Authors: Kelly Jameson
“You’ve been through so much Camille. I don’t want you to think you have to come to my bed because I saved your life. I don’t want you to regret it….”
“You don’t want me?” she said quietly.
“Oh I want you,” he said, the evidence of his arousal pressing against her. “But …”
“Then kiss me.”
He slid her down his body slowly, yet not releasing her, so they stood toe to toe. His arms circled her waist. Her hands skimmed the fabric of his shirt, seeking the heat beneath.
Her words had made his heart thunder. “I want you to be sure Camille.”
In answer, she went on tiptoe, her fingers curling behind his neck and raking his dark hair. Tentatively her lips brushed his. He pressed her closer. A sound broke from his throat and his mouth took hers hungrily. He swept her into his arms and took her to his bed, where he set her down gently.
Still leaning over her, their lips tasted each other, searching at first tentatively and then more eagerly.
He stood and Camille watched him unfasten the buttons on his shirt and tug it free of his trousers. He flung it off and the trousers and black boots followed. She stared at the muscles in his arms and chest, the soft thatch of dark hair below his navel, the taut, sleek lines of his thighs. She gasped at what was between them, his aroused manhood.
In the light of the fire from the hearth, Nicholas looked magnificent. His hair was black as night; his eyes tawny gold and intense as she’d ever seen them.
His skin was so smooth she ached to touch every inch of it.
“Come here,” he said.
She obeyed.
He kissed her neck then took her mouth again, fiercely, commanding. He stood back from her then walked to the bed and lay down in it. “Undress for me, in front of the fire.”
She turned her back to him and shyly lifted the voluminous nightdress over her head, discarding it on the floor. Her chemise and small satin undergarments followed. She turned and the look in his eyes, as if he would devour her, was startling.
His eyes roved over her legs, the gentle swell of her hips, her breasts. Then met her face.
She chewed her lower lip.
“What are you thinking?” he said.
“The look in your eyes … I’m not sure if you hate me or… desire me.”
A rumble of masculine laughter was her answer. Then Nicholas turned serious, his eyes nearly burning through her. “I desire you…as I’ve desired no other woman. And I will prove it tonight.”
His chin hardened. His eyes narrowed, taking in her loveliness again. His face was a fighter’s face. One that welcomed, even reveled in battle. But she’d learned it could also be the controlled face of someone who’d learned early not to reveal by his expression his inner thoughts or feelings.
She couldn’t help it; he’d always affected her. She could feel his presence the minute he walked into a room.
“Come here,” he said gruffly.
She stood by the bed, her eyes lingering on his face, his chest.
“What do you want, love?” he said gently.
“I want to touch you,” she whispered. “With my hands, my lips…. But I’m not sure I know how to please you.”
He grabbed her, pulled her down so she was fully on top of him, pressed hot skin to skin, his arousal hard against her thigh. He kissed her deeply and her hands caressed his dark hair, traced the laugh lines around his sensuous mouth.
“Do what you wish. I will guide you. We will learn each other,” he said.
She sat up and her hands found their way to his chest. She touched, caressed, was mesmerized by his taut muscles, the sleekness, the dark hair. She circled his nipples with her fingers and he moaned. She lowered her lips to kiss and taste the same places where her fingers had lingered.
He watched her intently and Camille could feel his heart thumping, feel his pulse as if it were her own. Delicately, she traced the bruises on his face. Though they were fading, they were still visible. She touched his lips; a finger delved into his mouth and he sucked it. A moan escaped his lips and he ground his hips into her side.
She did not rush.
It nearly killed him but he was patient though his manhood throbbed and ached with need of her.
In the same deliberate, gentle process, she touched and tasted the taut skin of his stomach, the soft, dark swath of hair beneath his navel, then his thighs, his inner thighs. He trembled. “Christ Camille.”
“Did I displease you?” she said.
“Quite the opposite. I don’t know how long….”
She traced her fingers down his hair-roughened calves, even massaged his masculine feet. “Every part of you is so beautiful Nicholas,” she breathed.
His hands reached for and cupped her breasts and she gasped at the heat in his fingers.
His breath came faster as he tweaked her nipples, causing a deep wetness between her legs. He drew her between his open legs.
“I want to…taste you, all of you,” she said, grasping his manhood in her fingers. The heat branded her. He threw back his head and moaned, guiding her mouth to his manhood.
“Take me in your mouth before I explode,” he commanded.
Her fingertips tested the hardness of his muscles before her soft, pink tongue licked his shaft, then the tip.
He jerked. “Ah, yes, that’s good, very good,” he said.
Each kiss she gave was both a gift and a torment. And then she took him in her mouth.
His hands tangled in her hair as his head moved back and forth across the pillow. Camille found herself trying to memorize him with her lips-his shape, his color, his smell, the pulsing hardness of his manhood as Nicholas arched his neck in pleasure.
He groaned. “I’m going to come. I don’t want to yet.”
Nicholas rolled her beneath him and parted her thighs with his hand. His fingers delved between her legs and she cried out, sharp and sweet. Her hands fluttered over his back and she spread her legs wider.
“That’s it love,” he whispered. “You’re more than ready for me, aren’t you? This time it will be much more pleasurable for you.”
