The first kiss was what their first kiss in the larder should have been, had it not been the explosion of so much repressed lust.
He rolled her over until she lay beneath him, then he slid one knee up between hers. Taking his weight on his elbows, he brushed the hair back from her face with both hands. “I love your eyes,” he murmured, now that he had the right to. “I wish I could swim in them.”
She drew her brows together. “Is that a nice thought or an odd one?”
He laughed. “I’m not sure. Is it a good thought to want to dive into you and never come up for air?”
She reached up to sweep back the hair that had fallen over his forehead. “Come on in … the water’s lovely.”
He dropped his head until their noses touched. “You are an astounding creature, Miss Millbury.”
She slid her fingers into his hair. “Only with you.”
Their lips touched then, softly, carefully, with that tentative promise that there was more to come and plenty of time for it. She wrapped her arms about his shoulders, keeping her hands in his hair, pulling him to her until their bodies melded.
Perhaps this truly was their first kiss. Before they had been forbidden lovers, fighting their natures and their
commitments. Everything before now had been tainted with guilt or compulsion.
They were free now—which, in Phoebe’s mind, made this their very first kiss.
His lips were warm and firm on hers. He gently pulled her lower lip into his, then released it. She melted into him and let herself be kissed in luxurious capitulation. The tip of his tongue, hot and wet, slid between her lips, just for a second—a mere knock on her door. She parted her lips and let him in.
There, covered by his body, her head cradled in his hands, Phoebe was kissed with pure love for the first time in her life. Behind it were the coals of passion, banked and patient, but this kiss was a gift and a vow and a beseechment all at the same time.
She tightened her fingers in his hair and gave and promised and answered him with her own lips and tongue.
He ended the kiss in order to look into her eyes. His were black and urgent in the candlelight. “I love you, Miss Millbury.”
She kissed his chin. “I know.”
“Do you? How can you? I have not been good to you.”
She shook her head. “You rescued me.”
He smiled. “And then you rescued me.”
“Rafe?”
“Yes, Phoebe?”
“I don’t want to talk anymore.”
He laughed, low and wicked. Then he took her nipple into his mouth.
Hot magic lanced through her, making her arch her back with a cry, pressing more of her soft flesh into his eager mouth.
Her passionate noise unleashed him. He grabbed her with hot, hungry hands and dragged her to him, then under him. She lay on her back with her hands willingly trapped
between their bodies, her breast bared and wet and in his hungry possession.
He suckled hard, making her keen and squirm at the mingled pleasure and pain. Then he wrapped his hot, hard hand around it and moved his attention to her other one. Then he slid down her body, kissing her skin softly all the way.
“Where are you going?”
“I am going to make you forget all about Terrence LaPomme.” He drove his tongue between the sweet folds of her.
She gasped in surprise and stiffened. “What—”
He lifted his head. “Phoebe, who is in charge here?”
She thought about it a moment too long. He bared his teeth to bite gently at her soft white thigh.
“Ow! I thought I was the Queen … or was I the Goddess ?”
“Then it is long past my turn, don’t you think?” He pressed her thighs gently apart, but did not relent. “Say ‘yes, my lord.’ Then stop talking.”
She went pliant in his hands. “Yes, my lord,” she said throatily.
“That’s better.” He dipped his head to taste her again.
Phoebe, forced to do nothing to protest, allowed herself to descend into the wicked pleasure of his mouth on her. Was it wicked, truly?
He rolled his tongue over the stiff little button that was the center of her pleasure. “Oh, yesss.” It was most certainly deeply, darkly wicked. Bad, even. Hopefully it would continue to be bad for a long, long time.
It did so, until he changed his motion to drive his tongue deeply into her. She cried out and dug her fingers into his hair, rotating her hips, moving against his mouth, abandoning herself completely to the pleasure purring through her body.
When her breathing had calmed and her trembling had eased somewhat, she tossed back the damp hair that had fallen over her face and lifted her head. “My lord?”
He kissed her mound softly. “Yes?”
“Nothing.” She dropped her head back on the pillow. “I simply wondered if it would work to say it again.”
He chuckled, his breath hot on her sensitive flesh. She lay open to him in her sensual abandon, her inhibitions gone the same place as the rules her father had imposed on her. “So this is what free feels like.”
