A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle (17 page)

He sat on the edge of the bed and
ripped his Hessian boots off, tossing them blindly over his
shoulder. Before she knew what to expect, he threw himself on top
of her, his weight pinning her to the mattress.

She felt glorious with him atop her,
like a goddess, despite her vulnerable position.

His hands—those strong hands—moved
over her, laying claim to her, branding her everywhere they
touched. Possessive. And they touched her everywhere.

He pulled the sleeves of her shift
down, exposing her bosom to his gaze. Aurora’s breasts stood at
attention, the tips hard and straining—for what she didn’t know,
until his mouth landed upon one. Then she knew very well,
indeed.

Quin nipped and stroked and suckled
and blew until she was half mad with need. Then he did it all over
again to the other breast. The coarse prickles covering his jaw
scraped against her sensitized flesh, pushed her beyond the limits
of reason.

And still, she wanted more. Needed
more. She arched her back, pressing her breasts into him, drove her
hips against him, searching, moaning, sighing. But instead of doing
whatever he must do to satisfy her need, Quin lifted himself off
her.

For God’s sake, he would be the death
of her.

Without his considerable weight
pressing her down into the mattress, Aurora felt exposed. Empty.
Cold.

She reached for him, only to have her
hand impatiently brushed aside. “This is far from over, love,” Quin
said. He stood at the edge of the bed, impatiently fumbling with
the buttons holding the flap of his breeches in place. Before he
had them all undone, he pulled them down and stepped
free.

With the afternoon sun pouring in
through the window, she wanted to look at him, to revel in the
beauty that were his thighs, to gape at the sheer strength
displayed by his muscles. He had to look like an Adonis, with all
his muscular perfection and arrogant swagger.

Aurora could not. All she
could see was that
thing
at the junction of his thighs. Big and protruding,
and drawing her eye there and nowhere else. “Oh, dear good Lord,”
she breathed.

Never in a million years would she be
able to dream up what he intended to do with it. Her imagination
was vivid, and entirely too overactive, but God had to have a sense
of humor to have created such an object. A sick sense of humor. A
very sick and deranged and fiendish sense of humor.

Her mind screamed at her to flee, to
run back to her own chamber and lock the door. Instead, she laid
there ogling him.

For just a moment too long.

Quin sat next to her on the bed, and
his hands were on her again—this time pulling her shift and her
drawers down her length, tossing them aside before she could stop
him. Then he smoothed his hands over her, starting at her breasts
and trailing a painstakingly torturous path over her stomach to her
thighs, and then back up again.

Still, Aurora could not remove her
eyes from him. Or more specifically, from that one part of
him.

His hands never stopped moving over
her, stroking her, building a heat inside her that she felt would
burn her alive if he didn’t stop soon. His eyes laughed down at
her. “You look terrified. It will only hurt for a
moment.”

Hurt? There would be pain
involved in this? Why had no one told her any of this? She silently
cursed Aunt Sedgewick for her prudishness. But that wasn’t enough.
Then she cursed her mother for having the effrontery to die and
leave her alone to fend for herself against this
thing,
before Aurora had
the opportunity to ask all the questions which required
answers.

“
What do you intend to do
with that?” she asked, her voice shaking a bit more than she would
have liked.

He didn’t answer her. At least not
with his words, but with his hands. Or more specifically, with his
fingers.

They moved over her woman’s part,
cupping and stroking. Aurora’s eyes felt like they would fall out,
they were open so wide. Was this even legal? She wasn’t entirely
certain. But even though it scandalized her, she could not bear the
thought of stopping him.

His fingers slipped inside her, moving
in and out and about. “Oh, God. You’re so wet,” he said, moving
faster, more urgently.

“
Is that bad?” Aurora
asked. She hoped not. She didn’t know what had caused the moisture,
let alone how to prevent it. Especially since the more he stroked
her, the more the slickness built.

Quin smiled at her then, a devilish
smile. “No. Stop thinking.”

Stop thinking? Blast, the man had no
idea what he was asking of her. Once her mind was traveling down a
certain path, there was no stopping it.

Then he stroked against her with his
thumb, light pressure at first and then rough, still sliding his
fingers in and out at a rapid pace, and it suddenly became
impossible to think at all. Her hips rose to meet him and her hands
fisted in the sheets. “I need…I need…” She didn’t know what she
needed. But if she didn’t get it in the next five seconds, someone
would have to answer to her. Likely Quin.

He answered before that came to pass.
“I know,” he said, his voice gruff. His mouth again came down upon
her breast, grazing his teeth against the tip.

Aurora nearly came off the bed. She
surely ripped the sheets from beneath her. Every nerve in her body,
from the tips of her fingers to the soles of her feet, sang out. It
was almost operatic. Her moan, however, was most decidedly not.
Operatic, that was. It sounded like a tortured animal finally
giving in to death. But oh, how that death had been worth
it.

She’d gladly repeat this death every
day.

Before she’d regained her ability to
think clearly, Quin was atop her again, with that divine pressure
of his frame sinking into her curves as he pressed her into the
mattress. He kissed her and nudged her legs apart, settling himself
between her thighs.

Then she felt it again. That thing.
Right where his fingers had been performing such wickedly
delightful antics to her womanhood.

He couldn’t. Surely he
wouldn’t. There was simply no earthly way
that
could fit. Not there. At least
not if she intended to live through the ordeal.

But he placed his hand
between their bodies and guided
it
to her opening, and then he
was.

“
Oh, dear good Lord,” she
said into his mouth, pushing with all her might against his
shoulders, but to no avail. “You’ll kill me.”

