Scoundrel (35 page)

He needed to reassure her on that point, needed to tell her of the incredible perfection of her body. He couldn’t speak a word. His gaze swept over her and the awe he felt turned to wonder. Her skin was the color of a flawless pearl, warmed by the firelight. He knew already that her soft breasts would fit his hands perfectly. Her waist was just as small as he knew it would be, her hips as nicely curved, and her legs as long and shapely.

Each part of her appeared almost exactly as he’d envisioned them in his daydreams, and more often than not in his bed each night. The complete image was something else entirely. Every part of his imagination flowed together into reality to form a sensuous creature beyond compare. In all his imaginings, he’d never conjured something so perfect as the woman who stood before him. His woman.

His wife.

She was his, to do with as he pleased. He could make love to her all night, kiss and caress her however he wanted, when and wherever he wanted. Just knowing he could touch her was enough for the moment. More than anything, he wanted to please her. Without taking his eyes from her, he reached behind him and drew the covers aside. He lifted her in his arms and placed her in the center of the bed. She didn’t lie down, but sat up with her back rigidly straight. He was disappointed but not surprised when she drew the sheets up to her neck. He smiled, knowing he would be beneath those sheets soon enough.

Lily’s gaze followed his hands as they moved to the fastening of his pants. She lowered her lashes when he loosened the first button. A moment later, she felt him slide into bed next to her.

“Shouldn’t you douse the candles?” She’d tucked the sheets under her arms, but she knew he was staring at her bare back. He confirmed as much by smoothing his hand over her shoulders, pressing his thumb along her spine to her waist.

“And miss this view? I think not.”

She looked over her shoulder. His pillows were propped against the headboard and he leaned against them, his gaze intense as he slowly stroked her back. From the expression on his face, she guessed that he wanted very badly to make love. Her nervousness and inexperience didn’t affect his patience. Nor did it seem to diminish his desire. She thought surely the sight of her body would disappoint him. She’d always felt too tall,

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too awkward. Most parts of her were too big, while other parts were too small. Nothing balanced. Amazingly, he didn’t seem to notice. He even seemed to like what he saw. She decided to test that theory by letting the sheets drop to her waist. His hand stilled, and he stared at her back until she turned to lie beside him, resting her weight on one elbow.

She’d always hated it when men stared at her chest. Now she knew why. Only one man could look at her this way and make it feel right. He placed his hand at the base of her neck and her heart began to beat harder, a steady rhythm of desire that grew stronger as he drew his open palm down the center of her chest. His hand cupped one breast and her heart skipped that beat. Unhurried, he explored the shape, then his fingertips brushed across the nipple. Lily felt as if he’d burned her with a painless fire. An unconscious movement thrust her breasts forward, and only then did she realize it was an invitation. He took one nipple into his mouth and stroked the other between his fingers.

A strange restlessness began to build inside her. She didn’t want him to stop, yet she wanted something more, something she couldn’t name. She arched her neck and he eased her onto her back, his mouth moving higher until he reached her lips. At the same time his hand moved lower, over her waist and stomach, skimming over the most intimate part of her. His hand continued down her thigh then wrapped around her knee. All the while he kissed her, his mouth open and carnal, telling her without words that his patience was nearing its limits. He lifted her knee and her leg bent as if made of butter. He propped up her leg, then carefully lowered her knee. His hand began to stroke upward along her inner thigh and he stopped kissing her.

“You are softer than anything I’ve ever imagined.” His breath caught when he settled his hand between her thighs. He pressed his palm down at the same moment her hips arched upward. He lowered his head until their foreheads touched, then he pressed a kiss against her temple, then a more urgent kiss against her cheek, then he captured her lips. His tongue penetrated her mouth at the same moment his finger penetrated her body. Lily felt as if she’d touched the sun. Her entire body arched, wanting to get closer. He took one last, deep taste of her before he broke away from her lips.

“God, Lily. Your body is ready for mine already.” He withdrew his finger, then returned to her just as slowly to demonstrate that fact. She felt her world start to come apart. “It’s time, Lily.” His voice held a rough, urgent edge. “Once I take your maidenhead, you will know an even greater pleasure than this.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” She was amazed at her ability to speak. She gasped when he moved again inside her. “And I don’t have any questions at all. Miles, please!”

His hand was suddenly gone, replaced by his weight on top of her, and he cupped her face between his hands. His eyes were darker than the darkest sin, his gaze so intent that she felt certain he was looking into her soul. Then she felt a blunt pressure between her legs, steady, insistent. She waited for the rending pain that Sophie had whispered about, tensing herself when her body resisted him, then he thrust hard and deep, until their hips were joined as intimately as their bodies. And still she waited for the pain.

