Rogue's Mistress(34)

Mercy was drowning in his words, his passionate gaze. She had expected brutality tonight, not this sweet, devastating seduction. In breathless anticipation, she watched his long lashes lower over his eyes, watched his dark, fiercely handsome face slant down toward hers. His warm breath seared her moist lips, then his hot mouth followed, settling over her quivering lips in a practiced, titillating kiss.

Oh, she could not endure it! Now his tongue was stealing between her slightly parted lips, nudging her mouth open, dancing a provocative sexual rhythm. Whimpering as if from physical pain, she reached for him, but he pulled away, frustrating her exquisitely.

He was tugging the wrapper from her shoulders. His smoldering eyes met hers. “Join your husband in bed, madame,” he whispered.

She bit her lip as she glanced downward to the point where the covers shielded his body.

“You’re right, Mercy,” he whispered with a wry chuckle. “I’ve nothing on beneath.”

Her face flaming, Mercy got under the covers, positioning her body as far away from Julian’s mesmerizing heat as possible. When he made no move to touch her, instead studying her with rueful humor, she wailed in a cracking voice, “Can’t we proceed with this?”

He laughed heartily. “Already conceding defeat, Mercy? How unlike you. I’ve told you that we shall not begin this marriage with coercion.” He leaned toward her, his lips hovering just above hers. “We have all night, chère.”

Reeling at his nearness, Mercy was suddenly beyond redemption. With a wanton cry, she surged upward to lock her mouth hard on his. He chuckled deep in his throat, a rumbling, triumphant sound. Then, as her sweet tongue thrust between his lips, his chuckle became an agonized groan and he hauled her roughly against him.

Mercy’s senses were aflame. The feel of Julian’s hard, hot nakedness next to her sheer gown was electrifying. Desire, sudden and violent, exploded between them. Mercy was sobbing from sheer frustration, wantonly nipping at his mouth with her teeth; Julian was ripping at the buttons to her gown. When he yanked the fabric away from her breast and latched his mouth on her tight nipple, she cried out, writhing like a madwoman. His slightly bearded face felt wonderful against her soft breast; the wetness of his lips and tongue made her go wet, liquid, and achy inside. She thrust her fingers wildly through his hair and tugged hard, pressing his lips deeper, deeper, into the aching mound. He sucked greedily, licking and nipping both of her breasts, intensifying her passion and his own.

Then his mouth abruptly moved away, and he was breathing hard, his gaze crazed with passion. “Mercy—this is going too fast—”

She stared back up at him, dizzy with arousal. How could she tell him what she was feeling—that the last, turbulent weeks between them had been leading up to this inexorable moment, that when she fought him she was ultimately fighting this, what she most desired?

“Julian, please,” was all she could manage.

“Nom de Dieu,” he groaned, catching her chin in his hand and grinding his mouth into hers again. A moment later, he rolled off her and dragged the gown off her body. His eyes flashed with brilliant desire as his gaze raked her hungrily. “My God—you’re ravishing.”

“Julian . . .” She held out her arms in shameless entreaty.

“Non,” he said firmly, his chin stubborn. “I will look at you, my wife.”

He thrust back the covers and slowly, thoroughly examined her supple nakedness in the wan golden light drifting in through the high porthole. His hungry eyes took in her proud breasts with their tight pink peaks, her long, silky midsection and small waist, her full hips and the delicious swath of red curls at the joining of her thighs, her long, slim legs.

The heat of his impassioned gaze seared Mercy like a brand. Julian looked up to see her cheeks burning at his perusal. Smiling, he drew a finger slowly down her body, beginning with her lush, tempting lips, stroking down her smooth throat with its throbbing pulse, tantalizing each taut nipple in turn, moving down her flat belly and lingering at the delightful button, then settling in the lush down guarding her womanhood.

“Oh, Julian!” she gasped, again reaching for him.

“Non.” One hand pinned her soft shoulder to the mattress as the errant finger dipped between her thighs. Mercy went wild as Julian ever so gently caressed the nub of her femininity. Tears burned her eyes and desire buzzed in her ears. She had never dreamed that his touch could excite her so!

And that was before he leaned over to kiss her even as he continued the deliberate sensual torture with his fingertip. She could not bear the gentle seduction of his lips, the sweet penetration of his tongue, the agonizing intimacy of his touch. She tossed her head, but he only chuckled and followed her, trailing hot kisses across her burning cheek, nipping at one corner of her mouth with his teeth, until she turned and kissed him violently, moving her hips wantonly against his wonderful hand.

