Castles (33 page)

Her voice reeked with authority. Because she was acting so sincere, he tried to control his laughter. “I see,” he drawled out. “And where did you learn this important fact?”

“Mother Superior taught me everything I needed to know about organization.”

“Was she as thorough as she was when she explained the intimate . . .”

She didn't let him finish. “She was much more thorough. It was very difficult for her to talk about . . . the other. She's a nun, after all, and had taken the vow of chastity years ago. You can understand her reticence, can't you? She didn't have much experience.”

“No, I don't imagine she did have much experience,” he agreed.

Colin was swallowing up the bed. She kept edging closer to the side to give his legs more room and he kept . . . expanding until he was comfortable. He stretched and yawned and soon took up all the space.

He took her papers, too. He put them on the table next to his side of the bed, then blew out the two candles and turned back to her.

She folded her hands in her lap and ordered herself to quit being so nervous.

“Without organization we would have anarchy.”

It was a stupid thing to say, but she couldn't think of anything better. She was dying to ask him why he was in her bed. Was he going to sleep with her in her chamber every night? No, she thought to herself. That didn't make any sense. His bed was much larger—much more comfortable, too.

Alesandra decided to ease into the topic of their sleeping arrangement. She was calm now, and in total control. He was her husband, after all, and she should be able to ask him any questions, no matter how personal the topic.

A clap of thunder sounded in the distance. She almost fell out of bed. He grabbed her before she went over the side and hauled her up close to him.

“Does thunder make you nervous?”

“No,” she answered. “Colin, I was wondering . . .”

“Take your nightgown off, sweetheart,” he ordered at the very same time.

His command gained her full attention. “Why?”

“I want to touch you.”

“Oh.”

She didn't move. “Alesandra? What's wrong?”

“You confuse me,” she whispered. “I thought you did like to . . . and then when Flannaghan told me to . . . well, I didn't.”

She knew she wasn't making any sense. She quit trying to explain and considered his order instead. She wished he wasn't watching her. She wished it was darker inside the chamber, too. The fire burning in the hearth was still bright enough to cast a golden glow on the bed. She knew she shouldn't be embarrassed. Colin was her husband, and he'd already seen every inch of her body. She hated being shy and wished she could be as uninhibited as he was.

Still, they'd only been married less than two full days. Alesandra decided to tell him how awkward she was feeling and perhaps gain a few pointers on how to get past her shyness.

He turned her attention, then, when he tugged her nightgown up over her hips. She had to force herself not to slap his hands away.

“What are you doing?” She sounded breathless, felt like a complete fool. She knew exactly what he was doing.

“I'm helping you.”

“Do you notice how nervous I seem to be tonight?”

“Yes, I noticed,” he replied. The laughter was in his voice, but there was heat there, too. The craving to touch her had been plaguing him all day, breaking through his concentration at the oddest moments, and now, finally, he was going to satisfy the intense desire building inside him.

“You're still a little shy with me, aren't you, Alesandra?”

She rolled her eyes heavenward. A little shy? She felt as though she was about to explode with her embarrassment.

Colin pulled the gown up over her head and tossed it over the side of the bed. She immediately tried to cover herself with the blankets. He wouldn't let her shield herself from his gaze, however, and gently tugged the covers down to her waist.

She was perfectly formed. Her breasts were full, lush, beautiful. The pink nipples were already hard, ready, and he arrogantly believed it was his nearness that caused that reaction. He didn't think the goose bumps on her arms were due to the chill in the room, either. Her body was already responding to him, and he hadn't even touched her yet.

He took his time looking at her. She stared at the covers. “I'm not used to sleeping without a gown.”

“We aren't going to sleep, sweetheart.”

She found her first smile. “I know,” she whispered. She decided she had had quite enough of her own awkwardness, and although it took every bit of determination inside her, she turned to him. The look in his eyes—so warm, so caring—made her boldness easier. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him.

It felt wonderful to hold him so close, so intimately. The hair on his chest tickled her breasts. She let out a little sigh of pleasure and deliberately rubbed against him again. He grunted in reaction. His hands cupped her backside and he pulled her tight against his hard arousal. Her face was tucked under his chin. He nudged her chin up, then lowered his head to hers.

He kissed her forehead first, the bridge of her nose next, and then teased her mouth open by pulling on her lower lip with his teeth. His mouth settled over her parted lips. Her mouth felt so wondrously soft against his own, and the sweet taste of her made him ravenous for more. The slow penetration of his tongue made her shiver. She let out a tiny whimper when he withdrew and then his tongue penetrated deeper inside again. The lazy love play went on and on, for the kiss seemed endless as his mouth slanted over hers again and again. The broken sighs of her pleasure intensified his own. He'd never had a woman respond with such abandon. Her sensuality intoxicated him, and, dear God, he hadn't understood until last night, when he'd first taken her, that such passion was possible between a man and a woman. She held nothing back, and that honest response forced him to let go of his own shields, his own barriers.

He rolled her onto her back, kissed her again, then turned his attention to the side of her neck. His breathing was ragged against her ear. “You make me burn,” he whispered, his voice rough with need. “You get so hot so fast it makes me a little crazy.”

He sounded almost angry when he told her how she made him feel, but she still took his confession as a compliment. “It's the way you touch me, Colin,” she whispered back. “I can't help how I . . .”

The last of her words ended in a low whimper, for Colin had just taken one straining nipple into his mouth and began to suck it. His hand slid between her thighs and he began to stroke the fire inside her. His fingers slowly penetrated her tight sheath. She cried out, in pain and pleasure, and reached down to take hold of his hand. She wanted to push him away, for she was still terribly tender, but she couldn't seem to make herself do that. She couldn't quit twisting in his arms either. The pad of his thumb made circles around and around the soft curls at the junction of her thighs. He delved deeper and brushed against the hot nub of flesh hidden between the sleek folds of skin. She moaned his name.

