The Marrying Season (16 page)

“Shall I go on?” he whispered, looking into her eyes.

“Yes,” she breathed.

A primitive male satisfaction flared in his eyes. His fingers moved down, slipping into her, and Genevieve’s eyes widened in surprise. He slid in and out, gently stretching her. Then he moved between her legs, lifting her hips, and his maleness probed her tender flesh. She tightened at the touch and he stopped, stretching out above her and pressing his mouth to hers. He kissed her sweetly, seductively, making her whole body flame with passion. She relaxed, her legs falling apart, and he entered her.

There was a slash of pain, and then he was sliding into her, filling her. She had never imagined this, the deep fundamental satisfaction of having him inside her, a part of her. For a long moment he remained still, then he began to move within her. This, too, was a new wonder, she realized, as he thrust into her again and again. The pleasure that had danced through her body began to coalesce, tightening into a knot deep inside her.

He surged inside her, a low cry issuing from his lips. Genevieve felt as if she teetered on the edge of something marvelous, but then it was gone as Myles sank down on top of her. His breath rasped against her neck; his body was like a furnace. And those things, too, increased the heat that teased within her. She had never felt so wonderful, so alive and sparkling, yet something gnawed at her, some lack that she could not even name.

Myles raised his head and looked down at her. “Ah, sweet Genny. Not quite there yet, are you?”

She had no idea what he meant, but he rolled from her, and she sighed at the loss of his fullness. His hand slid down to find her again, and she blinked in surprise.

“Myles, what are—” A little moan of pleasure cut her off, and her eyes fluttered closed. “Myles . . .”

“You’ll see,” he told her huskily, his touch slow and insistent.

The powerful tension was building in her again, taking her over. Her breath was almost a sob as she arched up against his hand, her body tensing.

“There now, sweet girl,” he murmured, kissing the point of her shoulder. “Patience. I won’t leave you wanting.”

His hand tightened on her, firm and demanding. Suddenly the teasing promise exploded within her. Genevieve clenched her teeth as she convulsed beneath his touch, pleasure rippling out through every part of her body. She went limp, her breath sighing out of her.

Myles wrapped his arms around her, rolling onto his back with her cradled to him. Genevieve slipped her arm around him, luxuriating in the feel of his warm, damp skin beneath her. What, she wondered as she slid effortlessly into sleep, had her grandmother been warning her about?

In late afternoon they awakened
and returned to the pool. Genevieve protested walking outside unclothed, but Myles picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. She shrieked, but found the view of his backside from this position too interesting to keep up her complaints. They
splashed about in the water, teasing and laughing, and this time she managed to float on her own—at least until he bent down to kiss the ruby tips of her breasts peeking up above the water, which sent her immediately sinking to the bottom in surprise. But it did not matter, for he scooped her up to kiss her. As he held her there, hard against him, she did what she had been thinking about ever since the night before and wrapped her legs around him.

Myles gave a little grunt of satisfaction, and hands on her hips, he ground her against him. Genevieve leaned her head on his shoulder, marveling at the response of her body to the feel of his hard length against her most intimate flesh. Did all wives feel like this? She could not help but wonder whether she was more wanton than most. Yet, she could not but think of Damaris’s obvious happiness—and Thea’s, as well. Of course, neither of them were models of propriety.

“Ah, Genevieve,” Myles murmured, trailing slow kisses down her neck. “You tempt me past all my good intentions.” He kissed her lightly on the lips and set her from him.

“Oh.” Genevieve was distinctly disappointed. “Of course. You would not wish to . . . to continue in that vein after, um, it’s over.” She had taken a misstep. She turned aside, very conscious now of her nakedness. “I fear that I am not conversant with the proper—”

His hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her back around. “It’s no question of propriety.” He took her chin, tilting it up until she looked into his face. “And it certainly
is no question of what I want. There is nothing I would like more than to make love to you again right now. Right here.” He pulled her to him again, smiling down at her. “Cannot you feel what I desire?”

“Yes.” Genevieve colored a little and leaned her head against his chest to hide her face. “I do indeed.” Her hand slipped down between them as if to touch him before she jerked it back guiltily.

