Devil's Bride (36 page)

One hand at her back holding her upright, Devil deepened the kiss, skimming his other hand upward, over her taut abdomen, before closing it about her breast. The already heated flesh swelled and firmed; he kneaded and heard her moan. He drew back from the kiss; she let her head fall back, the exposed curve of her throat an offering he didn't refuse. He trailed hot kisses down the pulsing vein; she inched closer, pressing her breast to his palm.

Bending her back, he lowered his head. She stilled, her breathing harried. One long lick dampened the silk covering one nipple. She gasped as his lips touched the ruched peak—he suckled lightly and felt her melt.

He couldn't even remember the last time he'd bedded a virgin—even then, whoever she was, she hadn't been a gently reared, twenty-four-year-old capable of unexpected enthusiasms. He harbored no illusions over how difficult the next half hour would be; for the first time in his lengthy career, he prayed he'd be strong enough to manage—her, and the passion she unleashed in him. Head bent, he tortured one tightly budded nipple, then turned his attention to its mate.

Sinking her fingers into his upper arms, Honoria gasped and swayed. With her bones transmuted to warm honey, her weak grip, his hand at her back and the tantalizing tug of his lips were all that was keeping her upright. Hot and wet, his lips, his mouth, moved over her breasts, teasing first one aching peak, then the other until both were swollen tight. She ached to touch him, to send her hands searching, but didn't dare let go. His lips left her; a second later, his teeth grazed one crinkled nipple.

Sharp sensation lanced through her; she gave a muted cry. His lips returned, soothing her flesh, then he suckled hard—and within her heat rose. Wave upon wave, it answered his call, a primal urge building, swelling, surging ever stronger. With a long-drawn moan, she swayed forward, into his kiss.

It caught her, anchored her, as his hands roved her body, heated palms burning. Every curve she possessed, he traced; every square inch of her skin tingled, then ached for more. Her back, her sides, the curve of her stomach, the long muscles of her thighs, her arms, her bottom—none escaped his attention; her skin was flushed, dewed, when he lifted the edge of her gown.

The shiver that racked her came from deep within, a final farewell to the virgin she was but would be no more. His hands rose and he released her lips. From under weighted lids, Honoria saw the silk in his hands, already above her waist. Dragging in a huge breath that, for all her effort, was insufficient to steady her giddy head, she lifted her arms. The gown whispered from her. It screened the candles as it floated out beyond the bed; she traced its fall, feeling the air, then his hands, on her skin.

His arms closed about her.

Heat, warm skin, hard muscle surrounded her; his crisp mat of midnight black hair rasped her sensitized nipples. Hard lips found hers, demanding, commanding, ravishing her senses—no surrender requested, no quarter considered—he would take her, body and soul, and more.

For one instant, the onslaught swept her before it, then she shuddered in his arms, set her feet against desire's tide—and met his demands with her own. Passion stirred, stretched, unfolded between them; splaying her fingers, she sank the tips into his chest, and felt his muscles lock. She kissed him with a fervor to match his own, reveling in the urgency building between them, glorying in the heady rush, the growing vortex of their need.

Excitement whirled as their lips melded, each breath the other's, tongues entwined. She sank into his heat, drank it in, and felt it flood her. His hands roamed, as urgently demanding as his lips, hard palms sculpting, fingers flexing, possessing. Still on her knees, her thighs locked on either side of his, her hips pressed to his abdomen, she felt his hands curve and cup her bottom. One remained, holding her high, the other slid lower, long fingers questing. They found her heat and slid further, pressing between her thighs, probing the hot, slick folds, caressing, then pressing deep.

And deeper, igniting her fire.

The wild rush of flames seared her; she ached and burned. His only response was to deepen their kiss, holding her captive as the flames roared on. His fingers stroked slowly, deliberately—the flames grew in intensity, to a sheet, then a wall, finally erupting into an inferno, fueled by urgent need.

The inferno pulsed to her heartbeat; the same beat rang in her veins, in her ears, a tattoo of desire driving her on.

Abruptly, Devil drew back from their kiss. His fingers left her; he cupped her bottom with both hands. “Slide down.”