At last he smiled down at her, still stroking her provocatively. “You’re damp,” he whispered. “You want me.”

“Oui, I want you,” she moaned without pride.

She tried to lurch forward to kiss him again, but he held her captive. He leaned over, nibbling delicately at her ear, even as his finger slipped deeper, stroking boldly. She bucked, breathing in sharp, painful gasps. When his finger pressed insistently at the portal of her womanhood, she winced slightly.

“You’re so small, so tight, my precious virgin,” he whispered, his eyes filled with awe.

Meanwhile, Mercy was tearing at the sheet. “Julian, please, stop torturing me.”

He laughed. “You think I’m doing this to punish you?” His finger pressed inside her, and she tensed in mingled pain and pleasure. “Do you?”

“Oh, non.”

“Bien,” he whispered, and his finger left her.

She stared up at him in confusion. Then her gaze became one of rapt abashment as he thrust back the covers, revealing his own nakedness, the sleek muscled body covered with dark hair. Her eyes grew enormous as her gaze fastened on his huge, erect member, standing proudly in a thatch of dark curls.

Julian caught her hand. “Now you will see me, wife, and see how much I want you.” He guided her hand to the throbbing shaft.

“Why, it’s enormous!” Mercy gasped. “And so hard.”

Julian laughed his delight, then his gaze grew dark, fevered, as his shaft grew even more distended, harder, in her eager, unskilled fingers.

With a raw growl of pleasure, Julian moved to cover her with his coarse strength. The shock of his nakedness hit her like a thousand hot, piercing darts of ecstasy; the heavy, solid weight of him crushed her softness so achingly. He simply felt divine, the rough hair of his chest abrading her breasts, the hot shaft below imprinting itself in her belly, his muscled legs mastering her soft limbs.

“Kiss me,” he murmured, and she did so eagerly.

This time, there was no restraint as their tongues collided hungrily. Julian squeezed Mercy’s tender breasts with his hands and she sobbed into his mouth. His strong thighs then moved of their own volition, drawing her legs widely apart. The vulnerability of her position was also wildly erotic, and she shuddered and looked up raptly into his probing eyes.

An expression of acute sympathy flashed across his gaze. “Mercy . . . darling, it’s going to hurt. Did anyone tell you?”

She gulped, acutely embarrassed. “Just the other schoolgirls—you know, gossip . . .”

“Damn,” he muttered, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes. “Sweet, you’re so small, and I’m . . .” He smiled. “You may hate me in a moment—but just know that it won’t always be like this.”

“I don’t know what ‘this’ is,” she murmured with breathless confusion. She wanted to tell him that she couldn’t hate him, not now, but the words couldn’t quite make it past her swollen throat.

“Darling, I’m sorry,” he murmured raggedly, crushing her mouth with his own.

She soon found out what his apology meant, as his erection pressed against her insistently, without success. Tears spurted into her eyes; she felt as if he were pounding against her delicate tissues with the blunt tip of a log. She panicked, squirming beneath him. “Julian, please, it does hurt—”

“Darling, relax,” he cajoled with tender patience. As she gasped in anticipation and fear, her heart pounding in her ears, he slipped his hands beneath her bottom, his bold fingers arching her hips upward. The eroticism of his touch was shattering, and Mercy breathed in stinging pants.

What followed was beauteous, plundering torture. Julian held her hips in a firm vise and pressed downward until her flesh stretched beneath the onslaught. When she cried out, he crushed his mouth into hers, smothering her sounds of distress and murmuring hoarse apologies into her mouth.

Julian soothed her with tender kisses, even as his manhood moved with inexorable confidence and mastery. She sobbed and trembled, wondering that he could kiss her with such exquisite gentleness even as he penetrated her with his hugeness. Yet she gloried that the discomfort brought such a feeling of raw, beauteous intimacy.

He held her powerless until he delved all the way inside her, pressing against her womb. She dug her fingernails into his spine with a fierceness that she knew must hurt him, but he didn’t complain. She whimpered, struggling to hold his enormity inside her, the walls of her womanhood throbbing and aching. Still, she felt so close to him—a part of him, no longer really herself.