Rose Bride (16 page)

‘Oh,’ she gasped.

Virgil gave a taut smile. ‘Oh, indeed.’ Then he bent his head and took her nipple in his mouth. His hand came round, cupping the other breast, and his thumb stroked back and forth across her nipple until that too was aching and erect.

Margerie found herself whispering, ‘Oh God,’ under her breath, and could not stop herself. But it felt so good, his mouth on her breast, suckling like a babe, and yet hot and demanding at the same time, a man’s caress that left her in no doubt of his intentions. Her head fell back in abandon, the soft little sounds in her throat urging him on, and her red hair hung loose and heavy against her naked back.

Whatever she had expected, Margerie thought, it was not this. Her breasts ticked with pleasure as his tongue explored them, her head light and dizzy at the onslaught of pleasure. She no longer clung to him in desperation, but let her arms fall to her sides, her body strangely sensual in a way she had never felt before in the company of a man.

She closed her eyes, experiencing a wonderful sense of freedom. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, raising herself for his touch. ‘Yes, please.’

How shocking to behave like such a wanton. Yet it seemed to her that she could do whatever she chose in this room and he would not stop her, nor judge her in any way. It was as though they were both free of restraint within the confines of his bedchamber, a place where no other soul could intervene or disturb their peace.

His hand had found her again. He parted her thighs, pushing back inside the soft wet flesh, making her his. Still he sucked on her breast, dragging her erect nipple to the back of his mouth, pressing it deliciously with his tongue until she thought she would die of bliss. She did not struggle, but eagerly opened herself for him, moaning as his fingers scissored inside her, stroking back and forth as he widened her narrow channel to make entry easier.

He lifted his head to stare at her. There was a dark colour in his face and he was breathing hard. ‘You’re so tight . . .’

There had been a question in his voice, but she ignored it, kissing his mouth. Their tongues mated, sliding hotly together, and the heat between them burst into flame.

Suddenly he was on his feet, carrying her swiftly to the table. He swept the books onto the floor and lay her down across the open rolls of paper, dragging her legs apart so that he was standing between them.

Margerie stared up at her seducer, light-headed and unsteady too, her whole body tingling with sexual excitement. She knew that she must look like a whore, thin white shift crumpled about her waist, her breasts carelessly exposed, her pale thighs spread wide for him. But she no longer cared what he thought. Only that he took her.

It seemed right to surrender so completely. Something about Virgil Elton demanded total capitulation from her, would accept nothing less. And it felt natural too. Natural to act the wanton for him, to give what she had given no other man since Wolf.

She was impatient for him to enter her, so arched her back, offering herself to him without reserve. She even slipped her hands between her legs, stroking herself quite shamelessly while he stared.

‘Take me,’ she urged him.

His smile was dark, an air of restraint about him. ‘Not yet.’ Bending, Virgil slid both hands warmly down her thighs, forcing them as wide apart as they would go. ‘First, this.’

She gasped in shock when he lowered his head and put his mouth to the slippery flesh between her legs. Surely he did not intend to . . . ?

But he did intend it. Oh dear Lord.

He dragged the sensitive nub into his mouth and suckled on it like a nipple, milking her firmly until she cried out, ‘Stop!’, unable to bear any more of that exquisite torment. Then his tongue stroked further down, tasting her body, slipping firmly inside her, darting back and forth, making her sob with pleasure.

‘Please, please,’ Margerie begged him raggedly, not knowing if she meant ‘Please stop,’ or ‘Please go on,’ for by then she was almost incoherent with desire.

Whatever she meant, Virgil Elton paid no attention. His mouth returned to the tiny nub of flesh, working it wickedly, rolling and nipping it between his teeth until she was beyond all reason.

She linked both legs behind his head and drew him closer, crying out ‘Yes!’ and thrashing wildly from side to side, her hands gripping the edges of the table in desperation.

Quite suddenly her body stiffened and she came to a high fiery peak, everything in the universe centred in her belly where a brilliant flame had flared up, burning out of control.

Gasping and sobbing, Margerie had no choice but to let the fire consume her, keeping her legs locked tight, his mouth hard against her flesh. ‘Sweet Lord!’ she cried out several times, falling sharply from the heights, deafened by the thundering of her own heart, her skin damp with sweat, limbs trembling.

Finally Virgil relented. He pulled back just as her legs began to weaken about him, and gave a husky laugh.

‘My turn,’ he muttered unsteadily.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

After her cries had died away, Margerie had opened her green eyes, framed by long curling lashes, and was staring up at him through the flickering glow of the firelight. Dear God, she was desirable. And so abandoned in her response to him, he had thought she would wake the whole palace with her cries and moans of passion. Even now she seemed wild-eyed, her cheeks flushed, red hair stuck damply to her forehead, and he could not help smiling when he saw how tightly her hands still gripped the sides of the table.

The hardness of his cock was unbearable. Virgil reared up to release himself from the restraint of his codpiece. He had intended to take her without delay straight after her climax, for it was difficult to resist the way her thighs had fallen open for him again, parting so invitingly, and that red-curled thatch between them, sweet and wet and luscious.

But instead he surprised himself by pausing to strip off more of his clothes, his smile lopsided when he saw how she stared, her green eyes wide, studying his naked form for the first time.

It seemed impossible that Margerie Croft could want him with the same physical urgency he felt for her. Yet he caught the lust shining in her eyes as her gaze moved slowly over him, and knew himself wanted.

What further aphrodisiac could any man want but a woman’s desire?

He had removed everything but his shirt, which still hung unfastened, almost slipping from his shoulders. He had intended to shrug it to the floor. But then his cock was in his fist, more rigid than he had ever known it, and a greater need took precedence.

‘Virgil,’ she whispered, and raised her hips for him in willing surrender.

