Page 19 of The Wicked Duke's Convenient Bride
She curled her arms around herself, looking vaguely unsettled. Embarrassed, even. “Should I lay back on the bed?”
He looked at her, the very image of maidenly modesty. Rosemary had not been like that. She had been fiery and eager, and they had fallen into bed still fully clothed. He remembered having little patience that night. Matthew had not even wanted to remove his hands long enough for his newly-wed wife to undress. It was strange to think that Tabitha, the same young woman capable of such boldness, would approach her wedding night with such demureness.
“Are you afraid?” he asked, his voice low and dark.
“Yes.”
He approached her, towered over her, and she stared at him with wide eyes. “You need not be,” he said. “Although this is a marriage of convenience, I would never sully you in any way. This can be very pleasant, indeed. If you will allow yourself to relax, you may even find that you enjoy it.”
Rather than appearing comforted, she only snorted. Perhaps she found some humour in the situation. Matthew supposed there was something vaguely amusing about it all, or there might be if it were not for memories of Rosemary lingering still in his thoughts.
He leaned forward and kissed her. Tabitha’s mouth was warm and soft against his own, and a guttural groan tore from his throat. She put her hands on his shoulders and pressed herself against him.
Then, the world was only Tabitha, and she was all his. He pressed his lips hungrily against hers. Matthew curled one hand in her hair, pulling free the pins and flowers that had kept it in place. His other hand curled on her hip, tracing the curve hidden from sight by the shapeless gown.
When Matthew’s lungs burned for air, he broke the kiss. Tabitha remained in his embrace, her chest heaving and her breath coming in quick pants. “Your Grace,” she rasped.
Her hair was dishevelled. It had fallen in long curls around her shoulders, still dotted with the odd flower or pin. “Call me Matthew,” he said.
With strong hands, he seized the fabric of her skirts and hauled it up over her slender thighs. Seeing her bare legs, pale and smooth, nearly undid him. He curled his hands beneath her thighs. As he hefted her up, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her chest against his.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “That—is that your—”
“My manhood?” he asked.
He assumed it was that. Matthew was hard and pressing against her stomach. He ached to unsheathe himself, desire burning and pulsing with every breath of air. Tabitha smelled like a beautiful woman. The sweetness of flowers and the sharpness of desire and sweat danced together in the air. He carried her effortlessly to the bed and placed her down. “Lay back,” he said.
She did, pliant and obedient. The room was dark, but he could nevertheless discern that her expression was curious rather than frightened. She wanted to experience what was to come.
“Lift your hips.”
She did, and he drew the gown further up, letting it pool around her waist. He traced his hands along the inside of her thighs, her skin soft and smooth between his large palms. She trembled and spread her legs wider. Matthew was uncertain if that was a deliberate invitation or some unrecognized, instinctive response to his touch.
He went onto his knees at the edge of the bed and lowered his head. Matthew kissed her thighs gently and slowly. Tabitha groaned, and when he glanced up, he saw that her fingers curled tightly in the bed furnishings. “Oh,” she murmured.
The young woman tossed her head back, and Matthew smiled a little to himself. He kissed her again and again, trailing kisses and caresses over her legs. Tabitha’s body became increasingly restless. Her legs trembled, her back arched, and her hips bucked.
“Do you—is it supposed to feel—” she rambled, starting and stopping sentences, seemingly without the faintest idea how to conclude them.
He chuckled against her thigh. “You have seen nothing yet, Tabitha.”
“Oh?” She sounded nearly breathless.
He kissed that place between her legs, the soft curls of hair brushing against his chin. Tabitha made a soft, whimpering sound laced with want. Matthew gently placed his thumb against her desire and stroked. The change in Tabitha was obvious. She let out a loud cry and bucked her hips against his hand.
“That!” she exclaimed.
He smiled. “Eager, huh?”
Tabitha groaned. “Do not tease me. That—that felt—I need that.”
Matthew obliged. He swirled circles over her, and Tabitha trembled hard beneath him. She was close to coming undone simply from his hand. Matthew dipped a finger lower and carefully entered her. Tabitha’s inner walls clenched tightly about his finger, and Matthew breathed raggedly, thinking about how it would feel to have her clenched around his manhood.
Tabitha arched her back, driving his finger deeper into her. She groaned and shifted, rocking against him. Her inner walls clenched, wet against his finger. With his thumb, he resumed stroking her. Matthew stroked and moved inside her, carefully inserting a second finger.
“Oh, God,” Tabitha breathed.
She was nearly frenzied, moving and pushing and shifting against the bed. Tabitha bucked, moved, and twisted, and at last, her whole body grew taut like the string of a crossbow. Then, her release came. He felt it in the shuddering of her legs and her inner walls, and he heard it in her sharp, surprised shout and the raggedness of her breaths. He had pleased her.
