Perfect Bride (24 page)

A fingertip traced the delicate sweep of her collar
bone, then strayed lower, an almost maddening ca
ress across the bare skin above the neckline of her bodice.

Devon’s heart leaped. Her breathing hastened. Sebastian’s breath echoed almost harshly in the back of her throat. His knuckles skimmed the rounded tops of her breasts. They were burning and aching, pecu
liarly heavy. Pinpricks of sensation stabbed there at the peaks. She held her breath, suspended in an agony of longing. Sweet Lord, would he never . . .

Suddenly, almost impatiently, that lean, dark hand dipped beneath the neckline of her gown. Strong fin gers cupped her fullness, taking its weight in the
palm of his hand. A lone fingertip swirled a mad dening rhythm around and around her nipple, com ing close but never quite touching the dark, straining center. And when at last his thumb raked across one turgid peak, sheer pleasure jolted her, a bolt of lightning.

Everything inside went weak. She melted against him, feeling her nipples tighten and pucker beneath that tauntingly elusive caress.

When at last he released her mouth, she clutched at him lest she fall in a heap at his feet.

He rested his forehead against hers. Within his eyes glimmered a scalding heat. “I want you,” he whispered.

The words were low, his tone almost gritty. His in
tensity sent an odd little shiver all through her.

Her gaze enchained to his, she couldn’t look away.

“Devon,” he whispered, “do you know what I’m saying?”

Her heart was throbbing so that she could scarcely hear. She swallowed, mutely questioning.

His gaze pierced even deeper.

“I want you,” he said again. “I want to make love to you.”

His stark honesty made her quiver inside. In that moment he surely possessed her inside and out. Sheer emotion filled her until she thought she would burst. She struggled to speak, but all that emerged was a choked, strangled sound. Mutely placing her fingertips on the hollow of his cheek, she let the ges
ture say what she could not.

The next thing she knew, her feet were no longer beneath her. She felt herself borne high in the air. He
started toward the bed in the corner, then abruptly stopped. His gaze swiveled from the pretty flowered coverlet to the door.

Devon faltered. “Sebastian, what’s wrong? I-I thought—”

“Not here,” he said with a shake of his head. His eyes snared hers. “I want you in my room”—his eyes darkened—“and in my bed.”

He was already striding forward.

Devon wanted to weep all over again ...but this time from happiness.

olding her, listening to her pour out her an
guish, feeling the tremor that shook her limbs, the icy clasp of her fingers, that single, scalding tear hot against his flesh... Sebastian felt something tug at the very center of his being. He knew he was lost the instant he touched her.

No, that wasn’t right. He’d been lost far longer. He’d been lost since that rainy night he’d carried her into his town house...straight into his heart.

He was tired of battling against himself. He could fight this burning longing inside him no more. It was too strong. Too intense. Too overwhelming. It was something he could never conquer—never even
hope
to conquer.

Nor did he want to. Not now. He had no con
science. He had no scruples. There was no time for guilt, for rationalization. Society’s rules were cast aside. His world narrowed until nothing else existed.

There was only Devon.

Devon in his arms...in his bed.

His, he thought fiercely.
His
.

Slowly he lowered her to the floor, so that she stood before him.

A blazing fire in the hearth offered light and warmth. The heavy crimson draperies at the win
dow were parted, revealing a full moon that ren
dered the room nearly light as day. Her slender form was cast in muted shades of silver and gold. The feelings crowding his chest were half pleasure, half pain. She looked ethereal. Like an angel. His gaze roved over her fine-boned features, exquisitely aristocratic. In some faraway part of him, he couldn’t help but wonder . . . Who was she? Who was she really?

Small, slippered feet were planted squarely be
tween his. Her hair had come loose, spilling over her shoulder. He slipped his fingers beneath the profu
sion of silken tendrils, curling his hand around the side of her neck. His thumb rested on the vulnerable hollow of her throat, slipping beneath her necklace. He could feel the wild thrumming of her pulse, as rampant as his own.

Very gently he tilted her face to his. His gaze roved over her features.