Meeting her gaze, he felt an irrational urge to tear what remained of her creased night shift from about her waist, to see her naked and vulnerable before him, a wondrous green-eyed Eve to his Adam. Yet there was little enough of her body that was still concealed, and he rather enjoyed the reminder that they were both hurrying, neither bothering to undress fully nor to use the more conventional bed behind him.

Virgil examined her body, trying to slow the schoolboyish pounding in his chest at the sight of her nudity. Her breasts were small, but not unpleasingly so, each taut curve tipped with a rosy nipple that begged to be sucked and drawn to a peak. Her waist was narrow, her hips generously feminine, and he almost smiled to recall the pressure of those long lithe thighs about his shoulders and back. At the apex of her thighs lay a riot of soft red curls, the lips beneath still glistening from his tongue.

Besides, he reminded himself, he could hardly tear off her shift like a madman. She would need some kind of garment to wear back to her chamber later.

The need to hurry came back to him with a shock. Virgil stepped forward with sudden purpose, positioning himself between her spread thighs.

‘Yes,’ he muttered as she reached down, guiding him eagerly inside.

Margerie was far tighter than any of the other courtesans he had bedded, and seemed almost agitated in her excitement. Her hands pushed the shirt from his shoulders as he drove inside, her nails digging into his bare skin as though she found it painful.

Certainly it was not easy.

Her damp outer lips gave way to a narrow passage, almost virginal in its dimensions, and so constrictive he had to adjust his position, then thrust quite powerfully just to enter her. She gave a thin cry beneath him, no doubt in protest at the force he had used, but Virgil did not dare look at her, his head turned away, his eyes shut in sudden fierce concentration.

God’s blood!

If he was not careful, he would lose all control and end up looking like a damn virgin. Yet the temptation to thrust straight to a climax was next to unbearable.

Her hot moist walls gripped him like a slippery fist. Every movement, however slight, brought the most delicious – and dangerous – sensation of impending bliss. Virgil felt an intense urge to spend himself and had to pause where he was, panting slightly, embedded deep inside her, until his need became less pressing.

After a moment, the sensation lessened. He risked turning his head, and found her staring up at him, softly flushed, her gaze over-bright.

Were those tears in her eyes?

‘Did I hurt you?’ he asked, frowning.

Wordlessly, Margerie gave a tiny shake of her head.

‘You must forgive me if I was clumsy,’ he managed with an effort.

‘Not clumsy. Not that.’

Perhaps he had been too abrupt in his mounting of her. Too certain that it was what she wanted too. Margerie might have the reputation of a courtesan, but she was still a woman, and all women liked to be kissed and caressed during bed play, especially when the play had been rough.

Supporting himself on his hands, not wishing to crush her slender body, Virgil set his mouth to hers. Her lips parted on a groan, admitting his tongue, and he plumbed her mouth luxuriously, her sweetness and submission reminding him of why he had wanted to bed her in the first place.

His eyes closed, and he lost himself in the most sensual kiss he had ever experienced. His cock grew inside her, hardening even more, and as they kissed her thighs relaxed, shifting further apart, almost inviting him to thrust.

Eager to enjoy her body, he took advantage at once, beginning to stroke in and out with a slow, steady rhythm.

He would not hurry, he told himself, but ensure that she took pleasure in their first coupling. There would be plenty of time ahead to teach his new mistress of his tastes in bed, his particular likes and dislikes, how exciting he found a woman’s acquiescence . . .

But when his thrusts increased, Margerie’s head fell back, and a strangled moaning noise came from her throat. Her face and throat were flushed, a mottled pink spreading down her breasts, her nipples erect. Her hips rose and fell beneath his in the easy rhythm of fucking, urging him on with every stroke so that he barely needed to thrust, filling her to the hilt each time. It was almost as though they had been coupling for years, that they were in fact man and wife, already familiar with each other’s bodies.

His own excitement grew, watching her eager response, feeling how wet and slippery she had become, listening to the sounds they made as they came together at the flux, then seemed to ebb away. They were like two waves of the sea, he thought, powerful and white-crested, crashing onto the shore side by side – and just as inexorable in their drive for completion.

Hunger hollowed him out and left him hot-faced and light-headed, breathing hard, intent on reaching his climax.

‘Come with me,’ he urged her, and slipped a hand between her legs, rubbing at her wetness there.

Her cries grew more piercing and high-pitched, and as the end approached, he leant forward and covered her mouth with his, muffling the noisy sobs of her pleasure. Then she seemed to shudder, and with a shock of disbelief he felt her contract about him as though
in extremis
, squeezing his flesh in a wave of swift powerful surges until he could bear it no longer.

‘Virgil,’ she moaned against his mouth, ‘oh please, yes. You are my master. Own me. Possess me.’

You are my master.

Own me.

Possess me.

He gathered her legs, bending her knees to her chest and thrusting hard. Margerie gasped, staring up at him, her face flushed, her lips swollen as though he had bruised them with the force of his kisses, her whole body still trembling in the grip of pleasure.

His buttocks clenched hard as he worked towards his own climax, panting as he drove again and again into her gloriously tight channel, his back and shoulders sweating with effort, their lower bodies locked violently together.

The pleasure was so intense it was almost painful, yet he could not stop or rest, he had to finish. And inside her too, though he had intended to pull out before reaching his peak and spill his seed on the floor or her belly. Instead every atom of his being wanted to spend inside her, to fill her womb and consider the consequences later.

Virgil stiffened, groaning, and plunged deep as he came. ‘Margerie,’ he gasped at the first release of his seed, surprising himself by experiencing some emotion akin to tenderness.

His mouth sought out her flesh, pressing a kiss against her throat, and the physical relief he had craved at once became sweeter, more intimate . . . and somehow dangerous.