“Is that it?” she managed to ask, not wanting any surprises. She shifted her hips experimentally and felt a cramping sensation, but it was hardly noticeable amidst the feeling of fullness, a painless, aching sensation that kept her body arched against his. When she shifted her hips again, he groaned. His hands were braced on either side of her, the muscles in his arms and chest glistening with a fine sheen of perspiration. His eyes were closed, an expression on his face that she didn’t recognize, then his eyes opened and he looked down at her, twin flames of molten, burning desire.

“There is more.” He withdrew from her and she felt herself sliding away with him. Her hands moved to his hips, wanting him to stay. He complied with the silent demand, entering her again just as slowly. Her head fell back on the pillows and she couldn’t breathe, could only feel as he began to move inside her. She wrapped her arms around him a little tighter each time he thrust, wanting more, another penetration, and then another. He kissed her once, but his lips soon slid away, trailing down the column of her neck and over her shoulders, as if kissing her mouth were too distracting while he did such intimate things to her body.

Her toes brushed against the back of his legs, then she pressed the arches of her feet against his calves in a long, downward stroke that matched his thrust. He groaned and wrapped one arm around her waist, as if he needed to get even closer to her. Each thrust seemed deeper than the last, as penetrating to her soul as it was to her body. She soon caught his fever and the rhythm of her torment matched his own, moving her with and against him at the same time. She was so very close, so very near him, but not close enough.

Each stroke brought her closer, the last one so tantalizingly near that her fingernails raked against his shoulders, an unconscious response that seemed to unleash something within him. With one last powerful surge he thrust himself into her body, holding her hips to receive him. She felt him swell so deep inside her that the burning penetration became pleasure, the hard shudder that racked his body as much a part of her as his seed, spilling into her womb. The sensation was so unexpected that the waves of pleasure crashed in upon her, making her call out to him even as he gathered her close and moved inside her once more to prolong the terrible pleasure.

Remmington returned to reality in slow degrees. When he moved to his side he kept Lily within the circle of his arms and pressed her head against his shoulder. His hand moved in random patterns over her back, his body sated, yet still wanting to touch her, to calm her after the shattering experience. She was asleep. He still labored to breathe, and the sound of his heartbeat filled his ears. He wanted to kiss her again, tender kisses, sweet, innocent kisses meant for nothing more than the simple pleasure of touching her with his lips.

He smiled up at the ceiling, remembering how she’d asked, “Is that it?” If he hadn’t been concentrating so intently at the time, remaining still to give her body time to adjust to his, he would have smiled over her bemused expression. His smile faded a little and he felt profoundly grateful that he’d taken her virginity so painlessly. He’d braced himself for hysterics. He should have known better. Lily never did anything he expected.

Smiling at the top of her head, he wondered if she would have any questions the next time they made love. It was too soon for her, of course. Too soon for him. He’d never felt this completely sated, this completely at peace. That thought alone was enough to make him frown. He didn’t want to feel any closer to Lily than he had before they married. Granted, he knew that intimacy would change their relationship, but he thought lovemaking would cure this insatiable need to touch her, to hold her in his arms whenever he could.

He forced himself to loosen his grip, to move away until no part of her touched him. She murmured his name in her sleep and turned toward him, the view delightful. He wanted her. He wanted to touch her, to kiss and caress her, to make love to her again and again. He would want her until the day he died.

He rolled onto his back and laced his fingers together over his forehead. Perhaps he was wrong about the again and again part. Every new lover seemed unique the first time or two, but they rarely held his interest any longer than that. Eventually he would cure himself of this need for her, and then his life would return to normal. They would settle into a routine, and they would have a very pleasant life together. She would give him children.

The thought of Lily swollen with his child brought a heated reaction from his loins. He clenched his hands tighter over his forehead and tried to memorize the pattern of the cracked ceiling. It didn’t help. The long, rambling lines took on new, erotic shapes. The more he stared at them, the more he wanted her. He felt Lily’s weight shift on the bed next to him until she’d wedged herself against his side. He was aware of every pore of his body that touched hers. He caught the light scent of roses and sandalwood, and the more potent, seductive scent of their lovemaking. Somehow his arms ended up around her.

Just once more tonight, and then he would be sated. He tilted her chin up, captured for the moment by his wife’s beauty.

A considerate husband would let her sleep. He wouldn’t selfishly awaken her to his need.

He stroked the curve of her cheek and murmured her name.