Barbara Pierce (28 page)

Her head turned at the knock on the door.

“May I enter?” Fayne politely asked from the other side.

Kilby did not understand why she was stalling. Fayne had seen her naked, had touched her intimately. Somehow everything seemed different between them. “Of course,” she said, moving to open the door just in case he thought it was locked.

The door opened just as she reached it. Fayne stepped into the room, his hungry gaze taking in the nightgown she had donned. “Kilby Ermina Carlisle, Duchess of Solitea, you are the most beguiling temptress I have ever had the pleasure of marrying.”

She rolled her eyes. “That is a pitiful compliment. Especially since I happen to be the only lady you have taken as wife.”

He circled around her, enjoying every aspect of his view. He was dressed informally, wearing only his shirt and breeches. “Fayre had made me promise to give you
some privacy. She said that a lady needed the comfort of her personal rituals on the night of her wedding.” He took up her left hand and kissed the knuckles above the ring he had placed on her finger. There was a possessive quality to his gleaming green gaze.

“Nighttime rituals were tasks I performed to please myself,” Kilby said, moving away from him and returning to the mirror. She began removing the pins from her hair. “This is the first time I have ever done them to please a man.”

Fayne came up from behind and circled her waist. The heat from his splayed hand on her stomach burned her. “Your husband,” he murmured, kissing her neck.

She leaned against him, reveling in his warmth. “Fayne, there is a chance Archer may try to have our marriage annulled. I am only nineteen. Lawfully, he is my guardian.” Kilby turned her head to the side, trying to see his face.

Fayne silenced her argument by brushing his lips teas-ingly over hers. “Hush. Forget about your brother. Nipping might whine over his rights, but no court will grant them. I’ll see to it. You are mine, little wolf. The marriage will stand.”

Kilby wanted to pursue the conversation, but her husband had more important matters on his mind. Starting at her nape, Fayne massaged her scalp with his fingertips, casually removing hairpins as he discovered them. There was something magical about his touch. He managed to soothe and make her ache at the same time. As her tousled hair fell down around her waist, Kilby allowed her head to fall back against his shoulder.

Inviting.

Fayne growled against her ear. The ridge of his manhood pressed insistently against her buttocks. “The desire I feel for you consumes me. I don’t want to be gentle.”

Her lashes fluttered up and she locked gazes with him in the mirror. “Then don’t.”

His new bride was a contrary mix of naïveté and wantonness. It was a potent combination sure to drive him mad with lust. “Did my sister give you this nightgown?”

Kilby turned around and faced him. “Yes. Rather conservative, do you not think?” she teased, her nimble fingers unfastening the last few buttons on his shirt.

“It is a sinful confection.” Fayne helped her pull his shirt over his head and discard it. “I love it. When we return to London, I shall purchase you a dozen more.”

The nightgown was fashioned to reveal rather than conceal. The rounded neck was low and adjustable. The sleeves tapered at the elbow with a flowing ruffled edge. The hem brushed the back of her calves. Whenever Kilby moved, the fabric floated about her. The glimpses of her pert nipples, the dark triangle of hair between her legs, and the sweet curve of her buttocks were a tantalizing visual treat.

Kilby laughed, her gaze shifting to his breeches. Out of respect for her sensibilities, Fayne had pulled the ends of his shirt out of his breeches to conceal his erection. His wicked thoughts about their wedding night had put him in this rather uncomfortable condition since they had sat down for supper. They had lingered over their meal of roast duck and venison, and still his unruly body had not abated. Eventually, when they rose to leave, their departure had been swift, with Kilby leading the way.

“You look uncomfortable,” she said sympathetically, letting her fingers glide over the rigid bulge in his breeches. She moved closer and flicked her tongue over his left pap.

“I am. You have a stimulating effect on me.”

Kilby unbuttoned the flap at his waist and widened the opening. Fayne inhaled sharply as she tenderly cupped his
arousal. Freed from the confines of his breeches, his cock swelled in her hand.

He stopped her when she began to sink to her knees. Glancing speculatively at the mirror, he gave her an impish smirk. “I have another idea.” Fayne spun her around to face the mirror mounted to the wall. It was a long rectangular glass that ended at their knees. “Brace your hands on each side.”

Kilby complied with his command. “Are you certain my idea was not the better one?”

Her idea was a splendid one. “Perhaps later when my legs fail me,” he said, removing his breeches. He positioned himself behind her.

“Should I remove the nightgown?” she asked, unsure of his intentions.

“No, leave it,” he said, slipping his hands under the sheer fabric and stroking the indentation of her buttocks. “I like the teasing view the gown offers, how your nipples pebble against the fabric.”

He brought his hand around and rubbed his thumb against her clitoris. As he had suspected, she moistened at his touch. Fayne nuzzled her neck. “I want you to watch me take you.”

Taking his cock into his hand, he rubbed the velvet head down the cleft of her buttocks. “Spread your legs and lean into the glass,” he said roughly. The hand probing her womanly folds was slick with her arousal. Unable to resist, he pressed deeper, finding her sheath.

“Fayne, if you persist, my legs will not support me.”

His tongue lashed her ear. “Don’t shut your eyes,” he chided, deliberately heightening her senses for his penetration. Using his hand he guided the broad head of his shaft to the hidden opening of her sheath.

“Watch me fill you,
wife.
” There was fierce satisfaction
in his voice when he said the word. Fayne thrust deeply, silently commanding her to take all of him.

Kilby gasped aloud at the overwhelming sensation of him filling her completely. He had never tried to take her from behind before, let alone do it standing! She did not even know it was possible. Fayne had told her to watch them, but all she could do was concentrate on
him.
Never had she been so aware of him inside her, his unyielding manhood stretching the tiny muscles as he reinforced his claim on her body.

