Wolf Bride (17 page)

His throaty laughter cut her to the core. ‘That’s better,’ he murmured, raising his head to survey her face. ‘Now you look more like a woman eager to lose her virginity.’

No doubt she looked half-demented, she thought, willing her flushed cheeks to cool down and her breathing to settle.

Wolf had her just where he wanted her. Why did he not simply take her and have done with it? She did not understand why he had to draw this out for his own cruel amusement, forcing her to beg for his . . .

She forced herself to think the word cock, though it made her tremble and everything inside her begin to melt. And then she could not stop thinking it, over and over, revelling in the delicious lewdness of such a word.

His cock.

Suddenly she felt it press against her, almost as though he had overheard her wicked and forbidden thought. His cock, stiff in its leather codpiece, nudged her belly thrusting forwards as though in search of her . . . cunt.

Eloise gasped as his hands lifted her gown, trying to release her skirt from her bodice. He spun her, his fingers busy with her laces, then suddenly he was dragging her skirts down, past her hips, and she was standing almost nude in a puddle of material.

Facing away from him, she stood dazed into silence by his forcefulness, staring at the sunlight slatting thinly through the shutter. Then his hands dropped to her bare hips, demonstrating his possession.

She was his bride, and he would do whatever he wished with her.

With a growl, Wolf jerked her back against his body. Her buttocks seemed to mould to his groin. Then he rocked her slightly forward, stroking over her smooth naked curves, first exploring her rear and then, slipping lower, the warm secret place between her thighs.

‘Eloise,’ he groaned, and the sound was pure torment. ‘I’ve waited patiently for you to show some interest, to demonstrate your willingness. But I can’t wait any longer. Your body is so beautiful, and your innocence so alluring. I would have to be a saint to keep my hands off you any longer, and heaven help me, I’ve always been more sinner than saint.’

His hands slipped round to cup her breasts, then he kissed her spine, his breath warm on her bare flesh. ‘If you won’t beg me of your own accord, I’ll just have to be a little more persuasive . . .’

She did not know at first what he meant. Then he scooped her up in his arms and laid her gently on the bed. The silk coverlet felt cool against her nakedness and she caught her breath, wriggling backwards as her husband began to disrobe.

He threw aside his black riding jacket, then tore off his loose white undershirt to reveal his chest, just as magnificent as she remembered.

He was like a wild animal, she thought, her gaze hooked on his body, a body honed by years of hard campaigning and riding, no spare flesh on him anywhere. Even the old pale scars on his hip from where his leg had been ruined seemed somehow right to her, an intrinsic part of this man she had married, his limping gait making him more attractive to her.

Finally he dragged at his hose, and she gave a little whimper of desire to see his cock spring out, fully erect, veins straining. She had little experience to go on, but his penis seemed so thick and long she was suddenly afraid that she could never accommodate such a monster inside her.

Wolf smiled, kicking aside the last of his clothes, and climbed onto the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, the ropes beneath creaking. He crawled across to her body with the slow stealthy movements of a predator.

‘Frightened again, my reluctant bride?’ he whispered, his blue eyes fixed intently on her face. ‘Or do you like what you see?’

Her mouth was dry. She could not seem to stop staring at her husband. It was as though she had never seen him before. Though certainly this was the first time she had seen certain parts, she thought wildly. Her gaze flickered over his broad shoulders, the muscular expanse of his chest, then down his flat belly to the triangle of coarse dark hair below, his penis stiff and swollen, so erect that it seemed to brush the underside of his belly.

‘I like what I see,’ he commented, stroking a finger across her lips.

She waited, holding her breath.

His finger trailed down her chin, then her throat, stroking her skin gently until it reached her chest. ‘You can forget what I said about your breasts. You are perfect, my lovely virgin bride. Now all our marriage needs is for you to see what would make this more perfect . . .’

