A Match Made in Bed (Spinster Heiresses #2)(39)

“Am I too bold?” she asked. She held her dress in front of her, bringing to his attention the fact that he stared. No, he did more than stare. He was bloody drooling. “Aren’t we both supposed to be naked for this?”

Soren scrambled out of the bed. “Yes, yes,” he agreed. He began pulling on his neck cloth. His fingers had stopped working properly or the knot had been too tight. He yanked it hard.

Of course, the real problem was that she had folded and set aside her dress on a chair and was now untying her petticoats. He could barely think coherently as he watched her slip the ribbons free.

She noticed his lack of movement. “Is something the matter?”

“No, nothing,” he assured her. He still hadn’t undone the knot. “Carry on.”

“Oh, no.” She held her petticoats in place. “You need to do your share.”

“I do,” he agreed, fiddling again with the knot, but then he noticed the creamy expanses of breasts against her chemise. Damn it all.

He’d never manage to undress.

“Let me help.” She pushed his fumbling hands aside.

Her hair smelled like flowers warmed by the sun. Her body heat teased him as she tried to undo the mess he’d made of his knot.

He put his arm around her waist. His hand rested on her hip. She felt good in his arms. Her petticoat ribbons were loose. He could easily free her of the garment.

“You did yourself no favors,” she said, working on the damage.

His response was to kiss her hair, her forehead. She put her mouth up for him to kiss, and so he did. She surprised him with her openness, her playfulness.

She won the knot and pulled his neck cloth from around his neck. Pressing her body against his intimately, she whispered, “This is it, isn’t it?” She pushed his jacket down over his shoulders.

“Yes, it is,” he assured her. He pulled his shirt over his head and then picked her up again and set her on the bed. Her loosened petticoat fell to the ground. Her lower half was naked save for her stockings. She pressed her legs together in modesty. Her breasts pushed against the chemise.

It was all he could do to unbutton his too full breeches, especially with her intently watching his every movement.

He kicked off one shoe and then another. He took his time lowering his breeches and enjoyed the way her eyes widened.

Oh yes, this would be fun.

Cassandra scooted back on the bed and pulled her chemise over her head. Her skin seemed to glow in the room’s late afternoon light. Her breasts were full and perfectly formed. Her waist and hips were a study in grace.

And, she still wore her silk stockings. She was bringing him to his knees.

“You are a beauty, Cass.”

Doubt came to her eye. “Is that something you are just saying—?”

“No, I mean every word. And I assure you, I will be a good husband to you.”

She nodded, but her gaze drifted to his proud arousal. “It is different than I had imagined.”

“Hopefully in a good way?”

“I don’t know.”

He laughed, delighted. She was candor and innocence and completely herself. Had he thought to go slow?

That idea was gone. His Cass was full of anticipation. Their mating would be good. He threw himself on the bed beside her and drew her to his side. He stretched his body against hers and kissed her ear. Her answer was a soft gasp of pleasure, and then she kissed his ear.

She did it well.

Soren was down to business now. His wife was a perfect student. Whatever he did that she liked, she copied on him.

He bit her lower lip; she nipped at his. He nibbled her neck; she nibbled him.

But what he really wanted were her breasts. They were round and pink and responsive to his touch. How many hours, even when they’d been young, had he spent trying to imagine them? And here they were. His fantasies had not done them justice.

He now gave them proper attention.

Cass breathed his name in surprise at the sensation of his mouth upon her. Her fingers buried themselves in his hair as if to hold him to her. He paid her close attention. First one, then the other . . . even as he let his hand dip lower.

The heat of her was a beacon. He moved to her core, rested a moment for her to relax, and then he slid one finger inside, testing her.

She’d tensed. Her hands went still.

He found her ear. “Easy.”

Cass swallowed and then turned to him, their lips inches from each other. “Will there be pain?”

“Not if I can help it. And if there is, it will be only an instant.” At least, that was what he’d heard—and hoped. He stroked her. Her legs opened as if of their own accord. “I won’t hurt you. I’ll never hurt you.”

“I believe you.”

He lifted himself up over her to settle against her heat. “Help me, Cass.” He slid his hand under her buttocks to curve her toward him. He knew exactly where he must be to make it easiest on her. He wanted to do this right.

But his wife was not one to wait. She moved against him. Her arms tightened around him, her movements a touch frantic, as if she distracted herself. She kissed his hair, the side of his eye, the middle of his forehead—and he did what must be done.

In one fluid movement, he entered her. He did not pull back but thrust deep. The thin barrier was nothing against the force of his need, and he easily claimed her.