Sold to a Laird Page 20

  Douglas bent his head and kissed her cheek, his lips soft and chilled, but all too soon turning warmer. She didn’t turn away. Instead, it felt almost necessary to press closer, to turn her head just so, and lift her chin.

  Finally, he was kissing her.

  “I want you naked,” he said, some moments later.

  She shivered, and with some rational part of her mind, she wondered if he’d transferred his chill to her. That thought abruptly disappeared when he deepened the kiss.

  A sound escaped her lips, and was then swallowed by his mouth, coaxing hers open. She held on to his shoulders, as if needing a reference in a world suddenly strange and more than a little exciting.

  With each kiss, her breath grew tighter, and when his hand slid to the hem of her nightgown, she gasped.

  She really should protest. She really should pull away. No proper woman would have unbuttoned the placket of her garment so that he could ease the garment over her head. But it didn’t seem important to be proper at this moment, while it was vital that she feel him.

  “Unbraid your hair,” he said, his voice sounding ragged. He sat up and helped her off with the nightgown, pulling it over her head.

  She didn’t fight him, didn’t even think of protesting. The time for that had come and gone weeks ago. This moment was what they’d both been wanting, why he’d touched her in exploration and tenderness, why he’d teased and tormented her.

  She was about to be made a wife, and she didn’t know if she should be terrified or as excited as she felt.

  Please, God, let it be all right for her to feel what she was feeling, whatever it was called. Rapaciousness, wantonness, passion, or even desire—she’d never considered that she might be in the throes of it. No, what she had not considered was that she might enjoy it so thoroughly.

  Her hands shook as she fumbled with the end of her braid, then his fingers were there to help her, threading through her hair and spreading it loose.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, and because he said it, because his voice shook when he did, she felt beautiful.

  His hand cupped her breast as he laid her down on the mattress, his thumb playing over her nipple. A streak of lightning ran from her breast to deep inside. She made a restless movement of her legs, turning to him, and placing her hand on his face.

  “Douglas,” she said, speaking his name because she had to say something.

  He pulled away from her touch, bent over her, and placed his mouth on her breast.

  She jerked, startled, amazed as a sensation traveled from the deepest core of her to center at her nipple. Her fingers trailed across the nape of his neck, over his ear, then threaded through his hair. At another time, perhaps, she might have noted how soft it was, how thick, but now she was concentrating on other feelings: her breath, captured around an exclamation of wonder; her stomach tightening involuntarily from surprise; the fact that her body rose in an arch as if to offer herself to him more fully.

  Shockingly, she wished she’d left the lamp burning. She heard herself moan and clamped one hand across her mouth. Proper women did not enjoy their subjugation, surely?

  Why, then, did it feel less like she was being overpowered than being led to another place, one she’d never before dreamed existed. One whose halls she’d never walked, whose windows she’d never seen. Yet she was not wholly alone in this place. Douglas was here, a smiling Douglas, who held out his hand and beckoned her closer.

  His hand stroked across her stomach as if to ease the sudden tension there, traveled down one leg, fingers splayed. He measured her knee, softly touched the back of it, almost inciting a smile from her, before her attention was engaged by the touch of his mouth. His tongue flicked her nipple before his lips soothed it, then he drew it between his lips, the action increasing the jolt of sensation in the core of her.

  She did not whimper. Such a sound did not come from her.

  He turned his attention to her other breast, and her hand, still softly stroking his hair, trailed to his back. His beautiful naked back with its definition of muscles, with its bronzed skin that so tempted her to touch it. Once again, she wished she’d not extinguished the lamp.

  Sarah allowed her hand to travel downward, as if she had no will to direct it elsewhere. Her fingers strayed to the end of his spine, halted at the base, then traveled to the top of one buttock. She would like to cup it in her hand, wasn’t that shocking?

  He rose over her, looking down at her. Did he smile? Was that a flash of his teeth in the darkness? She really should ask, but he was kissing her again. His tongue urged her to open her mouth, and she did so without hesitation. His tongue mated with hers, and all she did was grip his shoulders and hold on to him in a world suddenly turned heated and strange.

  Abruptly, he was on his back and she was rolling atop him, so surprised to be in that position that she braced her hands on either side of his waist and sat up. In front of her was something very stiff and very hot. Immediately, she knew it was his masculine appendage.

  “Douglas?”

  He didn’t answer her, only slowly raised his knees so that she slid slightly forward.

  She reached out and gripped him with both hands. Not to steady herself, which she could certainly claim if he quizzed her. Nor to orient herself, because even in the darkness she knew exactly where she was. If she touched him, if she slid her hands down the length of him, amazed at the girth and the size, it was due to curiosity alone.

  The surface was soft and heated; the instrument itself was quite stiff. She had the curious thought that it was not unlike a branch. In this case, a well-developed branch of an oak. It most certainly did not bend; could it break?

  “Am I hurting you?” she asked, concerned.

  “God no,” he said, but his voice had a note in it that she’d never before heard.

  “Are you certain? It seems to be getting stiffer.”

  A startled laugh was her answer.

  “That’s in response to you, Sarah.”