On her lips was the wispiest of smiles, the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. Never able to hide her feelings, her expression betrayed her every thought. It was almost as if he saw clear to her heart...and what he saw was a shining sweetness, a purity of feeling that struck him like a blow to the belly. Her eyes were brilliant and unwavering, pure topaz. He had tasted for himself the sweetly unguarded yield
ing of her lips. And he knew, with a certainty that re sounded in every part of him, that she’d have let him do anything, anything he wanted.

A thunder of emotion roared through him, for it was a heady, giddy sensation, almost akin to power. Yet it was also a moment fraught with contrariness. He stood rooted to the floor. Oddly enough, he was half afraid to move, for fear that she would disap
pear, that all his dreams were for naught. That this night would never be . . .

With slow deliberation he removed his jacket, his waistcoat, then finally his shirt.

When his naked chest came into view, the tip of her tongue emerged to wet her lips, leaving them damp and dewy, sending an explosion of desire all through him.

“Devon. Oh, God, Devon . . .” His head came down. His mouth sought hers. He went a little mad then, crushing her against him. He kissed her like a man half starved, long and lingering, drugged by the intoxicating knowledge that there was no need to hold back.

His head was spinning. “Devon,” he whispered, kissing the tender spot just before her ear. “My sweet, sweet Devon.” His mouth was on the arch of her throat, his hands warm on on her shoulders. A flick of his fingers, and her bodice slipped down to bunch at her hips.

She inhaled sharply. Sebastian reluctantly raised his head. Her eyelids lifted. She gazed up at him, her eyes smoky and dazed.

Sebastian’s breath dammed in his throat. She stood before him, half naked, half shy, half temptress.

Her breasts were even more glorious than he remembered—round, gleaming mounds of flesh that stood out from her chest, lush and delectably full, tipped by perfect, voluptuous peaks of pale coral. Her lungs expanded in a deep, tremulous breath—quite inadvertently, he guessed—setting those lush, jutting mounds all aquiver.

He clenched his teeth, for in that instant, surely every ounce of blood in his body rushed to the head of his member. He could feel it pulsing, throbbing like a heartbeat there, a wanton need he had no hope of controlling.

Vaguely he marveled that he didn’t spill himself in that instant, embarrassing them both.

But Devon, he suspected, was feeling enough of that for both of them.

“Sebastian?”

His name was but a thread of sound, underscored by more than a hint of uncertainty. He sensed a fleet
ing panic. His gaze came back up to hers, and the tightly strung tension within him eased. A laugh snagged halfway up his throat. Quickly he stifled it. Her eyes were huge. She had noted his avid atten
tion, and her cheeks were stained the same enchant
ing color as her nipples. She was not, he reminded himself, a woman of savoir faire. She swallowed, and her hands started to come up as she instinctively sought to shield herself.

He thwarted her with gentle insistence. Catching her hands, he threaded her fingers through his and tucked them against her sides.

“Don’t go all shy on me, sweet,” he said softly. He pressed a reassuring kiss to the corner of her lips. “Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” she countered breathlessly. “I was just thinking that—that I’m glad it’s not daylight.”

Of all that she could have said, that was the last thing he expected. But that was his Devon, ever forthright, ever direct.

It was nerves that prompted the admission, he de
cided. He took her mouth, the contact slow and un
hurried until her nervous tension began to subside. One last kiss on softly parted lips...and then his mouth slid with slow heat, pursuing a relentless path down, across the very top of gently rising flesh.

He knelt before her, his head poised between the scented harbor of her breasts. She jerked when she felt the moist heat of his breath, but she didn’t re
treat. He released her hands, aware of them flutter
ing, touching the sleek binding of his shoulders, then flitting away. Back and away. Back and away...

His own hands displayed no such hesitation. They were otherwise engaged, filled with her tender bounty. His fingertips grazed the tips of her breasts. Though it was but a fleeting, wispy caress, the bud
ding crests swelled hard and taut against his palm.

“Sebastian,” she said weakly.

