her to return to her own room?

But as she turned to look for her discarded nightgown Daniel came back, unselfconsciously naked, and carrying a towel and a sponge.

He sat on the edge of the bed and drew back the covers, frowning faintly as he looked down at her, and Laine, following his glance, realised there was a tiny smear of blood on her thighs.

‘Oh, no.’ Her voice was a small wail of embarrassment, as swiftly and gently he sponged the mark away and handed her the towel. ‘I—I’m so sorry.’

‘I’m the one who should be feeling guilty,’ Daniel said wryly, wrapping the damp sponge in the towel, and putting it on the floor. He smoothed a strand of hair back from her face. ‘Sweetheart, did I hurt you very badly?’

She tried to smile. ‘I don’t think I remember.’ Adding hurriedly, ‘Now I’d better let you get some sleep.’

‘Great idea.’ He turned off the lamp and slid back under the covers, drawing her against him, settling her in his arms.

‘You—want me to stay?’ She was still unsure.

‘Of course.’ She could hear a smile in his voice. ‘You’re not supposed to kiss and run, you know. Besides, having had your evil way with me, the least you can do is spend the night.’

She whispered, ‘Yes,’ and turned her face into the warm, familiar scent of his shoulder. He fell asleep almost at once, and she lay listening to the quiet, regular sound of his breathing, wishing that she could do the same.

But if her body was weary her mind was wide-awake, filled with fleeting thoughts and images, making her move restlessly, uncomfortably.

‘Can’t you sleep?’ His voice reached her softly.

‘It doesn’t seem so. I—I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

‘Don’t worry about it. Maybe there’s something I can do to help.’ He paused. ‘A hot drink, perhaps? Or a lullaby? Or even—this.’

He shifted slightly, adjusting his position and hers, and she gave a little gasp of surprise and pleasure as he entered her—filled her once more.

It was almost like dreaming. A time of small delicious, unforgettable intensities. A tenderness of lips and fingertips. And an unhurried, lingering edging towards ultimate and mutual delight.

And a little astonished sob broke in her throat as her body shivered and fragmented into orgasm. And after rapture came peace, and Laine, sighing, drifted into slumber at last, in her lover’s arms.

The next time she opened her eyes it was daylight, and she was alone. Not just in bed, either. The silence told her that Dan had left for the day.

She stretched luxuriously, feeling as if her skin was smiling—as if her entire being had undergone some new dawn—and laughed softly to herself as she recalled precisely how that had been achieved.

But found herself wondering at the same time how Daniel had managed to free himself from the sensuous tangle of arms and legs that had entwined them, get dressed and go—all without waking her.

Well—years of practice was probably the unwelcome answer to that question, she thought, biting her lip. As she sat up, she glanced casually at the radio-alarm, and stifled a yelp when she saw it was nearly ten o clock—which made her horrifically late for work.

As she threw back the covers she noticed the folded sheet of paper propped against the lamp.

Its message was brief.

Darling, I’ve told your company you won’t be in today. I have meetings this morning, but I’ll be free for lunch—so let’s make it the Savoy at one-thirty.

There’s something I need to tell you.

It was simply signed with his initial.

As a love letter, it had its flaws, Laine thought wryly as she read it again.

But then who was to say that’s what it was? She refolded the paper slowly, aware that her heart was thudding unevenly. Because, in spite of everything that had happened between them last night, the word ‘love’ hadn’t been mentioned once.

And it would be unwise to read too much into a lunch date which might just turn out to be a substitute for a bunch of flowers. If that was what men did after they’d slept with you. She wasn’t even certain about that.

In fact, she couldn’t really be sure about anything. But maybe she could hope—just a little.

So, what did you wear to lunch at the Savoy with your lover? she asked herself, after she’d showered and washed her hair, and stood in her prettiest underwear, riffling along her clothes rail. At the end, shrouded in a plastic cover, she found the yellow dress that she’d worn to begin her honeymoon. He once wanted to take it off, she recalled with a sudden giggle, and when lunch is over and we come back here then I’ll encourage him to do exactly that—button by button. And see when his patience runs out.

She left early for their date, and caught a bus to the West End, the sun warm on her face as she wandered along, scanning the shop windows with eyes that saw little. For one thing this kind of browsing had never really appealed to her.

For another she had begun to wonder what Daniel needed to discuss with her—and in such a public place too. Surely, if there was something he needed to say, he could have woken her this morning and said it?

Deep in thought, she almost collided with someone emerging from a shop, stepping aside with a murmured apology, only to hear a girl’s voice say, ‘Excuse me—but isn’t it Laine—Laine Sinclair?’ And realised, to her horror, she was confronting a smiling Belinda.

‘How nice to run into you again,’ she was saying. ‘Have you got the morning off? Because I was just thinking of having a drink break. Why don’t you join me?’

For more reasons than you can possibly imagine, Laine thought grimly, discovering she was being ushered irresistibly towards a neighbouring coffee shop.

In a city of all these millions, why have I bumped into you—the last person in the world I want to see or have to think about?

Yet she should have considered Belinda, she acknowledged miserably as they found a table and studied the menu. Should have let it register that she might be poaching on the other girl’s preserves. But she hadn’t given her a thought—not then—not since—and maybe being made to sit with Belinda now and smile and make conversation was a kind of instant karma.