“Colin, we shouldn't . . . I can't . . . Don't do that,” she cried out when his fingers penetrated her again. “It hurts. Oh, God, don't stop.”

She clung to her husband while she gave him her contradictory orders. She knew she wasn't making any sense, but she couldn't seem to find the right words to explain how he made her feel. Colin stopped her protest by covering her mouth with his. The kiss was ravenous, unending, consuming. When he next pulled back, she was so overwhelmed by her own desire, she couldn't think about the pain.

She could barely think at all.

Colin stared down at the beautiful woman in his arms and was almost undone by the passion in her eyes. Her lips, swollen and rosy from his kisses, beckoned him again. He gave into the need and kissed her once again.

“Do you remember I told you there was more than one way to make love?” he asked her, his voice thick with emotion.

She tried to concentrate on what he was asking her, but it was terribly difficult. Everything about Colin overwhelmed her. His skin was so hot against hers and she moved restlessly against him, trying to get closer and closer. His scent, an erotic mixture of male and sex, aroused her as much as his magical touch. Her toes curled into the hair on his muscular legs and her breasts rubbed against the crisp hair on his chest. Her hands stroked the bulge of muscle along his upper arms. He felt like hot steel and the sheer power she felt beneath her fingertips was an intoxication all its own. He was such a strong man, yet he was being terribly gentle with her.

Colin didn't wait for an answer to his question. The need to know all of her overwhelmed his every other thought. He kissed the flat of her stomach, traced her navel with his wet tongue, and then, before she could understand his intent, he pushed her thighs apart with his hands and moved lower to taste the liquid heat of her.

“No, you mustn't.” She whimpered the denial, for what he was doing to her was surely forbidden. It was appalling . . . and wonderful. Her control slipped further and further away with each erotic stroke of his tongue against the most private part of her. White-hot pleasure spiraled through her. She knew she was going to die from the sweet agony. The intimate sparing of his rough tongue against the sensitive nub of her desire drove her wild. She tried to tell him to stop even as she held him there and arched up against him for more of his erotic touch.

Her response drove him crazy. He wanted to give her fulfillment first, then teach her how to pleasure him, but the uninhibited way she moved beneath him made his own control snap. Her sexy moans made him wild to be inside her. He barely knew what he was doing now. The need overwhelmed him, ruled his every thought. His movements became rough, forceful, as he knelt between her silken thighs, dragged her arms around his neck, and plunged deep inside her. Perspiration beaded his brow, his breathing became choppy, and he clenched his jaw tight against the incredible feeling of her tight sheath squeezing every inch of his arousal. She fit him completely and the wet heat surrounding him made him shudder with raw pleasure. He heard her cry out. He stilled his movements, grimacing over that sweet torture.

“Am I hurting you, baby?”

She couldn't have answered him if she'd wanted to, for his mouth covered hers again, cutting off words and thoughts. The worry in his voice cut through the sensual haze of passion and she wanted to tell him yes, he was hurting her, but it didn't matter. The pleasure he gave her was far more intense—more demanding, too. She throbbed for release now. He wasn't moving quickly enough to suit her. She wrapped her legs around his thighs and arched up against him, telling him without words that she wanted more, and more, and more.

Colin understood. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and began to move within her. His thrusts weren't measured but hard, fast, because it was impossible for him to control anything now. The fire inside her beckoned him, burned him, and he wanted and needed to get closer.

He never wanted the agony and the ecstasy to end. He sank into her again and again. And yet, when he felt her tighten around him even more, heard her cry out his name, and knew then she was finding her own release, he thrust deep one last time and let out a low grunt of acceptance as he poured his seed into her.

He thought he had died. And gone to paradise. He collapsed against her, took a long gulp of air, and groaned again. He was so damned satisfied, he felt like smiling. He couldn't, though. He didn't have the strength.

It took Alesandra long minutes to recover. She felt safe and warm held so tenderly in her husband's arms. The terror she'd felt seconds before subsided with each ragged breath Colin took.

“Damn, you're good,” he said and rolled onto his back. The man wasn't much for flowery speech, Alesandra thought with a smile. It didn't matter. She was arrogantly proud of herself because she'd pleased him. Perhaps she should give him a little praise too. She rolled onto her side to face him, put her hand on his chest directly over his pounding heart, and whispered, “You're good, too. 'Tis the truth, you're the best I've ever had.”

He opened his eyes to look at her. “I'm the only one you've ever had, remember?” His voice was gruff with affection.

“I remember,” she said.

“No other man is ever going to touch you, Alesandra. You're mine.”

She wasn't bothered by his possessiveness. In truth, she found comfort in his attitude, for it made her think he must care for her. She belonged to him now, and the thought of doing what she had just done with any other man repelled her. There was only one Colin, and he belonged to her.

She rested the side of her face on his shoulder. “I wouldn't want anyone but you.”

He liked hearing her fervent admission and leaned up to kiss the top of her forehead to let her know how pleased he was.

Long minutes passed in silence. Alesandra thought about what had just happened to her and tried to make logical sense out of her behavior. It proved to be an impossible task, however, for her response to her husband was most illogical.

“Colin?”

“Yes?”

“When you touch me, my control seems to vanish. It felt as though my mind had become separated from my body. That doesn't make sense, does it?”

She didn't wait for his answer. “It was frightening—overwhelming, too—but it was also . . . splendid.”

Colin smiled in the darkness. His wife sounded thoroughly confused—worried, too. “It's supposed to feel good, sweetheart,” he whispered.