Entwined (10 page)

Lu wasn’t sure, but she just might have fallen a little in love with her husband in that instant.

He slid closer, resting a long thigh upon the bed, so that they were only a foot away from each other. The mattress dipped under his weight but Lu had Eamon to hold on to and her fear ebbed further.

“We needn’t do this tonight,” he said, looking her over with a small frown. He let her hand go and brushed a lock of her hair back from her temple. It was a fleeting touch, the tips of his fingers barely grazing her skin, yet it seared just the same. Eamon let his hand rest upon the bed between them. “We can wait.”

“I was never good at waiting.”

Eamon raised a brow, and she bit her lip. Gods, that sounded like she was eager.

“I mean, it would only make it worse—no, not worse, but harder. God.” Lu winced. “Everything is coming out the wrong way.”

He laughed, a low, easy chuckle. “It’s nerves. And I knew what you meant.”

Well. Good. Fine. She was through making an ass of herself.

Sitting with him under the shelter of the velvet canopy, with naught but the crackling of the fire and the warmth of his body so close, Lu felt a certain camaraderie. He was right. They were in this together, and suddenly it didn’t seem so frightening.

“Have you ever…” She bit her lip. It seemed too personal to ask, and yet they were to do this thing together. “Ever done this?”

For a moment, she thought maybe he’d misunderstood or hadn’t heard, his expression was so blank. But then he cleared his throat and frowned.

“I haven’t.” His tight frown was glum. “Was saving myself for y—” He drew a quick breath. “Well, for my wife, wasn’t I?”

Lu could not help it; she smiled. “I think that is lovely.” Warmth bloomed within her chest, and she had to restrain herself from touching his cheek. Women were expected to remain chaste and pure. That Eamon wanted to keep that part of himself for his wife made him more of a man than the bragging bucks she’d come across in London.

His lashes lowered a bit, hiding his eyes, but she could tell that her smile was not welcome.

“It only seemed fair, didn’t it?” he mumbled. “After all, you are… That is, my bride would be a… Curse it. Let’s just say that neither of us will know what we’re doing and right now I’m sorry for it.”

“Why?” She let her hand move an inch, and her pinky grazed the fabric of his nightshirt.

“Seems one of us ought to know.” His brow furrowed as he studied her face. “And it ought to be me. I want to do right by you, Lu.”

This time, she did touch him, running a finger along his jaw, where it was just a bit rough with his evening stubble, taking note of the way his breath caught and the answering thrill that rushed through her. “I trust you, Eamon.” Strangely, she did. They were virtual strangers, but she knew he would not harm her. More so, she knew he was a gentle soul, despite his obvious strength.

He gave her a brusque nod. “Then let us get to it.” He moved to lie on top of her. Their legs tangled, knees knocking as they both shifted to fit. His chest pressed against hers, the expanse of it like a brick wall.

“I cannot breathe,” she got out with a gasp, the sensation of Eamon all around her overwhelming.

He muttered a curse and rose up on his elbows. “Better?” he asked, looking down at her. A lock of hair fell over his brow like a glowing tinder. She had the mad urge to brush it back, perhaps touch his cheek. His breathing had gone fast and light as well, and each inhale had his chest touching hers, but no longer crushing.

“Yes.”

“Right. Good. Then… I’ll…” Long, masculine fingers fumbled at the skirt of her nightdress, pulling it up, stopping when the linen snagged under her bottom. Eamon wouldn’t look at her as he cursed beneath his breath and tried to get it free.

“Here,” she said, “let me.” Face positively burning, Lu lifted her hips, and the gown, no longer constrained, flew up to her waist from the force of Eamon’s tug, his hand knocking into the side of her breast before he could control the momentum.

“Sorry,” he muttered, drawing up his nightshirt.

Lu wondered if it would be a blessing should they both expire on the spot. But no such luck. Eamon’s hips closed in over hers, and she parted her thighs, instinctively making space for him.

When the warmth of his hips settled in between her legs, she sucked in a breath, and then she felt it, hot and hard and heavy against her inner thigh. His manhood, as most ladies would call it. Though Lu had overheard the grooms use another word:
cock
. She liked that word more; the sinful sound of it always gave her a flutter. And all her attention was now riveted on the feel of Eamon Evernight’s cock.

