“Mercy no,” he protested after a moment. “We musn’t do this again just yet.”
“I want to,” she wailed, wantonly pressing her bare, aroused breasts into his chest.
“Oh, God,” he groaned. Moving with a speed that amazed her, he tugged off her camisole and pantalets, then brought her astride him. She felt no shame as she perched naked in his lap, felt only wonder as she watched him free his distended organ from his trousers. Desire seized her innermost parts as his fingers stroked her boldly.
“You’re sure?” came his agonized question.”
“Oui.”
“Don’t say I didn’t give you warning,” he said roughly, then thrust himself into her.
Mercy emitted a cry of mixed pain and pleasure as his erection pierced her still sensitive flesh. Yet the intimacy was exquisite, wondrous, sense-shattering!
“Damn, I’m hurting you,” he muttered, his voice anguished.
How could she tell him he was hurting her, but in the best possible way? “Don’t stop,” she begged, clinging to his strong neck.
By now, wild horses couldn’t have stopped Julian. With a feral growl, he clutched her waist and pressed her downward, straining the limits of her tight passage with his splendid manhood. She cried out at the deep, fierce pleasure.
He drew back slightly and stared into her mindless, languorous eyes. Mercy mused that nothing could be more emotionally revealing than gazing into his eyes even as he filled her to bursting. Mon Dieu, how she burned and throbbed for him, welcoming the hot spear that pulsed so vibrantly inside her! She leaned over to take his lips in a tear-filled kiss.
He sensed her softening and went wild, showering her face with kisses as he began to move inside her, creating a delicious tight friction that drove her mad.
“How I’ve waited for this,” he whispered against her wet cheek. “For you to melt against me. I want to bring you pleasure, to feel you losing control in my arms. Let me feel you surrendering.”
She did. His words alone were enough to drive her over the edge, and she squeezed about his driving maleness, thrusting her tongue hungrily between his lips.
His response was immediate, violent. He clutched her face with his hands and kissed her until their teeth ground together. He was out of control now, pounding into her, and she met each thrust with joy and rapture. All at once, she couldn’t breathe, and her heart was racing so fast, she feared she might swoon. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders and sobbed into his mouth.
His fingers sank into her bottom then—brazenly moving her hips to and fro, teaching her the rhythm. It was more than Mercy could bear. She climaxed with several sharp, stunning gasps. When he nipped at her taut nipple with his teeth, she exploded again. He chuckled in delight, glorying in her eager, uninhibited movements. Then he held her tightly as he took his own tumultuous climax.
They fell across the bunk together, Mercy’s ear pressed against his pounding heart. Julian looked down at his precious wife—at her bruised mouth, her tumbled hair, her lush, naked body. She was a gloriously passionate creature, and with great restraint, he resisted the urge to roll her beneath him and devour her sweetness once more.
“Are you terribly sore now, chère?” he murmured.
She nodded but smiled, kissing his puckered nipple.
He groaned. “Can you make it to the saloon for breakfast?”
She looked up at him and wrinkled her nose impishly. “We could always have breakfast in bed.”
He roared with laughter. “No way, minx. What are you trying to do, give your husband a heart attack?” He slapped her delightful derriere, then sat up. “We’ll be spending no more time alone in this stateroom today, Madame Devereux.”
“Two rounds, and already you’re out of the game, m’sieur?” she teased, looking him over saucily.
“Hardly.” Grinning, he stood, his engorged manhood giving lusty testimony to his unflagging virility. He pulled his trousers up about his waist, then grimaced as he fastened the lower buttons with some effort. “Suffice it to say that five more minutes alone with you, Madame Devereux, and you’ll be incapacitated for the balance of this trip.” He leered at her. “I’m hardly that shortsighted. I intend to enjoy this honeymoon—thoroughly.”
Mercy couldn’t contain a delighted giggle at his words. Oh, he was such a rogue!
“Now,” he continued, donning his shirt, “I’m going to go find a female to fetch you a bath. When—and if—you recover yourself, you may join your husband in the saloon.”
He finished dressing quickly, then hurried out the door, humming, “Open the Lattice, Love.”