Honoria couldn't believe the strength of the compulsion that gripped her—she needed him inside her more than she needed to breathe. Even so . . . She shook her head. “You're never going to fit.”

His hands firmed about her hips. “Just slide.”

She did, sinking lower, his hands guiding her. She felt the first touch of his staff, hot and hard, and stopped. He slipped his fingers between her thighs and opened her; she felt the first intimate intrusion of his body into hers. Catching her breath on a strangled gasp, she sank lower, and felt the rounded head slip inside.

He felt large, much larger than she'd expected. She sucked in a breath; under the weight of his hands, she sank still lower. Hard as forged iron, hot as unquenched steel, he pressed into her. She shook her head again. “This is not going to work.”

“It will.” She felt his words within her; he was, if anything, even tenser than she, rock-hard muscles flickering. “You'll stretch to take me—women's bodies are built that way.”

He was the expert. Through the maelstrom of emotions besetting her—uncertainty, desire, and giddy need, laced with distant remnants of modesty, all subsumed beneath the most desperate longing she'd ever known—Honoria clung to that fact. The inferno inside her swelled; she sank down.

And stopped.

Immediately, Devil lifted her, not quite losing her clinging heat. “Sink down again.” She did, until her maidenhead again impeded their progress. Under his hands, she repeated the maneuver again and again.

She was hot, slick and very tight; once she was moving freely, he brushed his lips against her temple. “Kiss me.”

She lifted her head immediately, swollen lips parted, eager for more. He took her mouth voraciously, struggling to harness the wild passion that drove him, battling to remain in control long enough to avoid unnecessarily hurting her. He was going to hurt her enough as it was.

On the heels of the thought came the deed. One, powerful upward thrust, timed to meet her downward slide, enforced by the pressure of his hands on her hips, and it was done. He breached her in that single movement, forging deep into her body, filling her, stretching her.

She screamed, the sound smothered by their kiss. Her body tensed; so did his.

Focusing completely on her, waiting for her softening, the first sign of acceptance that he knew would come, Devil grimly denied the primal urge to lose himself in her heat, to plunder the scalding softness that clasped him, to assuage his driving need.

Their lips had parted; they were both breathing raggedly. From under his lashes, he watched as she moistened her lips with her tongue.

“Was that the scream you were talking about?”

“No.” He touched his lips to the corner of hers. “There'll be no more pain—from now on, you'll only scream with pleasure.”

No more pain. Her senses awash, overloaded with sensation, Honoria could only hope. The memory of the sharp agony that had speared her was so intense she could still feel it. Yet with every breath, with every heartbeat, the heat of him, the glow suffusing her, eased the ache. She tried to shift; his hands firmed, holding her still.

“Wait.”

She had to obey. Until that moment, she hadn't appreciated how completely in his control she was. The hard, throbbing reality that had invaded her, intimately filling her, impinged fully on her mind. Vulnerability swept her, rippling through her, all the way to . . .

Her senses focused on the place where they joined. She heard Devil groan. Blinking, she looked up; his eyes were shut, his features like stone. Under her hands, the muscles of his shoulders were taut, locked in some phantom battle. Inside her, the steady throb of him radiated heat and a sense of barely reined urgency. Her pain had gone. On the thought, the last of her tension ebbed; the last vestiges of resistance fell away. Tentatively, her gaze on his face, she eased from his hold, and rose slowly on her knees.

“
Yes
.” The single word was heavy with encouragement.

He stopped her at the precise point beyond which their contact would break. She sensed his eagerness, the same compelling urgency that welled within her; she needed no direction to sink slowly down, enthralled by the feel of his steely hardness sliding, slick and hot, deep into her.

She did it again, and again, head falling back as she slid sensuously down, opening her senses completely, savoring every drawn-out second. Their guidance no longer required, his hands roved, reclaiming her breasts, the full curves of her bottom, the sensitive backs of her thighs. All awkwardness, all reticence, had vanished; lifting her head, Honoria draped her arms about his neck and sought his lips with hers. The glide of their bodies, uniting in a rhythm as old as the moon, felt exquisitely right. She gave him her mouth; as he claimed it, she tightened her arms, pressing herself to him, drawn to the promise contained within his powerful body, flagrantly demanding more.