His skin there was silky soft, a surprise, but not enough of one to quell the tight fear that overtook her when he shifted. Because his skin might be soft, but his shaft was hard as iron, and that heated weight pushed against her sex. Oh, but just the feel of that sent a strange, dark thrill coursing through her, and her insides clenched. So very strange, this mix of anticipation and fear.

He ducked his head, and their cheeks touched. A blessing really, for they didn’t have to face each other in this moment. Eamon nudged forward a bit, trying to push the rounded tip into her, and a rush of cool heat washed over her skin even as her breath caught. But he stopped. It did not want to go in. In truth, he felt so large, so massively thick in that area, that she wondered how he ever thought he would fit inside her.

“Damn,” he muttered. “You’re dry.”

She did not know what that meant precisely, but the accusation had her cheeks burning and her insides cringing. “I’m sorry?”

Eamon’s gaze went sharp. “It’s not—” He sighed and rolled off to hunch over the side of the bed, and the loss left her cold. She hastily pulled her gown down as he sighed. “The fault is mine, Bit.”

He got up, and his nightshirt fell to his knees, leaving strong-looking calves, lightly furred with auburn hair. The linen was too billowy to see the rest of his form but it hugged his broad shoulders as he moved to the bureau at the far side of the room. She wanted the shirt gone, to see him bare.

Was he hairy all over? How many shades of red colored his massive body? Was his skin smooth in other places? Tight? Rough?

She swallowed hard and composed her expression as he walked back toward her with a silver box in hand.

Not meeting her gaze, he gave her the box. “For you—us. This is,” he ground out as she lifted the lid. The scent of roses and lavender touched her nose. Inside was a salve.

The substance was almost oily, sliding easily between her fingertips. “What is it for?”

She didn’t think it possible, but Eamon went a shade redder. “To ease the passage… Usually, I’m supposed to prepare you.”

“How?” The whole thing sounded horribly embarrassing yet slightly intriguing.

He swallowed thickly. “Kiss you, touch you…” A strangled sound came from deep within him, and he hurried his speech. “But that there will do the trick if I cannot… well, if you’re not ready to receive me.”

“Oh.” With a tentative finger, she touched the salve once more. “Don’t you want to?”

Eamon’s head jerked up. “Want to what?”

“Kiss me?” she clarified, her heart pounding. Mercy, would she ever learn to keep her mouth shut?

Eamon jerked again, and the firelight glowed gold against the column of his neck as he glared down at his clenched fist. “I do.”

“Then why—”

“You were to be his.”

The harsh declarative echoed over them.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, then she slowly handed Eamon the box. “But I’m not his.” Aidan had left her. And while the hurt hadn’t eased, she had to live in the here and now.

Eamon raised his head, and their eyes met, and held.

She licked her dry lips and said what she must. “I am yours now, aren’t I?”

“Aye,” he whispered. “You are.”

Still he did not move to kiss her, but with the slow, stiff moves of the reluctant, he took the box from her hand and lay down next to her. The fierce blush on his cheeks remained. “You need to… lift your gown again.”

His eyes did not quite meet hers, and for that she was suddenly glad, for mortification swamped her. Was there any dignity in the act?

Linen rustled as she fumbled about and gathered up her gown in her damp hands. With each inch of thigh exposed, she grew colder, and Eamon’s breath grew more ragged. His dark gaze was shuttered and focused on her progress. The coveted look heated her blood. He liked what he saw. It gave her an unexpected measure of power that made her go slower, teasing him.

He licked his lower lip, his fist curling into the bedding between them. She liked that too.

By the time the gown was past her hips, they were both breathing too fast and light.

“Part your legs.” It was a rasp, his gaze focused on the dark patch of hair covering her sex. Lu’s insides clenched again, her nipples growing tight and sensitive against her nightgown. Watching him watch her, she eased her thighs apart.

His breath hitched. “Jesus.” It was a bare whisper, but it did not sound as though he was put off, which was good, for baring herself to him left her so flushed that perspiration tickled between her breasts and her blood rushed in her ears. In the silence, he swallowed hard, his lashes fluttering down one brief moment before he reached for the salve.

