The Devil's Love (27 page)

drive, Abbey mumbled her excuses to Sam and Michael and made a quick escape to

her chamber to sulk over the humiliating evening.

Sometime later, Abbey stood quietly in front of the window, bathed in the moonlight that spilled into her room, contemplating how horribly turned around

her life had become.

When she heard the door open quietly, she sighed and lifted her gaze to the full

moon. “Thank you, but I don’t require anything, Sarah.” She heard the maid move

across the room. Not now, she thought miserably.

“Really, I prefer to be alone,” she insisted weakly.

“I prefer to be with you,” Michael responded softly. Abbey caught her breath;

she did not move, did not say a word. She felt him move behind her, felt his

fingers touch her arms and gently caress them. Her skin tingled at the contact;

she instinctively leaned against him when he slipped his arms around her waist

and pulled her to him.

‘ ’Abbey,‘’ he whispered softly in her ear, giving her a sharp bolt of pleasure.

She imagined his gray eyes as they had looked in the meadow. God, how she had

longed for him that day. Now, with his arms securely around her and his warm

breath on her neck, she was filled with a stronger desire than she thought

possible. It seemed to course through her of its own accord, begging for his

touch.

His hand lifted from her waist and gently caressed the nape of her neck.

Abbey

remained silent as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and brought it to his face before letting it fall softly. His arms found her waist again, and holding her firmly to him, he began to hum an old English tune in her ear, swaying gently.

Several moments passed without a word; there was nothing but the moon spilling

over them, the twining heat of their bodies, and his soft, low hum. Her desire

was great; when he pressed his warm lips against her neck, Abbey closed her eyes

and sighed softly, gratefully.

He grasped her shoulders and turned her around to face him. His gray eyes, dark,

silvery pools, languidly swept her face as he carefully brushed a strand of hair

from her forehead.

“You are an amazing woman, Abbey,” he muttered as his gaze settled on her mouth.

With his thumb, he traced the set line of her chin, then her lips. He slid his

hand behind her head and took hold of a handful of her lush mane. It felt like

silk as it slid through his fingers. He imagined her hair draping her body in his bed, resting against her bare breasts. He slowly pulled the thick, satiny

tresses over her shoulder. Her violet eyes, wide and wary, remained steadfast on

his face.

“You are not angry?” she asked softly, and shifted her gaze to the top of his

chest, where tiny curls of dark, crisp hair peeked from beneath his pristine silk shirt.

“Angry? Why on earth should I be angry?”

“Because of the things Lady Haversham said.”

Michael laughed softly. “I found it highly entertaining. But later I shall insist you explain your confrontation with cattle rustlers.”

Abbey closed her eyes and softly groaned with remorse. His fingers brushed

lithely across her cheek.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he murmured.

“I am not beautiful.”

Michael responded by kissing her eyelids. “I would beg to differ, madam,”

he

said thickly, then lightly brushed his lips across hers. She shifted closer to

him. Pleased, he tenderly stroked the contour of her cheek while his lips descended again, gently molding hers.

Abbey quickly yielded; lightning coursed up her spine as Michael’s tongue began

to explore her heatedly. Any apprehension swiftly dissipated and was replaced by

a desire that made her feel as if she were floating on air. His hands softly swept her body, leaving a trace of fire in their wake. She returned his kiss by

carefully exploring his lips and mouth, and he responded by tightening his embrace about her. She was surprised at how her body responded with a will of

its own, pressing against him as if it sought to melt into his sleek frame.

He finally drew back and gazed down at her. “You are magnificent, sweetheart,”

he whispered.

The small endearment made her heart pound, and she sighed.

That small, contented sigh ignited a flame within him.

He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her face upward.

His kiss, both urgent and tender, made her dizzy with desire. He slipped an arm

around her waist to steady her. Abbey’s head fell back as he pressed his warm

lips against her neck. His hand fluttered across her breast, sending a wave of

sheer pleasure down to the tips of her toes, and she grabbed his shoulders,

afraid for a moment she might fall.

“I want you, Abbey,” he whispered against her skin. Abbey did not answer.

He

lifted his head and looked down at her, stroking her cheek with his knuckles.

Desire mounted in him so quickly, its intensity stunned him. “I want to make

love to you.”

“I… don’t know,” she whispered.

He smiled seductively and brushed his lips across her forehead. “Are you afraid?” he asked, idly kissing the hollow of her throat.

Abbey went almost limp in his arms. “I don’t think so. Are you?” she forced

herself to respond.

He chuckled deep in his throat, then unexpectedly swept her into his arms. “No,”

he said emphatically, and turning on his heel, he carried her into his chamber,

to the massive, four-poster bed. He set her on her feet, kissed her again with

some urgency, then reached behind her and began to undo the buttons of her gown.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“Unbuttoning your gown.”

“B-but your valet!” she whispered frantically.

Michael grinned. “Would you prefer Damon do it?” he teased as he deftly moved

down the long row of buttons.

Abbey blushed furiously. “You said—”

“Forget what I said, forget everything except the simple fact that I want you

desperately.” His hands came to her shoulders and gradually pushed the gown down

her arms. It fell to the floor in a cloud of lilac and gold, leaving her in only a thin chemise.

“Good God,” he breathed in genuine appreciation, to which Abbey’s eyes widened.

She was so unlike any other woman he had ever known; this was no feigned

pretense of innocence. In spite of her incredible beauty, it was apparent no one

had ever told her before. When he reached to untie the tiny ribbon that held her

chemise, she nervously grabbed his hand.

“Michael, I don’t know anything!” she suddenly pleaded.

He stopped, realizing how truly innocent she was, and wrapped her in a warm

embrace. “What do you know?” he asked calmly.