  “Oh.”

  Her fingers traveled up its length and back down, fascinated with its size and the fact that it seemed like a separate sensate creature, responding to her touch with a quiver.

  “I think I’ve made a huge mistake,” he said, rolling over again and depositing her flat on the bed.

  He loomed over her and she waited for his kiss, but when it didn’t come she opened her eyes.

  “I wish the first time could be painless for you, Sarah.”

  “Painless?”

  “It will not be. There will be some discomfort,” he said.

  “Will there?”

  How hideous that she’d not known that. Were men the only ones versed in the act of copulation? If so, how unfair.

  “Will it be painful after the first time?” she asked.

  “No, it will not,” he said softly.

  She began to breathe again.

  “Then we should quickly be about the business of dispensing with the first time, don’t you think?”

  He laughed again. “No,” he said, “I don’t think we shall.”

  Just what did that mean?

  Before she could ask, he bent and kissed her again, spending several long minutes—or was it hours—on that delicious kiss. When he ended it, she almost moaned. Darkness and stars exploded behind her eyelids, and her breath was so tight she felt as if she’d just raced up four flights of steep stairs.

  A second later, all the magic evaporated as her eyes flew open.

  “Douglas!”

  “Relax, Sarah.”

  “How can I relax when you’re doing that?”

  He was kissing her stomach, soft little sucking kisses that made her stomach flutter. That was not, however, the worst of it. His fingers were trailing from below her knee up to her thigh, and to the hair there. Nor was he stopping there.

  “Douglas,” she said, attempting to roll toward him.

  He rose, bent over her, and kissed her cheek softly and sweetly. The embrace o
ne might give a friend, or a relative not long seen. Not a kiss one would give a wife while trailing a finger through a place fingers were not supposed to travel.

  “Douglas!”

  “Sarah,” he said, kissing her mouth now, attempting, futilely to direct her attention some place other than where his hand was and what his fingers were doing.

  Dear heavens, her legs were opening.

  Her body wanted to arch upward, into his touch. As if her body was as separate an entity as his instrument. As if she had no will to direct it to behave.

  “Douglas,” she said.

  “Lady Sarah,” he answered. “Relax and enjoy.”

  How could she possibly enjoy something as invasive and intrusive? How could she enjoy something so hideously embarrassing?

  Her hands clutched at his shoulders as he deepened the kiss. It was not enough for him to lead her somewhere forbidden and exotic. He had to send her there as well, catapulting her through a starlit sky or rainbows, or the mist of a waterfall—all places with which she had no familiarity except in dreams.

  His fingers stroked forbidden places; her body warmed and seemed to swell. Her heartbeat raced, and every sensation, every thought, every feeling was centered on where his hand was and the action of every separate finger.

  He stroked through her swollen folds, played with the dampness there, pressing on one certain spot that summoned a gasp, followed by a moan.

  He smiled against her lips and did it again, teaching her that he hadn’t been repulsed by her earthiness, but delighted, instead.

  Her hands gripped him tighter as the rhythm of his fingers increased. Slow, at first, then faster, and just when she had anticipated the quickness of his touch, he slowed again, leaving her wanting more.

  Her legs spread, her body opened, even as his kiss deepened.

  She was a novice and he the expert, and she could only hold on to him, helpless.

  Sarah placed her hands against the back of his head. In an effort to halt him? Or in an entreaty for him to continue, only quicker, please? She wanted to be done with this innocence of hers, as if it were a cloak enveloping her, shielding her from him. She wanted to know everything, to have done everything, to have felt it all before only for the joy of feeling it again.

  He was suddenly over her, his body warming hers, settling onto hers so perfectly it was as if he could see in the dark. He was braced on his forearms, his fingers playing with her hair, his chest pressing against her breasts, his back arched so that his instrument was at the opening of her body.

  “I’m ready,” she said in a voice too breathless to be hers.

  “Are you?”

  She nodded.

  He bent and kissed her, and entered her at that moment.

  She braced herself for the pain. He was large, his sheer size causing her to gasp aloud. But there was no pain as he entered her inch by inch. Just a feeling of being invaded, and a curious feeling of being stretched. Her hands grasped him at the waist, slid to his hips, before curving to hold his buttocks. Her legs widened as if her body instinctively knew how to welcome him.

  He pressed against her, and a shiver traveled through her body.

  “Are you ready?”

  She could only nod.

  Now the pain would come. Would she scream? Would the inhabitants of Kilmarin know that she’d been made wife? Was that why everyone tried to ply a bride with spirits on the occasion of her wedding? To numb her for what must surely happen?

  He pulled out of her slowly, and she lost her grip on his buttocks. Her hands fell to the sheet before she placed them back on his hips. His skin was soft and hot, as if a furnace burned just below the surface.

  When he entered her again, it was as slow. Nor would he speed up the pace no matter how fiercely she pulled him to her.

  She really couldn’t tolerate this. The tension in her body was nearly unbearable.

  “Douglas, please.”

  He drew back. “Am I hurting you?”

  “No, not yet. Please hurry though. I don’t like waiting for pain.”

