Midnight Rose (23 page)

Ryan was glad his friend had provided several bottles of champagne, because he was well into the second when he decided he’d overextended his self-imposed limit for Erin’s appearance. She had been in that room for over half an hour, and he’d not heard a sound. Enough was enough. “Are you going to join me in here, Mrs. Youngblood, or would you prefer that I come right into the bedroom and dispense with courtly preliminaries?”

Erin hesitated, then bit back an angry retort.
One day, my arrogant husband,
she silently, furiously vowed,
you will know what it means to beg, rather than demand.

She took a deep breath and flung the door open.

Ryan at first could only stare in disbelief. She stood there, sable hair brushed to fall loosely about her shoulders, blatant defiance glimmering in her chestnut eyes, the play of a taunting smile on her lips. With hands on her hips, bare feet slightly apart, she gave her head a haughty toss and said, “I pick out my own lingerie, Mr. Youngblood. I thought you knew I returned your selections to Madam Estelle.

“Didn’t I make it clear I don’t intend to be your whore?” she testily added.

A shadow passed, wiping away surprise to leave fury in its wake. “I never wanted you for my whore, Erin. And no, she didn’t tell me. Maybe,” he said slowly, evenly, “she was afraid to, afraid of how I might react to such an insult.”

“You—you’re insulted?” Erin stammered, aghast that he could even hint at such a thing. “How do you think I felt, receiving lingerie from such a place, picked out by my husband-to-be?”

At that, he blazed, “When are you going to stop playing the role of shy, indignant virgin, Erin? It doesn’t become you. I sent you those things because I was stupid enough to think you might have some passion in your bones, that you might want to try and keep me away from another woman’s bed. But I see now I was wrong. You don’t care. You married me for material reasons, social position…”

“Why did you agree?” She could not hold back her resentment any longer. She stepped from the doorway. Yes, she acknowledged to herself, he was devastatingly desirable standing there broad-shouldered and bare-chested, the thick mat of chest hairs trailing down provocatively. “Why did you agree to marry me…when you were already engaged to someone else?”

He shrugged. It didn’t matter, but he knew he owed her an explanation. “I never wanted to marry her in the first place. That was my mother’s idea. She arranged it.”

“You
even gave her an engagement ring.”

Another shrug. “I can afford lots of rings, Erin.” Damn, he inwardly cursed himself, he didn’t want it to be this way, but she left him little choice but to fight back.

“Bastard! Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m your husband, Erin.” He started toward her again. “You got what you wanted. Now it’s my turn.”

Instinctively, she stepped back, even though she really had no fear of his becoming violent. Only carnality, and a glimmer of amusement, were mirrored in his gaze.

He turned the champagne bottle up to his lips once more, then looked at her thoughtfully and said, “I thought we’d be sharing this.”

“Drink it yourself.”

He smiled crookedly as he shook his head slowly from side to side and whispered, “No, my sweet. I’ve got something else in mind.”

She began to back into the bedroom, feeling uneasy.

He followed her, like a cat stalking prey. He continued to sip from the bottle. “Didn’t you learn anything from your previous lesson, my sweet? Didn’t you learn who’s the master and who’s the slave here?

“As for your gown,” he sneered, “you don’t even need one.” His hand snaked out to clasp the neckline and easily ripped the garment from her.

“Damn you,” she cried, attempting to cover herself with her arms, whirling about, looking for cover.

For an instant, he could only stare, for the sight of her naked body was intoxicating, paralyzing. He felt himself grow hard, and set the bottle aside to unfasten his trousers.

She watched, angry and terrified all at once.

When he, too, was naked, she could not help but look at him and see the raw proof of his desire…and intent.

He gave her a gentle shove that sent her sprawling backward on the bed. He retrieved the champagne bottle and slowly positioned himself beside her.

She looked up at him mockingly and said coldly, “So take what you want and be done with it.”

