Temptations of a Wallflower (20 page)

She stiffened beneath him. Her face was tight and strained.

“I've hurt you,” he panted, agonized.

Her eyes were wide and shining as she shook her head. But it was no use. He knew she was in pain. There was no hiding it in her taut muscles, the whiteness of her lips.

He moved to pull out.

“Don't,” she said, voice thick. She tightened her legs around him, keeping him lodged within her. “Keep going.”

Argument was impossible, not when she felt so blissful around him. She was so tight. So narrow. It
took some work to thrust more deeply into her. He sank in and out. Sensation engulfed him. He couldn't last, no matter how much he wanted to.

The climax ripped through him in an instant. He groaned, his head thrown back as he poured his release into her.

He opened his eyes. It was over. They were joined as husband and wife.

But it hadn't been pleasurable for her. Pain and disappointment shone in her eyes, though she smiled bravely at him when he gazed down at her.

He'd had his release, but it hadn't been satisfying. Not the way he'd imagined. She hadn't made any sounds of pleasure. Her face had been tight with pain, not passion.

He made a vow to himself, then and there. He would stop at nothing to give her pleasure, and he would spend his every moment learning how to do just that.

I did not continue on my journey to the countryside. The lush landscape held little appeal—its very abundance seemed barren to me. I turned around and headed back to London. The bustling, crowded city was so familiar, but changed now through my new vision. How would I ever return to the life I'd once known?

The Highwayman's Seduction

J
eremy rolled off Sarah and she lay on her back, staring at the light dancing across the ceiling. Her body cooled. She rested her wrist on her forehead, trying to bank the feelings of disappointment that refused to abate.

She had hoped for insupportable, endless pleasure. The kind of pleasure that would drive her mad in its pursuit. The sort of feelings and sensations she'd been writing about in exquisite detail as the Lady of Dubious Quality.

But had it all been a lie she'd told herself? She'd read so many other people's accounts of sex, and they had
been so rapturous, so blissful. It couldn't all be untrue. Surely, paradigm-shifting ecstasy had to be possible. But not with her and Jeremy. Another wave of regret and disenchantment pulsed through her. They'd shown so much promise, but something wasn't right between them. Was it him? Was it her? Or did they simply not work together?

“You're very quiet,” he said, lying beside her and also staring up at the ceiling.

“I'm tired,” she answered. How could she voice her doubts? This was to be their life together. Maybe it was simply a matter of nerves? Neither of them had much experience. It could get better . . . in time.

And it had been good—when he'd kissed her and touched her intimately. She'd glowed with burgeoning sensation, and it had lured her onward. But it had all been cut short, replaced by discomfort and awkwardness.

“Just a moment.” He rose, nude, from the bed, and she allowed herself the simple pleasure of watching him in the glow of the fire and candlelight. He surely had a body made for sensuality—all lean, sinewed muscle, tight and firm without a trace of softness. His thighs and buttocks were taut and solid. Golden hair curled lightly over his hard chest, and trailed lower, down his belly in a fine line. Until it reached a thatch of tawny curls that surrounded his sated penis.

That made one of them who was satisfied.

Her mouth flattened into a line as she tried to suppress her feelings of being let down. They simply needed more time. Time to discover each other. What they wanted. What they liked. What didn't work.

Jeremy himself seemed quiet and preoccupied as he crossed the room, his brow furrowed. He did not strut like a proud, pleased man. He walked to the washstand and dipped a cloth in water. Then he returned to the bed.

When he moved to clean her between her legs, she reached for the cloth. “I can do that.”

“Let me,” he murmured.

So she lay back and widened her legs, a trace of shyness skittering through her—though there was no need. He'd seen her now, knew her body. Was there any mystery left?

She half expected his movements to be brisk and businesslike. Instead, he was slow and gentle, caressing her with the damp towel in careful swipes. She sighed and closed her eyes. This was pleasant. More than pleasant. Warmth crept along her veins with each touch of the cloth to her sore quim, both outside and . . . inside.

“I wanted it to be good for you,” he said quietly. He exhaled. “Didn't quite work out the way I'd planned.”

Should she lie, and say it was everything she'd ever wanted? They expected more from each other—and there were too many untruths between them already. “It will get better,” she said without opening her eyes.

The cloth stilled and was removed. “You'll let me try again?”

She looked at him. “Of course. Why wouldn't I?”