And then his big, warm hand was cupping her. A gurgling sound escaped her before she took a quick, helpless breath. Eamon’s gaze flicked to hers but then went quickly, almost desperately, back to the sight of his hand holding her, and a shudder rent through his large body. Slowly his two middle fingers, coated with the salve, began to glide back and forth over her sex.

Lu sagged against the bed and struggled to keep her head up. Ye gods, had anything felt so… decadent, indecent, wickedly good… It made her head sway, her insides dip and rise as if she were on a boat in a turbulent sea, and her breath quicken. She wanted to moan, open her legs wider and pump against his steady torture. She bit her lip and clenched her fingers, not wanting to startle him. What if he stopped?

Somehow, he drifted closer, his warm chest touching her shoulder and his breath brushing her cheek as they both watched his hand. His fingers were slipping now, slick and coated, making small explorations over her flesh that quickly plumped and grew wetter. With a frown of concentration, Eamon pushed a finger into her, and Lu gasped.

He stilled. “Hurt?”

“No,” she bit out quickly. “No. Don’t—don’t stop.”

He nodded, biting his bottom lip as he applied himself, moving that long, thick finger of his in and out.

A restlessness spread over her. She wanted him to touch her elsewhere, perhaps cup her breasts and relieve the aching there, or kiss her mouth so that she wouldn’t let go of the sounds that were building within her. But he merely kept at his task. Not that he was unaffected. His linen nightshirt tented over a rather prodigious erection, one that appeared to bob, as if wanting to be free of its confinement. She wanted to touch Eamon’s cock. Wanted it to fill that empty place inside her that his fingers could not satisfy. And Lu couldn’t stop the small sound of distress that rose up.

“Eamon.” She shifted her hips, unable to keep still. “I need…”

“Now?” His voice was sanding paper, his breath agitated.

She made an awkward grab for him, catching a handful of his nightshirt, and he tumbled forward, knocking into her chest. They both grunted, but went silent as his hand reached between them and he put the smooth, hot head of his cock into position. Lu’s breath caught, her body trembling and her sex clenching. His arm came around her, holding her, and he pushed in, so thick and
there
that she gasped.

He paused, his chest heaving as if he’d run miles. “All right?”

Even the small question seemed to cost him effort. Lu nodded in a haze. The feel of him stretching her, filling her up. It was unlike anything she could have imagined. Eamon groaned low and rough as he sank farther in. And she felt every inch of progress he made. Full, full, full. She blinked up at the ceiling, her breath going short and her flesh flaring white-hot.

Eamon shuddered, his body pressed against hers and his lips touching the delicate spot just below her ear. They paused for a moment. And then he moved, pulling out, leaving her empty, before pushing back in.

A whimper died in her throat, and Lu gripped the thick swells of his biceps. Then he did it again, out and in, his movements slow, almost jerky, as if he couldn’t quite control them. And the trembling of his limbs grew stronger, his breathing harder.

“Lu. Lu.” His pressed his open mouth against her neck, not a kiss but a taste. And she was the one shivering as his tongue, so hot and wet, licked her skin.

He was pumping now, pushing the too thick, too hard length of his cock through her tight flesh. It ached. And yet she lifted her hips to meet his thrust, the feeling of being filled preferable to the loss of him when he drew back.

Her movements affected him greatly for he made a noise, helpless and pained. His grip grew tight upon her shoulder.

“Lu. I can’t… I need to…” He groaned again, and then he bucked hard against her, his movements uncoordinated. She ought to be scared. Instead, her sex went molten.

With an agonized cry, Eamon tensed and ground his hips into hers, his cock so deep within her that it hurt. Her body throbbed, her entire focus on the feel of him and the flood of warmth that suddenly filled her. He collapsed on an exhale.

He held her that way for one moment longer, his fingers biting into her flesh, his mouth pressed into her neck. Violent tremors wracked his body, and despite the mad beating of her heart and the throbbing between her legs, Lu found herself stroking his hair, now damp along his neck, wanting to soothe him.

“Did I hurt you?” Eamon’s question was stark in the stillness of the room.

She cleared her throat, trying to find her voice. “No.”

His cheek moved against hers as he gave a short nod. And then he was rolling off her, turning away. His hands shook, and his shoulders were still heaving. Lu reached for him, worried. Had it been awful for him? She didn’t believe so, but he was visibly undone. Her fingers just touched the folds of his sweat-damp nightshirt when he stood.