  “In my own time, Lady Sarah,” he said, and she could swear he was smiling.

  Should he be so amused?

  He slowly withdrew again, and this time, her body recognized the pattern. She arched up as if to follow his withdrawal, then subsided when he entered her again.

  She couldn’t think, all her mind’s ability pinned to his movements. He kissed her and licked her. She followed him when he pulled back, as if he had somehow linked them with the power of his mouth.

  She wasn’t feeling as stretched as before. Instead, she felt as if she fit him perfectly. Sarah flattened her hands on his buttocks, and when he would have left her, she pulled him closer and wiggled beneath him.

  Should he really be swearing at this moment?

  She forgot about his manners a second later, because he entered her faster this time and the next. Every time he pressed up against her at the ending of his strokes, the sensation of lightning traveling through her almost ripped her in two.

  His skin was growing damp, his breath as ragged as hers, and she couldn’t help but wonder if his heart was also racing frantically.

  He held himself nearly out of her, supporting his weight on his hands.

  “No pain, Sarah?”

  “No,” she said. Had she failed in some elemental way? “And you?”

  “More than you could imagine,” he said.

  Had he somehow taken her pain?

  He lowered his body and began stroking again, faster and faster, increasing the pace until she had no choice but to grip his waist and allow her body to do as it wanted. Her mind was left to make some sense of copulation.

  He made a sound between his teeth and suddenly collapsed atop her, his head on the pillow next to hers.

  A few minutes later, he turned his head. His breath fanned across her cheek. If she moved just so, she would be within kissing range of him. He didn’t seem in a kissing mood, however, since he rolled to his side and propped his head up on his hand.

  “How do you feel?” he asked softly.

  “Well, thank you.”

  Should it be this difficult to converse with him? She couldn’t help but remember that his hands had been everywhere on her body, not to mention his member deep inside.

  “No pain?”

  She shook her head before realizing he probably couldn’t see her. “No, no pain. Just a little discomfort,” she said. “You’re very large, you know.”

  He didn’t answer her, just bent closer and nipped at her ear with his teeth—such a surprising gesture that she jumped.

  “What else do you feel?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “A feeling as if you can’t quite catch your breath?”

  “I seem to be a little out of sorts,” she finally admitted.

  “Are you?”

  She nodded, then substituted a word for the gesture. “Yes.”

  One hand stroked over a breast, hovered just lightly over a stiff nipple, then moved to her stomach.

  She was not prepared for the invasion of his fingers, especially since he chose that moment to nip at her ear again.

  “Douglas.”

  “Hush, Sarah,” he said, a smile in his voice. “I’d use my mouth, but I think it’s a little early for that.”

  His mouth?

  While she was adjusting to that startling bit of information, he slowly inserted a finger inside her. She was so shocked by his actions that she turned to him just in time for him to lower his mouth over hers.

  His kisses really were intoxicating.

  He started that rhythmic movement with his fingers again, stroking over her swollen flesh so delicately, then moving quicker.

  The strangest feeling was beginning to overwhelm her, almost as if she were melting, as if she were turning into honey. Her skin was on fire, beginning where he was stroking and stretching outward to all her limbs. Even her toes curled as pleasure traveled through her. She tu
rned toward him, her hands flailing against him.

  She would have whispered his name had any coherent thought been left to her. Her skin, slick and wet, felt hot and tight as if fire burned inside her.

  She moaned into his mouth. He broke off the kiss, nuzzled at the nape of her neck, then kissed his way up her throat while she was desperate for breath.

  “It’s all right, Sarah,” he said softly against her ear. “I’ve got you. You can soar.”

  And she did. Just when she thought the pleasure couldn’t get any stronger, it ended, stopped in full motion by a burst of exhilarating sensation through her body. A sound escaped her, softer than a scream, louder than a moan, but she didn’t care.

  Her thoughts, her mind, her body was centered on the extraordinary pleasure she felt and the man who’d brought it to her.

  Chapter 23

  Douglas awakened to the feeling of Sarah’s skin against his. His right hand lay on her hip, as if claiming her even in sleep. He lay still, listening to her breathe, the curve of her derriere against his cock coaxing him stiff without one movement on her part.

  Raising himself on one elbow, he studied her as she slept. Were all women as beautiful? Despite a wealth of experience with women, he’d never been captivated by the sight of one asleep.

  But then, Sarah had been a first for him in a great many ways. He’d never before been taken by a woman so instantaneously, to the degree he’d married a stranger. He’d been astonished by the sheer amount of work she performed, by her judgment and persistence. His heart had been touched by her grief, and by the depth of her courage.

  A touch of pink colored her cheek; a smile curved her lips. He fought a battle with himself—to kiss her or to leave her in peace?

  She’d been a virgin the night before. He needed to restrain himself, not a common response around a beautiful woman, especially the one who was his wife. She had the ability to arouse him simply by walking into a room, but he doubted she was aware of his reaction. Or the fact that he’d been in love with her from the very moment he’d seen her—he, Douglas Eston, scientist, adventurer, explorer, a man with a single-minded focus on his own pursuits.