“Go ahead,” he said in a low voice, and his hand covered hers, sliding it back down his body.

She curled her fingers around him, glad that he could not see her face, and slid it down the length of the shaft, intrigued by the satin-smooth texture, the pulsing hardness pressing beneath it. He made a sound, muffled in her hair, and she paused, uncertain.

“No, don’t stop.” His voice was laced with amusement and hunger. “Feel free to do with me as you will.” He kissed her hair.

Genevieve glided her hand back up and between his legs, cupping the heavy sac, and this movement pulled a low groan from him. She was coming to understand that such sounds were of pleasure, not pain. She looked up into his face, curiosity outgrowing her embarrassment now. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted. She experimented, watching the play of emotions across his face. Something in seeing how she could affect him was deeply thrilling.

“Then why did you stop?” she asked, teasing her thumbnail back up the length of him.

“For you.” He stroked his hand down her hair. “I feared it was too soon—I do not wish to hurt you.”

Genevieve raised her head, startled. “Does it always hurt?”

“No. Oh, no.” He cupped her face in his hands and bent to kiss her. “I thought only that you might be a trifle sore. The truth is, I am not accustomed to untried maidens.” He smiled faintly. “I would use care with you.”

“Oh.” Genevieve leaned her head against him, smiling to herself. “I am not so very delicate, you know.”

“No?” He slid his hand over her shoulder and down her back.

“No.” It was tempting standing this close to him, touching him. Her fingers itched to touch him in other places. He did not seem to mind her boldness, and on that thought she slipped her hands up across his abdomen and over the jutting points of his hip bones, curving back to smooth over his rounded buttocks. She felt him prodding her, and she knew her touch had pleased him.

So she did not cease her explorations, but continued down onto his thighs and back, digging her fingertips into the fleshy mounds as he had done with her. Her mind went to the other things he had done, the tormenting, arousing way his mouth had teased her. Without stopping to think, she pressed her lips against his chest. He was wet from the pool and faintly salty, his skin warm. She wanted to taste him more.

She went to one flat, masculine nipple, circling it with her tongue before clamping her mouth around it.
A groan escaped him, and he dug his hands into her hair. Genevieve lifted her head, and her voice was teasing as she said, “But perhaps we should wait.”

“Waiting be damned.” His grin flashed.

He lifted her again, sliding into her as she wrapped her legs around him. A sharp, deep surge of satisfaction went through her as he buried himself deep within her. Bracing her against the bank of the pool, he kissed her, taking her mouth as surely, as deeply, as he took her body. Genevieve clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he sent the desire inside her ratcheting up, higher and higher, until she was aware of nothing but him and the roaring hunger inside her. He shuddered, his seed pouring into her, and at that moment, the tension in her broke and washed through her. She buried her face in his neck to stifle the groan of pleasure that erupted from her.

He sagged against her, and for a long moment there was nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing. Genevieve struggled to pull her scattered thoughts together—to pull her very self together, it seemed.

“Ah, Genevieve, it seems you are death to my good intentions,” he murmured, and nuzzled against her hair. The rich satisfaction in his voice signaled his evident pleasure in that fact. “ ’Tis your fault, you know.”

“Mine? I like that,” Genevieve retorted in mock indignation.

“Did you?” He kissed her neck. “Like it?” He raised his head, looking down into her eyes. “I am sorry if it was too soon.”

“Yes, I liked it.” Genevieve felt a blush spreading across her cheeks, and she ducked her head to hide it, resting against his shoulder. A bubble of contented laughter rose from her. “I liked it very much.”

Evening was rapidly falling, and they retreated to the cottage, where Myles lit the fireplace already laid for them. Genevieve put back on the dress she had worn earlier, though her undergarments were too soaked to wear.

Myles professed disappointment in her dressing at all, but he smiled, his eyes drifting down her. “Still, this will do well enough.”

“I don’t know why you should look so,” Genevieve replied tartly. “You cannot see that I have anything less on.”

