Page 42 of Betrothal

He rained kisses down her neck then drew a long, lazy line toward the cleft of her breasts with his tongue. Heat from his breath brought a touch of dampness to her skin, and fire to her soul. If she was wanton, so be it. She could no more turn from him now than she could stop the sun in its orbit.

In moments, he had unlaced her gown and drawn it off her shoulders. It sagged around her waist until only her thin linen chemise covered her. That wisp of fabric concealed little of her form. Geoffrey stared at her chest, his pallor obvious even in the flickering light. He stood her on her feet and watched the gown fall soundlessly to the floor.

He licked his lips and glanced into her eyes. Those dark pools of passion made her swallow hard and duck her head. Her stomach trembled, and cold gripped her hands as desire and fear warred within her.

A tug on the string that held her chemise and the garment slackened against her. He gathered the soft shift into bunches at her shoulders then gently urged it down to pool at her feet. A guttural groan drew her to look at his face—and read approval in his frank gaze. She shifted uneasily and wound her hands together, struggling against the need to cover herself. He should see all of her, everything laid bare tonight. He swallowed hard and breathed sharply before running a finger down the cleft of her bosom.

Oh, God. Shivers chased through her at his touch and she swayed, unsure if her legs would hold her.

With a contented sigh, he cupped her breasts, stroked them with strong, nimble fingers. The memory surfaced of running her hands over her body, wondering how it would feel when his hands were on her. Never would she have imagined the glory of his touch.

He leaned toward her chest, mouth poised above her… Surely he would not… Closer and closer, until he touched her flesh. She closed her eyes and shuddered as a moan escaped her, filling the room with the primal sound of need. Nothing had ever felt as wonderful as her breasts firming to the touch of his tongue. Warmth settled low in her belly, and she gasped as moisture gathered between her legs.

Geoffrey continued to tease her, licking around the outside of a rosy nipple then over it, until it contracted into a stiff, furled bud. She gripped his hair, panting softly. When he sucked it into his mouth, she threw her head back, writhing with pleasure. She was aflame with a fire only he could quench.

His growl of satisfaction buzzed deeply enough in his chest for her to feel. “Hmmm. So sweet.” His low voice became a siren song for her passion. He sucked harder at the tight flesh.

“Sweet Jesus, Geoffrey!”

He grabbed her and laid her in the center of his bed. After brushing a kiss on her lips, he quickly doffed his tunic. Glad of the shadows that hid her hot face, Alyse gawked at the sight of the first naked man she had ever seen. Hard muscles had rippled all over his body when he had stripped off his clothes. His broad, square shoulders seemed wide enough to carry the world. She stared at the sleek expanse of his chest, smooth skin she ached to feel under her fingers. Her gaze slid lower, to his narrow waist and hips, covered only by the thin fabric of his hose. Hunger rose in her, desire beating in her veins. He was so beautiful she could stare at him forever. But when his hands dropped to his chausses, she turned her head, her courage failing.

The bed dipped as he lay beside her, his presence further betrayed by the pleasant musk she now recognized as his own distinctive scent. Unexpected warmth stole over her. He radiated waves of heat, as though she lay next to a roaring fire.

Cupping her face, he turned it until his gaze held her with gentle, loving regard. “Still not afraid, little maid?”

She shook her head, but could not meet his eyes.

“Do not fear, Alyse.” He turned her on her side and pulled her to him, pressing the length of his body to hers. “Except for the one moment of pain, I will give you nothing but pleasure, my sweet. ’Tis my promise.”

He stroked her back, skimming his fingertips all the way down to brush her buttocks. She whimpered as her need for him grew with every moment they were together. Geoffrey shifted and pressed her onto her back. His ragged breathing sounded harsh as he traced her ear’s outline with his tongue, pausing to suck on the lobe. The tremor that coursed through her had nothing to do with fear—desire possessed her now. She clutched the back of his head, twining her fingers sinuously through his sleek hair. And urged him lower.

He returned to her nipples, and they hardened once more at the stroke of his tongue. He slid his hand smoothly down her body, sending flutterings everywhere. When he rested his hand on the tangle of curls above her closed thighs, heat streaked inward to her core. A throbbing beat began inside, so strange a feeling that embarrassment and fear reappeared. She whimpered and tensed.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Open for me.” He pressed her knees apart.

She took a deep breath and spread her legs. He brushed his fingers against her intimate flesh. Her breath rushed in and out of her chest. Too much. Too quickly. She turned her face into the pillow. It might remain permanently red.

He touched something there among the curls. A low moan rolled out of her throat and streaks of fire blazed between her thighs.

She writhed with her building need. No one had told her what a man’s touch would do to her. Or that there was a hill to crest. She fought now to storm that hill, straining against his hand, following his rhythm. He could do what he willed—they desired as one.

Geoffrey traced the folds of her opening, and she whimpered when he slid a strong finger into her. Here it was: the moment with the man she loved. A flick of pain then she wrapped around him in welcome. Gently, he stretched and massaged, exciting her—preparing her.

Once more, he dipped his head and stroked his tongue against her breast. He slowly moved his finger, caressing her inside. A sobbing moan burst from her lips as she arched upward, her body gripping him, convulsing as wave upon blissful wave coursed through her. She clutched his neck and tried to drag enough air into her lungs. Drained, she lay panting, as if she had danced another farandole.

He withdrew finger and mouth, but before she could protest, he moved above her, kissing her eyes, cheeks, mouth. “Are you all right, sweetheart? Did that please you?”

She managed a short nod. Her breathing slowed as she turned half-closed eyes to him, sated. Geoffrey’s eyes darkened, and his lusty stare filled her with yearning for them to be one in truth.

He lowered his mouth to hers then moved eagerly to hover over her. She pulled him possessively toward her and he tasted of her again.

“’Twill hurt but a moment, my love.” His husky voice rasped in her ear, as he widened the gulf between her thighs with his knee.

She nodded, felt the pressure of him probing and sucked in a breath.

This is it.

His quick thrust forced a cry from her. It hurt worse than she had imagined. Sharp pain, like a knife, then a burning that settled into an ache deep inside her. Not pleasant, but ’twas done.