Instead of stopping, Quin pushed
further into her. “Hush,” he admonished her. “Don’t fight with me.
It will be all right.”

With every inch he moved inside her,
she felt her core stretch wider—and her eyes followed suit. Still,
it was not an entirely unpleasant sensation. Not at all, really.
Not if she was being honest with herself. It just seemed as though
it should be painful.

Aurora tried to relax, to let him do
as he would. After all, hadn’t she just told herself only moments
before she’d gladly die that same death every day? Perhaps this
could give her a similar sensation.

Then he stopped moving and took her
chin in one hand, forcing her to look directly into his eyes—eyes
almost black with emotion. “I promise you. It will not hurt
long.”

He was being so tender with her.
Aurora wanted to reassure him. “Oh, but it doesn’t—sweet Jesus! Oh,
my.”

It did. It hurt like the dickens. Like
she was being split in two and would never be put back together
again. Like an entire flock of pigeons were pecking her from the
inside out. Like a cat using her insides for sharpening its claws.
She could only hope that the scream she let out had merely been in
her imagination.

But almost as soon as the pain
started, it eased. Aurora started to breathe again, only then
realizing that she’d been holding her breath captive.

“
Better now?” Quin asked,
with a pained, studious expression furrowing his brows together.
His jaw clenched, causing his dimple to twitch. Gracious, if it
hurt him
and
it
hurt her, why were they doing it?

She nodded. Speaking would require
entirely too much effort for her mind, at the moment. It was too
busy being occupied by analyzing the rather odd sensation of Quin
moving fervently in and out of her womb. First she felt stretched
to her limits, to be followed by a contracting emptiness—and all of
it enveloped by a strangely addictive friction.

He rose up on his elbows, staring down
at her. “You’re so tight,” he ground out, increasing the pace of
his thrusts.

Aurora’s body seemed to match him of
its own accord, her hips rising to meet with his and then falling.
“Is that bad?” She hoped not. How on earth was she supposed to
change that? Even if she knew what it meant.

“
God, no. Stop
thinking.”

Stop thinking? The man really did not
know her. Not at all. He’d already ordered her to do that once, and
clearly she hadn’t managed it. At least not for long.

But then his hands were on her breasts
again, kneading, squeezing, and pinching at the hardened nubs, and
she was panting for breath and straining for him to fulfill that
wonderful and terrible need. Oh, dear good Lord, she thought she
would die.

Again. That might be nice. That might
be quite nice, indeed.

Quin slid one hand between them and
rubbed at the swollen center of her universe. She leapt gleefully
over the edge to the chorus of a thousand angels. Hallelujah,
indeed. She finally understood where Handel had found his
inspiration. Quin grunted and pulsed inside her, and a warm, wet
feeling spread throughout her womb.

Then he collapsed atop her, crushing
her to the mattress like a rug to the floor.

Within moments, he was snoring
lightly, his breath blowing at the hair against her neck, tickling
and teasing her sensitive skin where his stubble abraded
it.

Aurora felt rather sleepy as well,
after all of that. Perhaps she would nap again.

There was only one thought
on her mind as she trailed off into slumber: Why would any husband
and wife ever choose to sleep in separate beds if
that
was what happened in
the marriage bed?

Preposterous.

~ * ~

Quin woke with a start. Or more
precisely, he woke with his delectable bride’s hand on his cock.
Squeezing, no less. She kneeled on the bed. Somehow he’d ended up
on his back with this temptress forever more to be known as his
wife leaning over him.

“
What in God’s name do you
think you’re doing?” he asked, trying with all his might to keep
his tone calm and sedate, but failing abjectly.

She jumped, probably because his words
came out more as a roar, pulling her hand back like she’d just
touched fire. It would be, soon enough, if she didn’t stop. On
fire. In need. Flaming to life. He prayed she wouldn’t
stop.

It had taken every ounce of patience
he owned to bed her earlier without scaring the life out of her,
hurting her more than absolutely necessary, or rutting with her
like an animal. He didn’t think himself capable of holding back
again. Not if she kept touching him like that.

This was precisely why he avoided
bedding innocents. They were too damned much trouble, what with
their death-sentence combination of curiosity and inexperience.
Much easier to visit a whore and not have to worry about such
things.

Her huge, clear eyes were wide as
saucers again, staring at him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I won’t
touch it again.”

“
Bloody hell,” Quin said,
taking Aurora’s delicate hand with those long fingers, and placing
it back where it had been. He groaned aloud at the sweet
torture.

Her lips formed a perfect O as she
watched her ministrations. Slowly, ever so slowly, she wrapped her
fingers around him, providing just enough pressure to remind him of
how hot and tight she was, how sweet the sound of her passionate,
little cries had been, how eagerly her body had responded to his
every touch.

The late afternoon sun was beginning
to set outside, casting an orange-pink glow about her silhouette
above him. Christ, she looked more a goddess than ever, leaning
over him with massive waves of hair cascading around her naked
form, falling softly around those perfect, bouncing breasts—more
than a mouthful, but not quite a handful.

She, however, was proving to be far
more than a handful.

Just then, Quin was inclined to allow
her to do anything she pleased to him.

After a moment, he wondered if he’d
said the words aloud, because she started to slide her grip up and
down over his shaft, creating an exquisite friction. He grew
hotter, harder, larger.

Aurora’s eyes followed suit. Just
before he thought he would lose control of himself, she let him
loose and leaned over to look intently in his eyes. “May I…may I
touch you like you touched me?”