Page 86 of The Lord Meets His Lady

Twenty

“I’ve yet to decide where your first kiss should be,” Marcus said, raining down kiss after kiss along her collarbone.

Gentle laughter tripped from her body to his mouth. “You’ve already given me a first kiss.”

“Don’t spoil my game.” His words muffled against her neck.

“You are fond of games, aren’t you?” And she arched her neck for him.

They stood at the bed’s side, failing to take advantage of its comfort. Didn’t matter. He discovered the sinew connecting her neck to her shoulder. The skin was soft and warm and, judging by the laughter bubbling up, a ticklish spot. His tongue traced the sinew’s line, and gratification swelled when Genevieve’s breath hitched.

She needed…flustering.

He pulled back. Light danced in those big eyes of hers. Despite his rampant erection, he lost himself in her. This night, he’d take all the time necessary to please his wife.

Wife.The word felt good.

The stiff-limbed, stoic woman of hours ago was long gone, replaced by a lovely forest maiden found in fairy tales. But this maid was no innocent.

She traced his bottom lip. “What a fine mouth you have.”

Dark-blond hair fell everywhere. An amber lock curled around her nipple. Entranced by the pink flesh, he kissed the tip. “All the better to kiss you with.”

One finger outlined the pretty coil, and a flush spilled across her chest. Light pink spread to her breasts, where her nipples tightened to singular points. Exquisite. His palm circled a tiny peak. Her beautiful breasts fascinated him. He cupped bountiful curves before skimming her breastbone, her ribs. Genevieve’s heartbeat pulsed beneath smooth skin as gratifying to feel as the rest of her.

She watched his hands roam over her body as though enthralled by the sight of his touch.

With both hands, he rolled her nipples again and again between his thumbs and forefingers. She’d never nursed a child. The aureole was close in color to her breast, not the deeper shade of a woman who’d carried a babe. The small, rosy circles contrasted with her size. Would her nipples get larger when she bore a child?

His child?

Both hands fell away at the phantom image of an infant at her breast. He nearly stepped back. Of course that wouldn’t happen. The brandy-soaked linen. He was familiar with the modes women used to prevent a babe.

Her kiss-swollen lips parted. She clasped his hands with hers and set them on her breasts. “Don’t stop.”

Lust mad, his pulse banged. Light hazed around him. His brain had already slipped between his legs when he’d spied her pushing the linen into her nest of curls.

He’d given up trying to think straight.

It was useless. He was good for one thing tonight—pleasuring his bride.

Genevieve warmed to the sex play, kneading her plump breasts with him. Together their joined hands explored her pale skin. She fed him soft smiles and tender laughter, kissing his whisker-rough jaw. He’d participated in too much bed sport with women convinced he wanted erotic seduction. They put on plays, batting lashes, arching their bodies coyly…all false drama.

They gave what they thought he expected. None gave themselves.

His buxom bride was different. Was this what happened to the man who bedded his fair friend? Genevieve laughed and sighed as though sex was fun. She rubbed her breast with him, her other hand sliding down his chest. Lower. Lower until she reached his breeches.

He stiffened. Her touch was light; the ache between his legs was hard. One button loosened. Then another.

“We are going to do this on the bed, aren’t we?” Husky laughter followed her teasing question.

She pushed his coat off his shoulders. All the while, he stared at her shapely arms. He stroked her, shoulder to elbow, muttering, “Sleeves are a waste.”

Intent on getting him undressed, Genevieve dropped his coat to the floor. She maneuvered him to the edge of the bed, endeavoring to tug off his boots. His brain turned to porridge at the pale, teardrop-shaped bottom bent over before him.

With awhoosh, the leather gave way. Genevieve straddled his other leg and yanked. The recalcitrant boot didn’t budge. He leaned back on his elbows. She yanked again, and the boot gave an inch. He planted his stockinged foot on one lush cheek. She looked over her shoulder, doe-brown eyes sparkling through a fall of amber hair.

He grinned. “You look like you could use some help.”