He drew back from the kiss; under his lashes, she saw his eyes gleam.

“Are you all right?”

His hands traced mesmerizing circles over her bottom. At the peak of her rise, Honoria held his gaze—and slowly, concentrating on the rigid hardness invading her, sank down.

She felt his rippling shudder and saw his jaw firm. His eyes flashed. Greatly daring, she licked the vein pulsing at the base of his throat. “Actually, I find this quite . . .” She was so far past breathless her words shook.

“Surprising?” His voice was a rumble almost too low to be heard.

Catching a desperate breath, Honoria closed her eyes.

“
Enthralling
.”

His laugh was so deep she felt it in her marrow. “Trust me.” His lips traced the curve of her ear. “There's a great deal more pleasure to come.”

“Ah, yes,” Honoria murmured, trying desperately to cling to sanity. “I believe you claim to be a past master at this exercise.” Dragging in a tight breath, she rose upon him. “Does that make me your mistress?”

“No.” Devil held his breath as she sank, excruciatingly slowly, down. “That makes you my pupil.” It would make her his slave, but he'd no intention of telling her that, nor that, if she applied herself diligently, the connection might just work both ways.

On her next downward slide, she pressed lower; he nudged deeper. Her breath hitched; instinctively, she tightened about him. Devil set his teeth against a groan.

Eyes wide, she looked up at him, her breathing shallow and fast. “It feels . . . very strange . . . to have you . . . inside me.” Breasts rising and falling, brushing his chest, she moistened her lips. “I really didn't think . . . you'd fit.”

Devil locked his jaw—along with every other muscle he possessed. After a moment of fraught silence, he managed to say: “I'll fit—eventually.”

“Event . . . ?”

Her eyes grew round—he didn't wait for more. He caught her lips in a ravishing kiss and, anchoring her hips against him, tumbled her back onto the pillows.

He'd chosen their earlier position to breach her, placing a limit on how deep he could go, helpful given the force of his instincts. But the time for limits had passed; his swift rearrangement landed her on her back among the pillows, his hips between her thighs, his staff still within her.

She tensed as his weight trapped her; instantly, he lifted his chest and shoulders from her, straightening his arms, his hands sinking into the down on either side. Their kiss broken, her eyes flew open.

He trapped her gaze in his. Slowly, deliberately, he withdrew from her, then, fluidly flexing his spine, he entered her.

Inexorably, inch by inch, he claimed her; heated and slick, her body welcomed him, stretching to take him in. He watched her eyes widen, the blue-grey transmuting to silver, then fracturing as he surged deeper. He sheathed himself in her softness, sinking into her to the hilt, nudging her womb. He came to rest embedded within her; she held him in a scorching silken vice.

Gazes locked, they both held still.

Honoria couldn't breathe, he filled her so completely; she could feel the steady beat of him at the base of her throat. Staring up at his face, she saw the hard planes shift, sharp-edged with reined passion. A conqueror looked down on her, green eyes dark, ringed with silver—the conqueror she'd given herself to. A sense of possession swamped her; her heart swelled, then soared.

He was waiting—for what? Some sign of surrender? On the thought, certainty bloomed within her; a glorious confi-dence filled her. She smiled—slowly, fully. Her hands had come to rest on his forearms; lifting them, she reached up and drew his face to hers. She heard him groan in the instant their lips met. He came down on his elbows, his hands flick-ing her hair aside, then framing her face.

He deepened their kiss and her senses went spinning; his body moved on her, within her, and pleasure bloomed.

Like waves piling on the shore, they surged together. Sensations swelled like the incoming tide, rolling ever higher. She caught the rhythm and matched him, letting her body welcome him, holding him tight for a heartbeat before reluctantly releasing him. Again and again they formed that intimate embrace; each time, each devastatingly thorough thrust pushed her higher, further, onward toward some beckoning shore she could only barely perceive. Her mind and senses merged, then soared, locked in dizzying flight. Heat and light spread through her, running down each vein, irradiating each nerve. Then heat changed to fire and light to incandescent glory.