He moved up the bed to lie beside her. “No. This is better. I’ve been free—and it is lonely and cold. I’d much rather be your Minion.”
She rolled over to lie nose to nose. “And my Master.”
He smiled. “It is always best to take proper turns.”
With one hand on his shoulder, she pushed him back to lie flat. “So what does my Master want?”
He stroked a thumb over her bottom lip, then kissed it. “To give you pleasure, of course.”
She bit him. “That is not a good answer. Tell me what to do, or I’ll simply be forced to muddle through on my own.”
His eyes widened. “I’m fairly certain that ‘muddle through’ has never before been used in reference to lovemaking.”
She shrugged. He liked to watch the side effect of that. “Very well. On your head be it.” She repeated his movement, sliding down his body, kissing all the way. Unlike the first time, she did not stop to grasp his erection with her hand. Instead, she greeted the tip with wet open lips.
A deep groan ripped through him. His big hand came to rest upon her head, not pushing but simply guiding. “I would not ask you—”
She lifted her head. “Minion, who is in charge here?”
He dropped his head back on the pillow. “I have created a monster,” he gasped.
She opened her mouth and took his enlarged head into her mouth. It was firm and round and salty. She licked around it, exploring with her tongue. He made deep vulnerable noises which emboldened her. She dropped her jaw to take more of him in her mouth. She found that she could not manage more than half, so she wrapped her hand about the rest so it would not feel chilled.
Somewhere in that maneuver, she accidentally caused suction. The aching, heartfelt moan that erupted from him was enough to encourage more study. She began to slide him deeply in and out of her mouth, sucking on the way out and rolling her tongue over the staff on the way in.
His hand tightened painfully in her hair but she ignored it, intent on her task. She was on to something, she just knew it. She increased the speed of her method. He grew in her mouth and in her hand until she needed to wrap her other fingers about him to cover him completely. Goodness, he seemed to never end!
The blunt head of him began to further swell in her mouth. Much more and she wouldn’t be able to—
“Damn it!” He reached for her roughly and pulled her away, dragging her up to roll onto her and between her thighs. He was panting as he pushed her hair back to gaze pleadingly into her eyes, his dark and needing. “Now—I must have you—”
She opened her thighs and wrapped her arms about his ribs. “Now.”
He wrapped his hands over her shoulders and drove himself hard into her—
The pain was harsh and ripping. A keening cry escaped her. He froze. “What—”
She pushed at him, gasping. He held her close. “No. Shh. If I leave now it will only hurt more.” He smoothed her hair and kissed her face. “Relax into it, sweeting. Breathe.”
He was warm and strong and, despite her sudden panic, she knew he had not meant to hurt her. She was safe in his arms. She buried her face in his neck and forced her lungs to slow. If she bore down just a little, would it ease? It would. After another moment, the sharp pain was gone, ebbing to a dull, stretching ache.
He ran his thumb over her cheek, taking away a tear. “Better?”
She sniffed and nodded. “What was that?”
He shook his head. “That was your virtue, my sweet. Apparently your Terrence was a bit of a failure.”
She blinked. “But I spent the entire night with him. We did … things.”
“Did you do this?”
She bit her lip. “Don’t talk down to me. Of course we did this—well, something like this. Terrence would press into me a bit and then—”
He shook his head. “And then Terrence the Early would be finished, wouldn’t he?” He dropped his forehead down to her shoulder. “I would have known if I had thought to check your readiness. Even with an experienced woman, it is the courteous thing to do.” He rolled his head back and forth. “If not for your damned talented mouth …”
She laughed damply. “Don’t put this on me, Lord ‘I swived everything in sight’ Marbrook! I’m only a proper little virgin from the country.”
He lifted his head to smile ruefully. “Not anymore.”
She put her finger over his lips. “Shh. I’ve believed I was ruined since I was fifteen. I’m owed a few moments of prudery.”
He blinked. “Oh, hell, I hope not!” He began to withdraw from her.
The hot pleasure made her gasp. He went still once more. “Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head, rolling it on the pillow. “Do it again,” she moaned.
He held her closer, then slowly, carefully, drove into her once more. The hot stretchy ache gave in to a rush of thick pleasure that took her breath away. She felt her fingers dig into the rigid muscles of his arms. “Oh, yes, please!” she gasped. “Again!”