“I was a beast,” he said with biting self-recrimination. “I hurt you.”

“To be expected the first time.”

His eyes gleamed with more self-directed anger. “And if I hurt you again?”

She cupped the side of his face, feeling the stubble there against her palm. “You won't.”

His gaze slid away. “I'm humbled by your faith in me.”

“I have faith in
us,
” she answered, gently guiding his face around so that their gazes met.

He kissed her, sweetly. Hotly. “I want no regrets between us.”

“And I want the same.” Yet she didn't quite have the confidence of which she spoke. Doubts continued to sting her, like needles. Would it be better? Would she come to lament her choice? Would he bemoan marrying her? Everything was so much more simple in books. The happy ending was a foregone conclusion. Not so with life. There were no guarantees. No Lady of Dubious Quality guiding the narrative toward a satisfactory finish.

She and Jeremy were silent for a long time. He finally spoke. “I meant what I said before. I've wanted you in so many ways for so long.” His cheeks darkened. “I want to try again.” He brushed his lips over hers. “Let me give you more.”

She was sore, and tired, but the need and urgency in him lit a new flame within her. “What would you like?” Her voice had gone low and husky.

His gaze met hers. “Everything.”

There would always be a part of her he could never know, never touch. She wanted to share the rest with him. To belong to another person, and have him belong to her. Mutual possession. She'd ached for it most of her life, and now it was being offered to her. She had only to claim it.

Taking a deep breath, she relaxed herself into the bed, her arms at her sides, her legs parted.

Setting the cloth aside, he bent down and took her mouth in a leisurely, deep kiss. Both languid and powerfully alive, she responded, her nerves sparking to life. A delicate, bright tension wove through her body as his kiss grew bolder, more sure.

Suddenly, she was naked. He whisked away her chemise and cool air touched her all over, stroking her heated flesh. For a moment, he simply looked at her, drinking her in as though she was his first sunrise.

His hands became very curious, exploring her body with a thoroughness that stole time. He touched her everywhere—along her arms, her neck, between and beneath her breasts. Then he stroked her breasts to needy points, gathering sensation at the very tips. The pleasure spread and built with each caress, echoing between her legs in warm pulses. His lips found one nipple, gently licking, sucking. She cradled him to her, arching upward. Yes, there—there was the pleasure she'd craved.

As he twirled his tongue around her nipple, one of his hands drifted down her belly, settling at her quim. His fingers probed and learned, stroking her. There was a moment of aching soreness—but it soon dissolved into sensation as he touched her with tender confidence. He found her clit and circled it. Golden light burst behind her eyelids as he caressed her there, a tenuous but marvelous pleasure. His own self-assurance grew as she moaned in response, as he came to know what she wanted. She showed him with her body—and he learned quickly.

She felt wetness slick her sex and his fingers. Everywhere was glorious sensation, and she writhed with it, heedless of everything but his touch.

He breathed against her damp flesh. “I want to . . . Let me . . .”

She did not ask him what he wanted as his mouth left her breast and trailed down her ribs, over her stomach. She lifted herself up onto her elbows, watching, amazed, deeply aroused, as he folded himself back and settled his head between her legs.

Was she to know this? Could she dare hope . . . ?

Yes.

His lips found her quim. He growled against her folds, and she collapsed backward at the touch of his mouth to her. Logic and words and comprehension all shattered apart, never to be found again. All she knew was feeling and response and brilliant pleasure. He traced her with his tongue, licked deeply, wetly. Stroke upon stroke as he swirled around her clit. He sank a finger into her, sucking on her pearl at the same time. Gone was the shy, uncertain vicar. This was a man of primal hunger and demand. Who knew precisely how to give her what she needed.

There was something vaguely familiar about Jeremy's mouth on her. The way he touched her with his tongue and his fingers . . . she dimly recognized it. Yet that couldn't be possible. She'd never done this before with anyone. How could she feel anything but amazement and ecstasy?

Thought broke apart and collapsed on itself as his finger stroked in and out, matching time with him gently taking her clit between his lips. He curved his
finger slightly, pressing against a sensitive, full spot deep within her.

She splintered into a million shards of pleasure. Her climax was a wild thing, unstoppable. A cry broke from her lips, hard and unrestrained. She forgot everything. All she understood was this frenzy of sensation that rent her apart. She bowed up, clawing at the bedsheets.

But he wasn't done with her. Not until he wrung out another orgasm. And another. He was unyielding.