“Am I hurting you?” he murmured, holding himself still as her body grew accustomed to his size.

“Not really. You just seem bigger if that is at all possible,” she admitted, and wanted to bite her tongue when he laughed.

“Anything is possible,” he said, moving experimentally while he observed her response in the mirror.

There was little she could do but shiver. In this position, Fayne was her master. With her hands braced against the wall, he controlled the pace and depth of his strokes. She could not touch him. And yet he was free to fondle her breasts and torment her by rubbing the little sensitive nubbin between her legs.

“This is not fair,” Kilby said, panting, her violet eyes dark with passion. “You get all the fun.”

“How so?” He pinched her nipples playfully. “This is not pleasurable?” Fayne bit the side of her neck as he flexed deeply within her.

Kilby swallowed visibly. Her nipples ached for his caress. “Fayne, touch me,” she begged.

The green color of his eyes intensified at her breathy order. “Where, little wolf?”

His leisurely thrust quickened as he moved one hand from her hip to her stomach. “Here?”

She shook her head. “My breasts.”

“Ah, yes. Have I mentioned how much I adore your perfect breasts?” he asked, his breath sounding winded. “I do. This position denies me the pleasure of suckling them, but I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Promise?” Kilby moaned.

Cupping both her breasts with his hands, Fayne drove her lithe body against him. Her fingers curled into fists as a warm heat spread through her abdomen. Kilby caught a glimpse of her reflection. Through the long black hair obscuring most of her face, she barely recognized the wanton female striving for release only her mate could give her. Craving him to end this excruciating torture, she arched her spine slightly to ease his entry, silently coax him into surrendering to his lust.

Fayne lost control. Wildly, he pounded into her sheath. Sensing her release was close, his fingers skillfully stroked the swollen nub between her legs. “This is where I belong,” he said, softly grunting with each thrust. “Here. Deep. Spilling my seed in you over and over . . .”

Kilby cried out. The violence of her orgasm washed over her as her womb contracted; the sensation was so intense it bordered on pain. Fayne gave a strangled shout and pulled her hips forcefully against his. Breathing heavily, she watched her husband’s face contort as he found his potent release within her body.

Fayne wrapped his arms around her waist and had curled his body protectively over hers. His embrace was the only thing keeping her from sliding bonelessly to the floor.

“I definitely see the benefits of making you my wife,” he smugly said, slowly withdrawing his manhood from her.

“Really? How so?” Straightening, she turned around and sagged against the mirror.

He stalked up to her. Brushing back the tangled strands of hair in her face, he latched his mouth onto her lips for a
smoldering kiss. Fayne was insatiable, she thought as his arousal prodded her belly. “Our days of sneaking around and worrying about the hour are over. Instead of watching the clock, I get to make love to you all night.”

When Kilby awoke the next morning, she discovered that she was naked and alone in the bed. Half asleep, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. Stumbling out of bed, she stooped down and picked up her nightgown. Until Fayne had barged his way into her life, she had never contemplated sleeping without a stitch of clothing on. She pulled the delicate gown over her head. Moving to the door, she opened it and peeked into the small sitting room that was connected to the bedchamber.

Where is Fayne?

Glancing at the small chimneypiece, she blurrily peered at the clock on the mantel. It was twenty minutes past eight o’clock. Ugh, it was too early to be out of bed. True to his word, her new husband had made love to her throughout the night. They occasionally dozed; however, Kilby could not think of a passing hour that chimed on the mantel clock when Fayne had not stroked her body into a feverish pitch. The man could not seem to keep his hands to himself. A slight smile formed on her lips. She had never heard
of anyone actually perishing from lovemaking, but it seemed like a pleasurable way to expire.

“Is that smile for me, duchess?”

Kilby turned to see Fayne stroll into the room and close the door. At some point, he had washed and shaved while she had slept. He looked rather invigorated for a man who had spent a large portion of the night frolicking in bed.

“Where have you been?” she said peevishly, feeling like a hag.

“Grumpy in the morning, are we?” Fayne teased, kissing the tip of her nose. “Ah, the things a man learns about his wife
after
the leg-shackling.”

“Oh, please.” Kilby rolled her eyes at him and crossed over to the satchel Lady Fayre had prepared for her. She dug around for a hairbrush. “I am perfectly amiable most days; that is, when I have had more than three hours of sleep.”

Fayne was in good spirits this morning. He scooped her up into his arms and spun them around. She was giggling by the time they collapsed on the bed.

“That’s better.” Fayne caught her chin with his hand. “Good morning, wife.”

“Good morning, husband,” she said, dutifully tilting her cheek upward for a polite peck one might expect an old married couple would share.

He bent his head closer as if preparing to kiss her. Before their lips could brush, Fayne grimaced and pulled back. “You muddle my thoughts, woman. I return to you with news.”

Kilby’s fingers tensed, digging into his shoulders. “Have you received news about Gypsy?” Despite Fayne’s efforts to distract her from her troubles, concern about her sister’s fate lurked just beneath the surface.

“Yes. A messenger arrived thirty minutes ago bearing the good news we have been waiting to hear. Brawley reached Ealkin before Nipping.” Fayne rubbed her back soothingly. “Gypsy is in good health. The letter you wrote her, vouching
that Brawley was there at your request, eased her fears. She is now safely ensconced at Brawley’s town house, and most likely is being ridiculously spoiled by my sister.”

Gypsy was protected. The relief she felt was so immense, she sagged bonelessly against her husband’s chest. “I owe you and your family so much for Gypsy. I—”

Fayne tipped her face upward, slightly paling when he glimpsed her tears. “There now,” he crooned, wiping the wetness from her cheeks. “I understand how much your sister means to you. Besides, I could not leave an innocent child in the hands of a man like Nipping.”