He kissed her softly. “Yes, my queen.” He stroked his thick, rigid erection more deeply into her, pulling out so slowly she keened with pleasure, driving in with just enough speed to make her gasp again.
She wrapped her arms about him, needing to hold on to something solid as she was swept away by a warm, exquisite sea. Deep strokes, the drive and retreat, the ebb and flow of him inside her, expanding her, giving to her, owning her—
She rose sharply and hard, then flew spinning out into pure light. He went with her, whispering his love as his powerful arms held her tightly through the shimmering tremors of her ecstasy.
Phoebe became aware of her own sobbing cries as the light ebbed from her body. She swallowed and buried her face in his chest, her breath still coming too fast. “I—was I—loud?”
His deep laughter rumbled through her. “Don’t worry, my sweet. It began to rain again a while ago. I don’t think anyone could hear you.”
“You had better not do that again, just the same,” she said seriously. “I told everyone at the inn that I was your sister.”
He gave her a scandalized look. “They’ll all think me depraved! You howled like the north wind!”
She laughed and slapped at his shoulder. “I did not.” Then she frowned. “Did I?”
He chuckled again. “I don’t recall precisely.” He pressed more deeply within her. “I suppose we could try it again and see.”
She shuddered at the renewed pleasure. She was more sensitive now. It was as if she could feel every rigid vein in his organ as it drove into her. He shuddered now too, as he stroked deeply into her, letting his careful control loosen a bit.
“Is that all right?” he gasped. “Not too fast?”
He needed it. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his back to ease the fit, then linked her hands behind his neck. “I’m fine,” she said breathlessly.
It was harder this time, faster and more untamed, and she resisted the pleasure for a bit in order to watch the darkness of his passion on his face. Then his wild need excited her too much and she gave in to the throbbing rush of his heat within her.
He took her on and on, his hard powerful body sweating and rippling under her touch. He swelled further within her until she was nearly sobbing with the pain/pleasure of his invasion.
Then, with a deep animal roar, he stiffened in her arms, thrusting deeply, pulsating into her. She cried out at the final increase in his size, exploding into her own sharp, instant pleasure at the feel of his eruption.
He remained there, gasping hoarsely, his face tucked into her damp neck, as the shudders continued to rack him for a long moment.
“Oh Sweet Charlotte’s Ass,” swore Phoebe breathlessly. “What happened?”
He laughed weakly into her skin. “I’m not sure. I think I finally experienced ‘making love.’ It seems you weren’t the only virgin in the room.”
She wrapped her arms about him and pulled him down to relax over her. “See? We were meant for each other, like … like bread and butter.”
He slid the greatest part of his weight off her, then stroked her hair away from her perspiring face. “Like toast and jam?”
“Like kippers and eggs.”
“Bangers and mash.”
“Precisely,” she said with satisfaction.
“Horse and cart.”
She turned her head to look into his eyes. “Who is the cart?”
“What?”
“Am I the cart? I’d prefer to be the horse, I think … although the horse isn’t precisely driving, is he? Then again, the cart makes no decisions whatsoever …”
He drew his brows together in a helpless expression. “You’re having one of those conversations that doesn’t include me again, aren’t you?”
She looked up at the ceiling. “I think I’d prefer ‘prince and princess,’ like in Sophie’s story.”
She told him about the princess cursed to a hundred years of sleep.
He toyed with her hair and listened, but then he frowned. “What does it mean? It doesn’t make sense.”
“She’s alive, but it is as though she is dead … or sleeping. To me it seems as if she were attacked and she … she retreated. She stifled her deepest self—sent it to sleep. She remains that way for a very long time.”
He kissed her temple softly. “’Tis a sad tale. What happens next?”
“I don’t know—but I hope that she awakens soon.” She yawned. “I am so weary. I don’t think I can—”
“Shh.” He drew the covers high and tucked her into the curve of his warm body. “Sleep. You’ve had a trying day, what with cracking highwaymen’s skulls and finding your lost virginity and all.”
She curled up small into him, as if she had never slept any other way. “Only one highwayman,” she murmured with another yawn. “I’m sure you would have thrashed them both …”