Page 61 of The Unwilling Bride
His eyes glowing with desire, he obeyed. She shifted closer and kissed his lips, letting her tongue swirl around his, then plunge inside his mouth as her hand eagerly explored his naked chest. She encountered his breeches and, still kissing him, tugged the knot of the drawstring loose. She slowly insinuated her hand inside, and found his rapidly swelling shaft.
He gasped when she took hold of him, then sighed as she began to stroke him. Excited herself, Constance slid her leg over his thigh and inched closer. Her breasts, their nipples taut, grazed his chest as she continued to plunder his mouth. Her strokes increased in tempo and she pressed her body closer.
There was no pain now, only that wondrous throbbing between her thighs. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt if she were to take him inside. Perhaps it was worth finding out.
She let go a moment to pull his breeches lower, freeing him. She eyed his engorged manhood greedily, remembering how it felt when he thrust inside her.
As she straddled his hips, Merrick opened his eyes. “What are you…?”
She leaned forward to brush her lips across his, and her breasts across his chest. “Loving you,” she murmured.
She slid her mouth from his to kiss his collarbone, then tease and lick his nipples, all the while aware of his shaft hard against her and the few drops of moisture from its tip.
He was more than ready, and so was she. She rose, took him in her hand and guided him to her.
Worry clouded his face. “Are you—?”
“Sure,” she confirmed, raising herself a little more. Then she lowered herself.
Tight. It was tight and, yes, she was a little sore, but he felt so…good. She gritted her teeth to keep any sound from escaping her lips, lest he think she was in too much pain to continue. She didn’t want to stop, notnow, as she rocked forward, her own desire propelling her and overcoming the remnants of the pain.
Merrick emitted a low growl as he grabbed her hips, helping her to move, showing her how to increase his pleasure. His legs twisted and shifted, as if he were too aroused to lie still.
Now completely caught up in their mutual excitement, Constance grabbed his hands and held them over his head. She wanted to be free, to move as she must.
Merrick moaned, but he made no effort to pull his hands from her grasp. Instead, it was clear her action enflamed him yet more. His hips rose and fell, thrusting and bucking with her motions. His breathing grew hoarse, rasping in his throat, while she panted heavily. He was near the brink. She could feel that moment coming….
And then it did. With a groan, his body spasmed, filling her, his seed spilling onto her thighs.
His powerful climax sent her over the edge to her own ecstasy. As she cried out, the waves of throbbing release rolled over her, leaving her spent and sweating.
She slowly, carefully climbed off him, to lie at his side and catch her breath.
“God’s wounds,” Merrick muttered as he sat up and looked at her with both wonder and concern. “Did that not hurt you more?”
She gave him a satisfied smile. “Perhaps, but I couldn’t help myself.”
“I should have helped it,” he muttered as he got to his feet. He started to tie his breeches, then growled an oath.
“What is it?” she asked, levering herself up on her elbows.
“I’ve still got my boots on.”
Although he was obviously annoyed, she had to laugh. “You only got a bit of mud on the coverlet. It will simply have to be washed.”
Which reminded her that soon enough, the uncles and probably some of the other noblemen would be arriving to check the sheets for the telltale signs of her lost maidenhead. She was glad that there was plenty of evidence for them to find. She knew there were those who believed she’d managed the late lord of Tregellas with more than soothing words. Now they would have proof that she had not.
His breeches tied, Merrick put on his shirt and tunic, then went to the wash table and poured water from the ewer into the basin. Bringing the basin and some linen, he returned to the bed.
She sat up, intending to wash herself, but he shook his head. “Let me.”
She bit her lip as she lay down and let him wash away the evidence of their passion, flinching at first when the damp cloth touched her skin.
He glanced at her, worry in his eyes.
“I’m not in pain,” she assured him. “It’s only that the cloth is cold.”
He finished quickly. When he took away the basin, she rose and put on her discarded shift, then her bedrobe. As she combed her hair, she asked, “How long do you think it will be before the proof is sought?”