At last he relented and climbed up her body, kissing her skin as he ascended. When he stretched out beside her, he smiled down with a proud look.

“I'm only a scholarly man,” he murmured, brushing her hair back from her damp forehead, “but I do believe you enjoyed that.”

She managed to collect herself enough to speak. “Conceit is a dangerous thing.”

“Not in bed,” he said, grabbing hold of her hand and pressing his lips to her fingertips.

She felt his hard cock nudge her thigh. Glancing down, she saw that he was thick and curved. “Only one of us is quenched.”

Despite the fact that he'd been licking and sucking on her sex not moments before, he blushed. “There are only so many demands I can make of you in one night.”

“I want your demands,” she said, and drew him down for a kiss. She tasted herself on his lips, and desire roared back to life.

He didn't ask if she was sure. In a swift movement, he was atop her again, settling between her legs.

“Can we . . .” She swallowed. “Let me be on top.” She'd written that position so many times, with
the woman in control of both the man and her own pleasure—and now she had her chance to experience it for herself.

His eyes widened, but he rolled over so that she straddled him.

“I like this,” she murmured, eyeing him splayed beneath her, awaiting her command, her desire.

“You're not alone,” he answered. His throat worked as his gaze moved over her hair, her breasts, then down to her sex pressed against his. He gripped her hips.

Sarah slid her hips back and forth, allowing his cock to slide between her slick folds. She was in complete control as she guided him precisely where she wanted him to be. At her entrance, against her clit. Both pleasure and power built with each stroke and swivel. Through hazed eyes, she stared down at him. His own gaze was heavy-lidded as he watched her.

“Yes,” he growled. “Take what you want.”

She did. She rubbed and glided. And when he brought up one of his hands to lightly pinch at her nipple, she felt the leading edge of another climax start.

Sarah moved, bringing his cock into her. With one swift, sure plunge, he was seated within her. There was only a fragment of pain, disappearing into a heavy cloud of pleasure that encircled her like an enchantment. Oh, this position was marvelous, allowing her to place him precisely where she wanted him to be. And there was wonder, too—that a strong, strapping man was hers to command, yielding to her willingly. She felt his strength, as well, as his hips rose to meet hers, the thickness of his cock inside her, filling her.

Her pace increased, her pleasure growing brighter and brighter.

“As fast and hard as you want, love,” he groaned. “Take us there. Make us come.”

Hearing this quiet, cultured man speak such earthy words—she couldn't last. Her orgasm took her, so intensely it was almost cruel. She tipped her head forward and moaned in release.

With a few more strokes, he followed her, growling her name as he came. It was a long, endless, too-brief moment. She splayed atop him, panting.

Now I know.
What could be. What they could make together. The world opened up. Her heart was full. They had become the hero and heroine of their own tale.

T
he candle went out, and the only light in the room came from the fire and soft moonlight streaming in through the small window above the bed. The taproom below was silent—it was late, and everyone must have gone home to find the shelter of their own beds. Sarah had no desire to leave the bed she lay in now, wrapped close to her husband, aglow with the pleasure they'd made together.

He nuzzled her neck, his lips seeking, and she laughed throatily. “Again?” They'd made love once more—that final time, he'd taken her from behind, with her on her hands and knees. Like animals. It had been . . . wonderful.

“Again and again and again,” he murmured. “Always. Forever.” His hand trailed over her breast, stroking her flesh. Her nipple made an obliging point, roused by his
touch, but she hadn't any strength left to do more but accept his touch.

“I want more,” she breathed. “After a little rest.”

“A
little
rest.” He sounded only half serious. But he seemed to have spoken truly—too much passion existed between them, too much wanting to let more time pass before they loved each other again. “You've built a fire in me.”

“And you in me. Though I had my concerns,” she admitted, stroking her hand down his muscled back.

He grimaced. “All my grand plans for our first time. They didn't amount to much.”

She smiled gently. Then, hesitantly, “Where . . . did you learn to do those things. With your . . . mouth. And your fingers . . . ?”

Despite everything, he still blushed adorably, sensuously. “Can I tell you a secret?”

She propped herself up on her elbows. “You can tell me anything at all.”

“It's a little embarrassing to admit this, but . . .” Uncurling his body from around hers, he rose from the bed, then walked to his valise. She watched with a puzzled frown as he produced a small book. He sat on the edge of the bed and handed the volume to her.