“Nothing, nothing at all! Just that I am to lie there while you do… that.‘’

Michael kissed the top of her head, gently pried her fingers from his hand, and

again pulled on the ribbon of her chemise.

“That,” he said patiently, “is the most pleasurable experience a man and woman

can share, despite what you may have been told.” He saw her look of doubt and

continued. “When a man makes love to his wife, he covers her with gentle kisses

to show her how beautiful he finds her,” he said as he pulled the second ribbon

free, revealing her voluptuous breasts. The two succulent globes were as perfect

as he had imagined. He palmed a dark nipple that rose quickly to his touch.

“That’s all?” she whispered skeptically.

He laughed softly as his fingers splayed across her breast and nipple and squeezed gently. “Something else may arise, but I think it better if I show you.” Before she could disagree, he covered her mouth in a stupefying kiss and

slipped the thin chemise from her shoulders and down her sides. Her skin was

like satin beneath his fingers. Abbey shivered; from desire or fear he did not

know, and he gently eased her down onto his bed.

He quickly shrugged out of his shirt. She was lying there as he had imagined she

would, dark luxuriant hair framing her voluptuous body. God, but she had a beautiful body, from her breasts, to her slender waist, to the flare of her narrow hips, and her long, shapely legs. In the faint moonlight, her skin glowed

radiantly. Her dark eyes flicked over his upper body, but when he freed his rigid member she flinched.

‘ ’Dear God,‘’ she whispered softly. Michael had been with only one other virgin

in his life, and he had been a young, bumbling lad then. It had been painful for

them both, but he had learned. He hastily lowered himself to her and crushed his

mouth to hers until, at last, her hands curled around his neck. Michael lifted

his head and looked down at her.

“You lie there as you are now, while I,” he said as he slipped a hand to her breast, smiling when she arched at his touch, “cover every inch of you with kisses.”

“But what…”

“Don’t be afraid.” He smiled, then kissed the tip of her nose. Her gaze slipped

to his mouth. His pulse coursed madly in his neck as he lowered himself to claim

her again. Her breasts, rubbing seductively against the fine mat of hair on his

chest, were contributing to the urgent need building in him. He began a slow,

seductive exploration of her body as his mouth slanted over hers, demanding more

and more from her. He returned a hand to her breast, then let it slide down her

side, pausing on her flat stomach while he rubbed subtly against her, his member

thickening with the contact of her rose-petal skin. When his fingers brushed

deliberately against the inside of her thigh, she inhaled softly, so softly that

Michael had to grit his teeth in an effort to maintain control.

Abbey was not conscious of anything but his touch, both alarmed and titillated

by the response it evoked deep within her. She gasped when he brought his mouth

to her breast, but when his hand slipped between her legs and stroked the silken

folds there she thought she would come out of her skin. She was fast losing

control; her thighs parted for him as if they had a will of their own. He muttered something incomprehensible against her breast before he slipped his

fingers deep inside her. Abbey lifted uncontrollably against his palm.

It was not supposed to be like this. She was not supposed to like it. But like

it she did; in fact, she reveled in it. A curious mix of pleasure and budding anticipation swept through her. She needed him to do… something.

“You’re ready for me, sweetheart,” he whispered as his fingers gently probed

her, then slowly withdrew, stroking her as he did, then repeated the excruciatingly pleasurable motion. Abbey felt herself falling away, and she pushed her hands against the headboard, moaning softly.

“Not yet,” he murmured against her stomach. She did not know what he meant, nor

did she care. Her body screamed for release from the sensual weight that pressed

against her; she writhed as he moved his thigh in between her legs and lifted

himself over her. Her breathing was ragged; he kissed her breast as he laced her

fingers with his above her head. With his other hand he guided her to feel his

passion. Abbey jerked away when she felt the velvet head, alarmed by the size of

it. Michael, not deterred, guided her hand between her legs while he brushed the

tip against her. Shuddering uncontrollably, Abbey was astonished at the waves of

desire crashing through her.

“Something’s happening,.” She gasped.

It was all the encouragement he needed.

“It’s all right, darling, it’s all right,” he cooed as he gently guided himself inside her, sliding deeper and deeper with small, rhythmic movements.

Abbey’s

hands tightened about his, silently begging him to give her the fulfillment she

did not even know she wanted.

Michael’s control was at an end; he did not think he could contain himself one

second longer. Her tight, hot sheath contracted around him; she arched her

pelvis against him and instinctively demanded more. He felt the thin membrane of

her virginity and stopped. Her eyes were closed, her swollen lips slightly parted as she softly sought her breath. He thought it terribly fantastic that he, a man of the world and no stranger to women, would want this sweet virgin

more than he had ever wanted a woman in his life. He moaned, covered her mouth

with his, and thrust powerfully within her. Abbey cried out against his mouth as

her body convulsed around him. She went rigid, her eyes closed tightly shut

against the pain.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, it won’t hurt again,” he whispered hoarsely. Abbey lay

very still beneath him and said nothing. He kissed her cheek, her throat,

and

her ear. When her grip on him began to relax, he began an unhurried, sultry

movement, biting his lip to keep from spilling himself inside her. Abbey whimpered at first but slowly began to respond. As his strokes lengthened within

her, her response grew passionate and incredibly instinctive. Her knees came up

on either side of him, and she lifted her pelvis to reach him, matching his rhythm. Her hair, spilling wildly about her, covered part of her face, and Michael thought that the very fragile hold he had on his own raging desire was

to be commended. He held steady, praying she would find her fulfillment soon.

Abbey felt as if she were on a cloud, slowly drifting away from the world, from

everything but Michael. The oddly pleasurable pressure began to mount in her

again, and as his strokes deepened within her, the pressure became unbearable.

“Come now, darling, now,” he urged her, watching her eyes as she did.