One Golden Ring. Cheryl Bolen
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“You looked lovely today, my dear,” he said. “You still do.” She wore the same pink gown she had married in that morning. It displayed her creamy shoulders and swept low at the bodice to reveal her delectable decolletage.
When he had filled his hand with her breast, he had been pleasantly surprised that someone as slender as she possessed any breasts at all. Remembering the feel of her plump little breasts thinned his breath.
“Thank you, Nick,” she said, then she sipped her wine, her long lashes lowering seductively.
On her lips, his name became an endearment. Did she have any idea how acutely she aroused him? Could she possibly understand how tormented he was, how desperately he wished to peel off her clothing, spread her legs wide and embed himself within her?
Would this blasted meal ever come to an end?
“Did you find your chambers satisfactory?” he asked.
“Yes, they’re very nice. It was as if they were just awaiting your wife.”
“Thanks to the previous occupant, Lady Hartley,” he said. “Of course, you’re welcome to change anything you like.”
“Will we be spending much time here?”
“Not really.”
“I didn’t think so,” she said. “I know The Fox does not like to be away from his den.”
The nickname he’d been proud of now took on almost sinister overtones. “I beg that you and I not discuss my business. We’ll get on better that way.”
Her blue eyes regarded him with puzzlement. “I want to make you a good wife, Nick. If you don’t wish to discuss business, I promise to never bring it up again.” She nibbled at that lush lower lip of hers. “I shouldn’t like it if we didn’t get on well.”
“Nor would I,” he said solemnly.
It was too soon to tell how they would get along with one another, but he was convinced that on the physical level they would be highly compatible. He had been stunned over the depths of her passion, and he had not yet penetrated her simmering veneer!
As much as he would like to bury himself within her, he cautioned himself to be mindful that she was a virgin, to hold back from devouring her.
Perhaps if she imbibed great quantities of wine, the losing of her maidenhead would be less painful, more pleasurable. He lifted the decanter and refilled her glass. “Drink up, my dear. It will make our . . . consummation easier on you.”
His throbbing intensified as he watched a rosy hue climb into her cheeks. Though she was obviously embarrassed over his reference to their lovemaking, she lifted her solemn gaze to his, then sipped the wine.
The candles weren’t the only thing in the room giving off heat. Never breaking eye contact with her, he loosened the cravat even more. He had the damnedest feeling he and Fiona were surrounded by flames.
Still watching him, she took another sip.
He refilled his own glass and drank.
“I feel guilty for robbing you of the bachelorhood you so cherished,” she said. “I will try to please you in the bedchamber, but I shall have to be schooled. I’m told you’re exceedingly knowledgeable about such things.”
“By whom?” he demanded.
“Trevor. He knows everything about everybody.”
“I told you this morning,” he said in a husky voice, “to believe only half the things you’re told about me.”
“Then you’re not skillful in the ways of . . . love?”
He burst out laughing. Actually, he thought lovemaking one of his areas of expertise, but he wasn’t about to admit that to his bride. It was bad enough that she knew about Emmie’s mother. He wondered if Trevor would have told her about Diane. “I know enough to . . . to teach you all you need to know, my dear.”
The firelight danced in her simmering eyes. “Will I be able to learn all I need to know tonight?”
Every minute he sat there talking about making love to her was sheer torture. “You’ll learn enough tonight, but I shall look forward to . . . expanding that knowledge every night.” Had he known marriage would be this intoxicating, he would have taken the plunge years earlier. But then he wouldn’t have won Fiona’s hand. And somehow he did not think marriage to anyone else could match having Fiona for his wife.
She stared at him. He felt deuced awkward. He did not know her well enough to know if this was a good stare or a bad stare. When she spoke, that question was answered.
“Could we skip the sweetmeats,” she said in a wispy voice, “and go upstairs now?”
He began to tremble and could barely find his voice. “An excellent idea.” He shoved away from the table and came to settle his hands on her smooth shoulders, dipping his head to nibble at her graceful neck. She bent toward him and began to make little whimpering sounds. In one sleek move he scooped her up into his arms and strode from the dining room to swiftly mount the stairs.
Lit by wall sconces, the second floor was eerily quiet. He came to his bedchamber and kicked open the door, pleased to see that servants had built a fire and left a candle burning at the bedside table. Her arms clasped behind his neck as he crossed the room and set her down on the bed. “Should you like me to send for your maid?” he murmured.
When she shook her head, her eyes looked glazed.
“Will you allow me to assist you in removing your clothing?” he asked in a husky voice as he came to sit beside her.
Her eyes widened as she met his somber gaze, then nodded.
Though the idea of allowing him—a virtual stranger—to strip her bare must have shocked her, it did not repulse her. Thank God. He wondered how many virginal daughters of the ton would be as precocious as the beautiful woman he had wed. God, he was pleased he had married her! “Should you like me to fetch the wine?” he asked.
“I had three glasses.” She began to untie his cravat. “I never have that much.”
“Does that mean you’re feeling mellow?” he asked, his lungs feeling bereft of air.
“I feel as if I’ve drunk an entire bottle of champagne, Nick.” She sounded unbelievably provocative when she said his name. “I feel all tingly inside. And breathless.”
He moved closer to her. “That’s perfectly normal. I feel the very same.” His lips lowered to gently touch hers. He heard a jerky intake of breath as her lips parted beneath his and she sucked his tongue into her mouth. He tasted the wine she had drunk, smelled her lavender scent, and thought he could explode with joy.
As the kiss intensified, his hands began to glide over her back, to cup her buttocks, to mold her small breasts. He gloried in the sound of her whimpering.
Her dress was easy to unfasten. He pushed it down to her waist and looked at her. “The stays will have to go, my love.” He began to unlace them, and when her breasts sprang free he almost lost his breath. “So beautiful,” he murmured, filling his hand with one, flicking his thumb over the rosy nipple, then bending down to take it into his mouth. She began to arch into him, her breasts flattening against his face as he sucked at one, then the other.
Over her skirts, his hand cupped her mound, squeezing at it, rubbing his wrist against her pelvis as she squirmed into his palm, moving from side to side and up and down and beginning to make moaning sounds that heated his blood.
Mindful that she wished to be taught all there was to know about lovemaking, he drew his face away from her breasts and spoke throatily. “When a woman is sexually aroused, the tips of her breasts harden into erotic points.” He throbbed as he watched her gaze drop to the nubs in the center of her nipples.
“And when a man is sexually aroused,” she asked in a low voice, lifting her smoldering gaze