“Be done with it?” he echoed, laughing at the incredulity of such a notion. “You can’t be serious, Erin. This is something to enjoy and savor, like fine wine and champagne…” His words trailed away as he took another swallow before continuing, “I was trying to figure out a way we could both enjoy this, and I think I just found one.”

She screamed as the cold liquid dripped slowly onto her breasts, writhing at his touch as he smeared it across her bare skin with his fingertips. “What—what are you doing?” she cried, feeling a warm tingling despite her fury.

“Relax, my lovely. I’m not going to waste good champagne. I’m going to savor every drop.” He leaned then to lick one nipple, delighting in the taste of the wine on his tongue along with the feel of her hardening at his touch. He began to suckle gently, rolling his tongue all the while, his hand kneading and cupping the firm flesh. He moved to the other, licking the champagne, then sucking and rolling his lips against her. He was aware of how her heart had begun to pound, and her chest started heaving with her own unbridled longing. Her head had rolled to one side on the pillow, and she was clutching with her hands, arching her back in unchained pleasure.

He knew she was fighting for control, no doubt intending to submit passively and make him the total aggressor. He knew well how to play that game, for he had invented the rules, prided himself on bringing ultimate satisfaction to any woman he bedded.

He maneuvered to allow the champagne to drip onto her belly, then trickle slowly, sensually, downward and between her legs. He felt as though he were going to burst for want of fulfillment, agonized by the throbbing of yearning to enter the sweet-hot flesh and have the velvet softness wrap around him. But he had also learned self-control in his enjoyment of women and could hold back for hours, if that was what it took to make his partner writhe and moan with ecstatic delight.

Positioning himself, he spread her thighs, pausing to trail a forefinger between. She stifled a moan as he found the pinnacle of sensation. For long, torturous moments, he massaged it with his thumb, watched her half-closed eyes, the soft gasps that escaped her lips, the way her tongue so often licked from side to side.

“Tell me you want me, Erin,” he commanded gently, smugness thick in his tone, for he knew she was helpless. “Tell me you want me, and you’ll have me inside you, to take you for my wife, my woman…”

Almost violently, she shook her head from side to side. Clamping her teeth tightly as she fiercely clutched the edge of the pillow, Erin thought how much kinder rape would be at that moment. To render her helpless with ecstatic torture was humiliating and demeaning, and she hated him for it, while at the same time wanting him so fiercely it was like a burning knife in her loins.

Then she felt him withdraw, dared hope he was about to take her then and there, yielding to his own hunger. Abruptly she felt the tormenting trickle of the champagne once more. She cried out loud as his mouth closed over that almost painfully sensitive nucleus of pleasure.

He began to suck and lick the champagne from her delicate flesh, and each touch was fire in her blood. Without realizing what she was doing, she released her hold on the pillow and reached out instead to caress him tenderly as he devoured her. Her legs entwined around his back as she arched yet closer. She could feel a strange sweet-hot needling sensation beginning from deep within her belly at the same time the low gurgling in her throat began to fight its way upward.

Ryan felt it, too, and was not about to give her blessed release—not till she begged for it.

He withdrew, and her eyes flashed open to stare in pained disbelief. Surely he was not stopping, her tormented mind screamed, but then he was looming over her, to lower his body the length of hers, to cover her lips with his. She could taste herself on his tongue, and she returned his kiss with fervor. Their bodies clung together, perspiration slick and undulating, every muscle taut, tingling, every nerve wild and shrieking for release.

She wanted him. Oh, God, she wanted him. Inside her. Forever. Always.

He was further tormenting by allowing his rock-hard member to throb between her legs, not quite touching that burning core that silently begged to be caressed once more. She spread her legs to receive him, boldly reached to cup his buttocks to pull him closer.

As much as he wanted her, Ryan could not help raising his mouth from hers to command hoarsely, “Admit it, Erin. You want it as much as I do.”

Erin, far too lost in passion to be incensed by further taunting, could only whisper, “Yes, yes, I want you,’ and clutch him against her even more. There would be time later to admonish herself for her weakness. For the moment, she could only seek to answer the longing, the calling, of her hungry body.