Mercy stretched languidly in bed. She pressed a hand low on her belly. She could still feel the imprint of his loving—it was wondrous. Even the lingering soreness was but a poignant reminder of their beautiful coupling.
***
While the crew of the Natchez was almost exclusively male, Julian managed to bribe a laundress into bringing his wife a bath. Mercy enjoyed her leisurely ablution in the porcelain tub, letting the soreness ease from her body and scrubbing herself with violet-scented soap. Yet once her toilette was completed, she hesitated to leave. She paced the tiny stateroom, frowning and chewing her lower lip.
Mon Dieu, she had acted like such a wanton last night and this morning! True, she had felt touched and aroused by Julian’s tenderness, by his persuasive, passionate words. She hadn’t known that her obdurate former guardian could be so endearingly romantic. He had suggested making last night a beginning between them, and his surprising peace offering had touched her deeply. It had also stirred her wildly that he found her so irresistible, that even as he feared his losing control could hurt her, he had lost control, utterly. There was a wild, savage quality to the love act that Mercy had to concede was wondrously addictive.
Yet had her husband really meant his ardent words last night? Despite everything that had happened, she still didn’t completely trust him. A part of her could never forget that he had killed her father. And he was, after all, a man of the world, a man who would naturally be skilled in how to properly seduce a virgin. He’d made clear all along that he was marrying her to get her in his bed. What if he had uttered his words only to secure her favors?
Then couldn’t she secure his favors, as well? At once, her conscience rebelled at the thought. No, she could never be that cheap. And, despite everything, she firmly believed that there had been nothing tawdry about their lovemaking. There had been something so sweet and self-sacrificing about the way Julian had taken her virginity. And when he had held her in his arms this morning and begged her to surrender, she had given over her very soul to him. Right now, she didn’t know if she loved making love with him or loved him—both feelings seemed inextricably entwined.
One thing she did know. She now felt terrified of the power her captivating husband held over her!
***
As Julian drank a second cup of coffee in the grand saloon, his thoughts were entirely of Mercy. What a delightful, passionate creature his wife had turned out to be! She seemed to take to the marriage bed like a duck to water. He had hated hurting her last night and this morning, yet she had been heavenly—so hot, so tight, so eager in his arms.
Yet her willingness also stirred niggling doubts within his mind. Their coupling had rocked him to the depths of his being, yet he couldn’t help but wonder if it was him she truly wanted, or merely his talents in bed. He wanted her body and soul, wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, wanted to watch her belly thicken with his child. Yet it rankled him to think that she might only be exploiting his feelings to satisfy her physical desires. After all, she had certainly acted the flirt before—could her eagerness simply be due to a basically prurient nature?
Then he remembered her tears, the utter sweetness of her surrender. His heart pounded with a primitive beat. She had seemed so confused and vulnerable in his arms, and it didn’t make sense that a woman who displayed such a wide range of emotions could simply sate her lusts on him, coldly and dispassionately. Perhaps his young wife was now at war with her pride, trying to juxtapose her new, awakening feelings for him with the hatred she had clung to tenaciously for so long. If he were wise, he’d take full advantage of her vulnerability and insinuate himself as deeply in her heart as he possibly could. If he were wise, he would bind her to him, both physically and emotionally. With luck, he might even get her with child on the honeymoon . . .
Before the test came. Before he was impelled to tell her about Arnaud and Justine. He groaned. Oh, he was wicked, beyond redemption. But right now, the thought of losing her was unendurable, as much as he—
Loved her! Yes, loved her! The admission brought tears to his eyes and a tight, constricted feeling to his chest. While he might have doubted his feelings for her before, he could no longer. He was surely insane to feel this way, for, considering their tormented past, she would never feel love for him. Still, he knew that he was a lost soul—that he would do anything, be utterly ruthless, in winning Mercy’s heart and keeping her by his side.
Just then, his young wife entered the saloon, looking radiant in a lovely pale pink frock, her rich curls framing her beautiful face. Excitement pierced his loins at the very sight of her, and his heart pounded in delight. Every male head in the saloon turned toward the ravishing young redhead as Julian leaped proudly to his feet and approached his bride with a possessive gleam in his eyes.