A Night with the Bride(19)

Sweet heaven, could she do this again? Her body came alive once more under his touch. He shifted, pressing his hard shaft against her thigh. “Yes,” she breathed, bucking against his hand.

But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.





              Chapter Seven



With a low chuckle, he flipped her over so she lay prone on the bed. Gripping her hips, he pulled her up onto all fours, the curve of her sweet little arse nestled against him. She was glorious, her skin smooth like alabaster, her long blonde curls spilling over one shoulder, exposing the gentle slope of her spine, the flare of her generous hips.

She was perfection.

I accept you exactly as you are.

Her words rippled through him, swelling in his chest. From the moment he caught her gaze across the crowded parlor, he’d known that she was the one. Her laugh, her smile, spoke to him on a deep, intrinsic level.

With one, fluid thrust, he entered her. Slick, welcoming heat gripped him like a fist and they groaned in unison. She felt so good, so damn heavenly, he wanted to stay buried inside her forever.

“Oh, Nicholas.” Her hands flexed, then fisted the coverlets. She kept her face pressed to the mattress. Trust. Submission. She gave both to him willingly, without question, and it made his heart soar.

With deep, measured thrusts, he pounded into her from behind, his fingertips digging into her hips. She was wet for him, and so tight; he couldn’t remember it ever feeling so good, so exquisitely right. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on.

She moaned, and it sent him over the edge, into the wide yawning abyss. Tension gripped his ballocks, which then released in a flood of violent pleasure. Hips jerking forward, he came hard, his cock pulsing, his seed pouring into her wave after glorious wave, until he’d filled her sweet little cunt.

More than anything, he wanted to stay like this forever—his cock buried inside her, her sweet, intoxicating scent filling the air, clinging to his skin…

Gently, he pulled away. He walked to the washbasin, wet a washrag, and brought it back to her. She’d flipped over and was now lying on her back, her pink lips pulled up into a smile.

One hand on her knee, he spread her thighs and drank in the sight of her. “Is it wrong that I want to leave you this way, smelling like me?”

“Yes, I would object most adamantly. I happen to hold hygiene in the highest regard.”

“Then perhaps I should leave my mark on you.” He lunged at her with a growl and nipped gently at her neck. She squealed in delight as a small, decorative pillow connected with the side of his head. He fell over onto the mattress, feigning injury. “You’ve wounded me.”

“Aw.” She leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his temple. “Better?”

“Not nearly.”

Sitting up, the cloth still in his hand, he smoothed it over her, and gently cleaned away the signs of their lovemaking. When he was done, he cleaned himself off, and then threw the cloth onto the floor. He cupped her left breast in his palm and brushed his thumb over the pink, pearled nipple.

She pushed his hand away and smiled. “My maid will be along soon.”

Dipping his head, he nipped the sensitive flesh just beneath her ear. “Is that your way of asking me to leave?” He bit the column of her neck, which earned him a little yelp of surprise. “I must confess, Miss Weatherfield, I feel quite taken advantage of,” he teased.

She laughed, a sweet sound that made his chest swell. “Oh, indeed?”

He shifted off her and fell back against the pillows, one hand over his heart. “You’ve used me ill.”

She rolled half on top of him, draping her leg over his middle. “In truth, I believe I’ve used you quite well.” She pressed a quick kiss to his lips, then sprang from the bed. “My maid will be up shortly to fit me for my gown for this evening.”

Her gown.

The ball. Nicholas had almost forgotten. It was the last night of the house party, and Leventhorpe had invited the whole damn county. “I’m sure you will look ravishing.”

She’d snatched up a blanket from the chair and wrapped it around her body, sorting through various gowns in her wardrobe. She whipped around with a startled look. “You are going, are you not?”

“I don’t attend balls.” Not anymore. Anxiety never ceased to grip him in large crowds, and it would be entirely too easy to lose control. “Or any social events, for that matter.”

“But…” She gripped the blanket tighter. “But tonight will be our last night together. You must be there.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and strode over to her. She looked so disappointed, so forlorn, it shifted something in him. It squeezed his chest unbearably tight. “You are going to be my wife, Gabriella. We’ll have countless nights together.”