Camille couldn’t speak. Instead her lips found his and her tongue delved inside, pulling and teasing. He let her explore his mouth as he pushed his fingers into her with deeper, stronger thrusts. When he could stand it no longer, he kissed her savagely until her lips were swollen with his kisses.
Overwhelmed with pleasure, he rammed himself inside her. His hips swelled and rolled with his thrusts; she cried out in pleasure.
She wanted their lovemaking to heal them both, to wash away the bruises, the hurts, the misunderstandings. The things they’d been and hadn’t been to each other, find what they could be to each other.
His dark head lowered; he suckled her breast and heat spiraled between her legs, shot up her spine as she clenched around him.
She gripped his shoulders, pressing him further into her.
He drove harder now and the ache built between her legs.
“Nicholas?” she breathed.
“It’s ok, love. Let me take you there...”
He seemed bigger than ever inside her, hot and hard, pushing to her very core. And then he withdrew.
Her eyes were half slits of pleasure. “Nicholas?” she mewed.
“Turn over, on your knees. I like it this way. I think you will too.”
She did as he asked, helpless, submissive, aching to be filled again.
He was on his knees behind her, his hands gripping her hips. He thrust inside her, hard.
“Oh God Nicholas, that feels…Oh God…” Camille said.
His hips moved in and out and she matched him movement for movement.
“Jesus, Camille. You’re so beautiful.”
Stabbing white hot waves rolled over her until her body stiffened and arched. She called out his name and was lost in a feeling so intense she found herself crying. His body stiffened and shuddered and he released a wash of hot seed in her womb.
When their hearts thundered back to normal he lay beside her and wrapped her in his arms.
“It’s not always like that between two people, is it? I mean, so beautiful, so hard and soft at the same time, I felt like I was part of you,” Camille said.
He smiled, traced a finger down her cheek, over her soft lips. “No, it’s not always like that.”
They lay there a while and her nipples grew hard as he caressed her. He kissed her and stirred another round of heat between them.
They made love two more times that night before they fell asleep.
61
The next few months passed quickly for Camille. It was Christmas Eve. Guests were arriving at the Branton plantation. Horses stood with lowered heads near the stable, pawing the earth, waiting to be taken into the stable by the stable boys. The animals’ warm breath was visible in the frosty air, their rough coats caked with splashed mud.
“Merry Christmas!” came out of the darkness often as old friends greeted each other gaily. The house was festive and alive with decorations, the smells of tantalizing food, and merry making. Candles flickered in the great ballroom where the guests danced. Camille had taken Passion for an invigorating ride earlier in the day, and when she’d finished, the huge house had been outlined for a moment against the sky, standing defiant upon the hilltop, its white columns blue in the moonlight, candles throwing a yellow gleam through the tall windows.
The house was filled with laughter; guests conversed and children ran and laughed, holding their red-and-white striped candy. Arabelle was her usual lively self; even Damaris had started to come out of her shell.
Mistletoe hung above doorways and Henree took advantage of it frequently to kiss his new bride Josephine. Pine boughs decorated stairways and mantels. Fires flickered in the fireplaces, throwing light on the high, dark ceilings and heavy beams and making reflections in the shiny goblets on the main tables. There was lively talk among the guests and the family; news of absent friends, messages passed on and repeated. Genevieve and Kipp were excited about their upcoming wedding, which would take place on New Year’s Eve.
This is where I belong,
Camille thought
. I am finally home.
Camille watched Nicholas with love in her eyes as he playfully ruffled Damaris’ hair and joked with Arabelle. The girls raced off then in search of some other sweet and he turned, as if he felt her watching him. He strode toward her, sweeping her into a shadowed alcove. “My love,” he whispered. “You look so serious. Are you not enjoying the festivities?”
“I love you so much, Nicholas,” she said, tears of happiness brimming in her eyes. “Our ‘official’ wedding a few months ago, all of this, the look of love in your eyes, it’s like a dream. I never thought anyone could love me the way you do.”
He kissed her fiercely. “Never doubt it my love, never.”
He searched her eyes and pulled her closer. “I love you Camille. God, I love you. I thought…a forced marriage would be like my father’s. I fought my feelings for you at every turn. Until I couldn’t anymore. What a fool I was for wasting time! And how wrong I was about what it would be like to be your lawfully wedded husband. You came to me a grubby urchin’ and transformed into the most beautiful, stubborn, sweet, seductive and beguiling woman I’ve ever known.”
“Nicholas,” she breathed, guiding his hand to her stomach. “Soon we’ll have an urchin’ of our own….”
His dark eyes grew wide and searching. “Is it true? You are with child?”
Camille nodded. He wrapped her tightly in his arms and then stepped back to behold her. There were happy tears in his eyes. “Come with me, let me show you something.”
She took his hand as he led her outside to the great front porch and around the side gallery where it was dark and quiet. There was enough light coming through the windows to show her what he wanted
her
to
see
.
He pointed to one of the tall white columns. “See these carvings? Genevieve and I carved our names and these marks when we were children and measured ourselves against them. Arabelle and Damaris made their marks too. And now our children will do the same.” Camille traced the carvings in wonder with her fingertips.
Music from the ballroom inside floated on the night air. Nicholas grasped her by the waist. “You’re home, Camille…with me, where you belong….”
THE END
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