“Ah, but I know it.” He brushed the back of his hand across her breast, his eyes darkening at the involuntary response of her body. She gave him a severe frown, but he only laughed, turning away to pull on his breeches. “However, if you look in the drawers, you will find some of my sister’s clothes that I had brought over.”

“I hope you had them bring food.” Genevieve went over to open the drawer of the small chest. “I am starving.”

“We must keep you fortified.” He opened the cabinet and pulled out a loaf of bread and a sack of apples. “There’s a cold cellar out back; there should be something there.”

He returned a few minutes later, bearing a meat pie and a healthy slab of roast, and they sat down to their feast. They talked and laughed as they ate, with the ease of those who had known each other for years, yet freed by
their new intimacy from the constraints that had always lain on their conversations. Myles recounted tales from his younger days with Alec and Gabriel, making Genevieve laugh so hard she had to hold her sides.

Later, hunger sated, Genevieve sat down in front of the fire to untangle her still-damp hair, happy to discover that the servants had also brought a comb and a brush.

Myles settled down behind her, taking the brush from her hand. “Here, let me.”

“It’s tiresome,” Genevieve warned, leaning back on her hands.

“Mm. Perhaps to you.” He dragged the brush through her silver-gilt hair with long, smooth strokes, releasing each strand slowly to float back down to her shoulders. “I, on the other hand, have wanted for years to see it down.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Can’t you?” He smiled faintly and smoothed his hand over her tresses. “Unbound hair whispers of a lady’s boudoir. ’Tis the prerogative of the man who shares your bed.” He twined a lock around his hand, bringing it up to press it to his lips. “And your hair is beautiful. Like spun silver.”

Genevieve looked at him in surprise. “It’s so pale.”

“Like moonlight.” He began to brush it again.

“Like ice.” She gazed at him steadily. “I know that men call me the Ice Princess. Cold and—”

“Perfect.” His grin was a trifle cocky. “It takes a brave man to approach such perfection.” He leaned forward to brush his lips against her forehead. “To dare to bring a
blush to those cheeks. A sparkle to your eyes.” His lips followed his words, touching each cheek. “To kiss your lips into rosiness.”

He hooked an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his body. His hand spread out across her stomach, moving possessively over her. “Your mouth looks well kissed now, my lady.” His deft fingers found the tight button of her nipple, squeezing it gently. “It is not ice in you, Genny, but pale fire.”

Genevieve’s breath shuddered out. “Myles . . .”

“Mm?” He nuzzled her neck with velvet-soft lips.

“You are a terrible flatterer.”

“I protest. I am an excellent flatterer.” His hand slipped down the front of her dress, cupping her breast as his mouth teased at her ear, sending heat slithering through her. “But it isn’t flattery, is it, if one speaks the truth?”

“You cannot want to again,” she said, but her voice caught on the words, spoiling the scolding tone she had intended.

“Can I not?” His breathy laugh at her ear increased the shivers running through her. He nibbled her earlobe gently. “I fear you are too enticing for me to be moderate in my appetite. I should like to lay you down and cover your body in kisses.”

“Myles! You are utterly indecorous.”

He laughed unrepentantly, his fingers working downward into the V of her legs. “I am. And so should you be.” He kissed a trail down her neck, saying coaxingly, “Come, Genevieve, take off that frock and let me show you.” He
reached down on either side, bunching up the material of her gown.

“Stop that!” Genevieve laughed, slapping his hand lightly, and she pulled away from him, twisting around to look at him. “I cannot imagine why you are so eager to see me naked. One would think you would have had quite enough of that already.”

“Not nearly enough.” He grinned, reaching for her hands to pull her back to him.

“You just want to embarrass me.”

“I do enjoy that a bit.” He leaned in to kiss her thoroughly. “But far more than that, I enjoy looking at you.”

“Why? I am tall and gawky and—”

“Genevieve!” He looked at her in genuine surprise. “Do you really not know how beautiful you are?”

“Oh, I know my face is well enough, though I have been told that I lack . . . vivacity.”

“That could have been said only by someone who had not angered you as I have.”

Genevieve grimaced. “But I am not girlish or dainty or pleasantly curved as a woman should be.” She looked away. “Oh, what a nonsensical thing to be talking about.”