“Take me,” he commanded, maneuvering on top of her once more and spreading her legs wide. “Take me where you want me to be.”

Boldly, brazenly, she reached for him, positioning him. He drove deep and hard, shuddering with his own needs, and she cried out, legs wrapping tightly about his waist. He leaned to cover her mouth with his, then traced hot kisses along her neck before burrowing his face in the hollow between her shoulder and neck. She responded with nibbling kisses to his cheek and ear. He was driving into her relentlessly, his movements urgent, hard. His body was convulsing over hers as though he had lost all control. She pulled him ever harder against her as she felt the needles stab once more, and her buttocks were bouncing up and down in unison with his driving thrusts.

She called his name, gasping, crying at the wonder that wrapped her from head to toe in a cocoon of smothering bliss. He reached to clamp her bottom and hold her secure, firm, as he drove into her mercilessly, taking himself to his own tower of surrender. Never, he realized through the dizzying shroud that was engulfing him, had it ever been like this, never so dazzling or intense. It was as though something in her was reaching out to pull him inside her, and he was drowning.

He cried out but pounded on, and she answered him with her own call for more, and finally, when he thought he was surely dying, he felt the great, gasping shudder and exploded inside her.

They became one.

He gently collapsed on top of her but continued to hold her close. His breath was warm on her neck, and his sweat-damp body melded against hers as if they were truly only one flesh. “Did I hurt you?” he asked her, suddenly remembering it was her first time.

Erin felt a bit embarrassed to admit, “I’m afraid I have to stop and think about it. I was so…” She could not go on.

“I know.” Rolling to one side, he looked at her in the mellow glow of the bedside lantern and admitted, “I was lost in the moment, too.” They lay quietly for a time, and then, fearing she might think he had somehow surrendered, he pretended to goad, “Tell me. Do you think it will be so bad, being my love slave?”

“Ha! We’ll see who’s the slave and who’s the master,” she fired back good-naturedly. It was all so uncanny, this emotion washing over her, tingling, stirring. She never dreamed it would be like this—so good, so right. Wasn’t she supposed to feel subservient?

He gazed at her in affectionate wonder, then remembered her anger. “So tell me,” he prodded curiously. “How did you find out about Ermine? Not that I was trying to keep it a secret, mind you. It’s just that it never came up, and I saw no reason to mention it.”

“It’s not important how I found out,” she replied, reaching to pull the sheet up to her chin, because now she felt a bit embarrassed to be lying next to him naked. It was still all so new, and she was not yet comfortable with the intimacy. “I would like to hear about it, though, seeing as I was warned right before we left that when your mother came home, I’d be facing not only her wrath, but your fiancée’s as well.”

“Ermine won’t care,” he assured her. “She only wanted to marry me for material reasons, same as you. The two of you would probably get on well together. She’ll find someone else. She’s not an unattractive girl. As for my mother, she’ll just have to accept things as they are.”

“You really make it all sound so callous, so cold,” Erin could not resist saying. “Didn’t you ever think about marrying for love?”

“Love?” he scoffed. “There’s no such thing. It’s fantasy. Like the pot of gold that’s supposed to be found at the end of a rainbow. The rainbow is pretty to look at it, but it doesn’t exist…just like love,” he added with a bitter smile.

“So you really didn’t care who you married.”

“Of course, I cared. I wanted you, Erin, as I’d never wanted a woman before. Maybe in the beginning, I’ll admit my intention was to make you my mistress, but enough about that.” He raised up on an elbow to look down at her in amusement as he queried, “Tell me why you were so angry about the lingerie.”

She proceeded to do so, mincing no words.

He chuckled. “What a little hypocrite you are. You gave me the impression you didn’t give a damn what people thought, yet you panicked that someone would think you wore revealing undies. Well, we’ll just take care of that when we get home. You can go to Madame Estelle and tell her it was all a mistake, that you do want the lingerie, after all.”