He squeezed gently. Her nipples stood up, thrust
ing stiffly erect, offered up before him in tempting sacrifice, but he deferred the invitation. She was ex
quisitely sensitive there, he noted appreciatively.

“Let me touch you,” he implored, his voice muf
fled by soft, succulent flesh. “Let me love you.”

As he spoke, he traced a lazily erotic pattern around and around dusky pink crowns, deliberately avoiding the darkly rouged center.

“Sebastian,” she groaned.

He stole a glance upward. Her teeth dug into her
lower lip, as if she were trying hard to keep from cry
ing out.

“What, love? What do you want?”

Her breath came in shallow little pants. “I want...”

“Tell me, love. I’ll give it to you, I swear.”

“I want your mouth on my . . . on my breasts. Is that terribly...unladylike?”

He gave a half laugh. “No, sweet, that’s desire. But tell me where on your breasts,” he teased. “Where . . . precisely?”

Coming to this point had been a long, arduous jour
ney. But now he felt as if he were coming home—as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders— and he couldn’t resist teasing her just a little.

With the tip of his tongue he delicately touched one swollen, straining peak. “Here?” he queried
Her breath tumbled out with a rush. Her nails dug into the hard flesh of his shoulders.

Enflamed, he sucked the whole of her nipple into his mouth. Pulling strongly, his mouth hot and tor
rid, sucking hard on first one, then the other, until she whimpered and swayed and his hold was all that held her upright.

A shivering cry pierced the air. A fierce possessive
ness shot through him, and he surged upright with her in his arms. Three steps and his precious burden was deposited on his bed, minus her gown, now puddled in the spot so recently vacated.

His own clothing was dealt with just as deftly, the buttons of his trousers torn from their berth. His palms on either side of her head, he eased down atop her, mindful of his weight.

Bare, silken arms slipped up to encircle his neck.

Her fingers at his nape, she caught his head. Tan
gling her fingers in his hair, she pulled his mouth down to hers. He inhaled sharply, for now his burn
ing shaft rode between the notch at the top of her thighs. Beneath him, she shifted restlessly, search
ingly, and he wondered if she knew what havoc she wrought with her questing, untutored movements.

Desire churned in his belly. His entire body was on fire. Her nipples burned into his chest, still moist with the damp wash of his tongue. The urge to thrust wildly, to plunge himself hard and deep was overwhelming.

Easy
, he warned himself. He felt raw and greedy and carnal. His shaft was so painfully rigid he thought he would surely split his skin. But he knew he must have a care. This was her first time. He must be gentle.

For he wanted to cause her no more pain.

Slowing the wanton fever of their kiss, he eased to his side. With the heel of his hand, he skimmed the smoothness of her belly, tangled his fingers in the golden fleece atop her thighs. With bold intent, he skimmed her secret cleft, tracing damp, furrowed heat before one long, strong finger burrowed within warm, pliant flesh.

He felt her gasp and she stiffened. He soothed her with lips and tongue, their breath swirling together as he gauged the limits of her passage. At last she relaxed. Her hips lifted, and he burrowed deeper within her.

Her body yielded. With his thumb he circled her secret pleasure button. His finger sank deeper, glid ing, stroking, gently stretching. Sweat beaded his upper lip. He ached with the need to exchange his
finger with his rod. Not yet, he cautioned himself.

Could she take more? he wondered wildly.

She could...and did.

She was so warm, so sleek and hot. With his thumb he pressed the nub of her desire, rubbing and circling, pleasuring her until her head rose from the pillow and she moaned, a shimmering cry that echoed in the back of his throat.

He tore his mouth from hers and stared down at her. Her eyes opened, dazed and smoky. She clutched at him. “Please,” she gasped, “Oh, Sebas
tian, please.” Her thighs parted, opening wide.

Some nameless emotion swept him in its tide. With one hand he guided himself inside her, his control obliterated. He gasped, his crown probing through hot, sleek curls. Oh, God. His lungs were scalding. He could barely breathe. He nudged her cleft, feeling her sleek, wet passage stretch to accept him...