Wolf dipped his head and licked at her nipple, the touch of his tongue so delicate it felt like a wet paintbrush across her skin. Her flesh stiffened, tingling under his clever tongue. He stroked and squeezed each breast into a firm peak, pushing them softly together, then lapping from one nipple to the other, his eyes closed, his face utterly absorbed.

She moaned and clutched at the silk coverlet, hands bunching into fists at the tiny hot darts of pleasure shooting through her. He circled one nipple with his tongue, then drew it forcefully into his mouth, sucking hard as though he would draw milk. Her back arched and she cried out wordlessly, rubbing herself against him with sudden wanton abandon.

She closed her eyes too. Her head was in a daze. She could barely remember where they were, or how they had got there. She did not know what time of day it was. All that mattered was the way he was touching her, kissing her, the delicious slide of his tongue across her nipple.

‘Oh,’ she moaned, and could not help herself.

Instinctively, she stretched out to his body, and found herself touching him, her hands drawn first to the broad, raw sweep of his shoulders, then to his pitch-black head, her fingers bunching and clenching in his thick hair, dragging him closer.

Wolf did not flinch from her touch but made a reassuring sound in his throat, his mouth still working at her breast. So she dared to stroke him in silence, exploring his body, trailing her fingertips down the silken steel of his spine. The feel of bare skin was almost too much, knowing that where her fingers stopped at the base of his spine, too hesitant to move on, his body continued, curving smoothly into strong buttocks and thighs.

He raised his head when she paused, his eyes sharp glittering blue. ‘Now don’t stop there,’ he murmured teasingly, his voice a little breathless. ‘I was enjoying your hands on my body. Go lower.’

The air rushed into her chest, and for a moment she stared into his mocking gaze and could not speak.

Then, haltingly, she managed, ‘I do not know how . . .’

‘You were not so shy in the cave,’ he reminded her softly.

Her cheeks burnt at the memory of her wild and wanton behaviour that day. She had been like a creature possessed in that cave, driven half-mad by his forceful lovemaking and the dark narrow space into which he had taken her. Now though, he was looking straight into her face, and there was no escape from those mocking eyes.

‘I have forgotten.’

‘Then let me remind you.’ He rolled to one side, took one of her hands, then placed it, firmly and deliberately, on his swollen erection. ‘There, you see? Nothing to be afraid of.’

A spark of pride lit her soul at this remark. Her hand still on his cock, she raised her chin, looking directly back at him. ‘I am not afraid!’

‘That’s excellent,’ he told her, still smiling, and leaned back slightly, looking down at her hand. ‘Then you will not mind if I show you this little trick.’

He moved her fingers apart until she was gripping his girth like a quarterstaff, then taught her how to slide her hand up and down. ‘Easy,’ he murmured, watching her closely as she tried a few first tentative strokes. ‘Don’t grip so hard. Yes, that’s good. Very good.’

It was like being in a dream. She kept her gaze on his cock, not his face, and let her fingers squeeze and relax as they moved up and down his shaft. The head of his cock seemed to grow as she worked, its colour a dusky red, fat as a field mushroom. It glistened with fluid, just a few drops beading at the top, and she found herself quite naturally wiping it away with her thumb, then using the moisture to keep each stroke smooth and slick.

‘Sweet Jesu,’ he gasped after a few moments of this slow and steady work. His hand caught hers, unpinning her fingers from his swollen shaft. ‘Enough, enough. I shall spend my pleasure before I am even inside you.’

Inside her?

Her face flushed with heat at the thought of all that thick, hard strength inside her, and by his smile she guessed he knew what she was thinking.

‘Not yet,’ Wolf told her softly. ‘You still have to beg for it, my lady. Or had you forgotten my terms?’

Her blush became one of humiliation. She had thought – or rather, hoped – that her husband was not serious when he claimed she would have to beg for his attentions. But it seemed Lord Wolf was still intent on taking his revenge. Or training his new bride to welcome him into her body, as he no doubt saw this little game.

Well, she would not beg him to take her. He could go whistle for his pleasure.

