Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (Scandalous Seasons #2)(66)

Her gaze wandered from the bracket clock atop the French bureau secretaire to the double windows.

Dusk had ushered in a black night sky, dotted with glittering starlight, but Christopher remained conspicuously absent.

Sophie glanced down at her modest white muslin nightgown. In her dreams for her wedding day, her trousseau had included a scandalous satin French peignoir that young ladies shouldn’t even think about. There might have been pearl detailing or a jewel-encrusted bodice.

Except, just as the wedding ceremony and guests and trousseau had merely been part of a young girls dreams, so to was the satin French peignoir.

The door opened, and Sophie looked over at the entrance. Christopher stood, framed with his arm folded across his broad chest. He’d removed his jacket and shoved up his white shirtsleeves. Sophie popped up.

“Christopher,” she said.

He inclined his head. “Phi.”

She wet her suddenly dry lips and glanced down at the tips of her toes.

“Never tell me you’re shy around me.”

Sophie shook her head. “No. Yes.” She fell silent, unsure how to tell him that it wasn’t him she was nervous about but what would follow. Her mother hadn’t even prepared her for the details of her wedding night. Perhaps it was because her mother had given up hope of Sophie ever making a match.

Christopher closed the door, and continued to study her through heavy-lidded eyes. “You look beautiful, Phi.”

A snort escaped her. She brushed her hand over the front of her simple, muslin skirts. “And you are merely being polite.” Just like that, all her nervousness dissipated.

His long leg strides ate up the space between them. He stopped in front of her. Taking her hands, he guided her up. “I’m not, Phi. You’re truly beautiful.”

When he said it in that deep, husky baritone she actually believed him. He brushed his fingers along the edge of her jaw, trailing his thumb over her lower lip.

“I want to kiss you.”

Well, that was good because she wanted him to kiss her. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes.

Several moments later, she looked up at him. A smile played at the edges of his lips.

“What?” she blurted, feeling suddenly very foolish. Not for the first time she cursed Emmaline’s absence. Her friend was the only one who could have answered all the many, unseemly questions Sophie had about her wedding night.

Christopher’s lips found hers and she froze at the heated contact. The taste of him, coffee and raw masculinity, flooded her senses and all her reservations ebbed. She reached up on tiptoe to better avail herself to his mouth, and returned his kiss with total abandon.

A groan rumbled from deep within his chest. It encouraged her, enflamed her, and in response, Sophie twined her fingers in the thick, silken strands of black hair.

Christopher parted her lips. His tongue found hers in an age old ritual.

Sophie’s head fell back on a wanton moan that she expected would have embarrassed her, but all she was capable of was feeling. Warmth built in her belly. It fanned out, a molten heat that was setting her body afire.

A startled squeak escaped her when Christopher swept her into his arms and carried her to the center of the bed. He laid her down with infinite gentleness and came to rest over her body.

She moaned when his mouth broke contact with hers, but he was only moving his exploration elsewhere. His lips blazed a trail along her collarbone, her shoulder, to the rapid beating pulse at her neck until she thrashed her head wildly upon the pillow.

“Please,” she whispered, not knowing exactly what she craved but knowing only Christopher could show her.

He tugged her nightshift free and tossed it to the floor. The cool night air kissed her skin; a heady contrast to the heat of her husband’s body.

She curled into herself, suddenly uncomfortable with being this exposed to Christopher’s eyes. Never before had the desire been stronger for a trim frame instead of her plump, wide-hipped figure.

“Look at me.” The command came out harsh and powerful.

Sophie met his gaze.

“You are beautiful.”

“I’m large,” she said, and attempted to fold her arms over her breasts to shield them from his eyes.

Christopher stayed her movements. “I cannot imagine a greater tragedy than the beauty before me being covered up.”

She hesitated a moment, then dropped her arms to her side.

Christopher ran a searching gaze over her, lingering overly long upon the sight of her breasts.

Sophie shifted, all the insecurities rushing to the front, but then her husband reached for one of the mounds of flesh with such reverence that all her doubts were cast aside.

He lowered his head and claimed the tip of one of her breasts between his lips. A hiss of air escaped her. “What are you doing?”

Christopher continued to worship the bud with his tongue. With a surprising gentleness, he caught the flesh between his teeth and gently troubled the pink tip until her head fell back upon the satin pillowcase.

Mad. He was going to drive her utterly mad. And his ministrations would be worth that trip to Bedlam.

***

Christopher cupped the pale white moons of Sophie’s breasts within the palms of his hand. He lowered his head and took the pink tip of first one, then the other between his lips.

A sound, somewhere between a moan and a groan slipped past Sophie’s lips. Encouraged by her response, Christopher worked a hand between them and caressed the thatch of golden curls that shielded her womanhood.