But it seemed he had other ideas than whistling. Lewdly, his hands lifted her knees up and apart, spreading her bare thighs open. Then, before she even had time to guess at his purpose, he came to his knees before her and lowered his head between her legs.

She stared down at him numbly; a shocked amazement swept through her that any nobleman should wish to kiss a woman in such an intimate place. Then his tongue began to work firmly at that little nub of flesh between her legs, playing it with such great skill and daring her whole body hummed with a fierce, throbbing excitement she could not contain.

Compulsively, her hand came down, pulling his head closer. ‘Wolf,’ she moaned, then felt an old familiar tugging in her belly, a tingling between her legs, and knew that the secret pleasure she had never admitted to anyone would soon possess her body.

Her body on fire, she turned her head away, hoping to muffle her cries in the coverlet.

Kneeling up between her legs, Wolf strummed her moist flesh with long fingers, watching as her body twisted helplessly to avoid the pleasure. ‘Don’t struggle against it,’ he urged her huskily, stroking his thumb back and forth across her quivering flesh. ‘Let the sweetness take you where it will. There is no shame in this, Eloise. A woman may experience joy in love as much as any man. And the taste is good. Better than any sweetmeat.’

Eloise peered at him from behind shaking fingers, and saw how swollen he had grown, how his chest was darkly flushed. It could not be long now until . . .

His mouth found her again, lapping fiercely at her flesh. Could he truly take pleasure in such an act? Just the thought of it shocked her.

Suddenly her legs jerked and she gave a wild, high-pitched cry, pleasure bursting uncontrollably between her thighs. Moisture came flooding out, unexpectedly, and she moaned, unable to meet his gaze. There is no shame in this, he had said. Yet she did feel ashamed, and fearful too that he knew her weakness, that she had shown Wolf just how vulnerable she could be to him.

Her husband shifted between her thighs, staring down at her. His penis was so thickly swollen with desire she feared it would hurt to be impaled on such a shaft.

‘Beg me to take you,’ he commanded her, his words slurred with passion. His gaze was hungry, like that of a starving man, and she could see the veins in his neck standing out, astrain with fire. ‘It will only hurt for a moment. Beg for my cock.’

Eloise wanted more than anything else in the world to beg for it, to feel him push his organ deep between her thighs, to let him take her maidenhead and teach her about love. Yet the words of surrender would not seem to come out.

She stared up at him, her lower lip trembling, the pleas stifled just beyond her tongue, caught in her throat.

‘Eloise, for the love of God,’ he groaned, his eyes a misty, tormented blue. ‘You can’t make me wait. Not after this, not now. I have to take you. Don’t you see, I have no choice? Don’t make me take you by force. I am your husband.’

‘Wolf . . .’

‘Yes?’

His eyes were urging her to say it. Her body wanted her to say it. But her pride clung on, refusing to let him win. Why should a virgin bride need to beg for her husband’s love? It was unjust. It was cruel and unnecessary. He wanted to humiliate her, to show her how low a wife was in his esteem. She licked dry lips, meaning to reject him again, and saw his gaze fix on the tiny movement, his throat swallowing convulsively.

He was afraid too, she suddenly realised. Afraid that she would reject him. And that if she refused his offer, after he had tried so hard to make this work between them, he would never feel able to put himself in this position again. That this was it. The final time of asking.

‘Take me, my lord,’ she whispered. ‘Make love to me.’

Something flickered in his eyes at her barely audible words. Not triumph, as she had half-expected. But relief, perhaps, that she had not forced him to annul their marriage, admitting to everyone they knew that it had been unconsummated.

‘Again,’ he replied hoarsely.

She glared. ‘You need me to repeat it?’

‘Again,’ he insisted, his voice stronger now. His blue gaze warred with hers, suddenly confident. ‘I want to hear you say it, Eloise. Beg me.’

‘I . . .’ She still could not bring herself to obey him.

He smiled, leaning over her, and placed the head of his organ against her damp cleft. And she was on fire again, her hips rising instinctively to accommodate him, her body trembling with an age-old female need to be filled.