Chapter 25

Torie sank backwards as Dominic rolled over, one thick leg pinning down both of hers. Neither her nightgown nor the sheet

caught between them disguised the hard thrust of his arousal against her thigh.

She was about to begin asking questions—which was how she usually found her way through new situations—but he bent his head

to kiss her. No questions presented themselves, not in the middle of ravishing kisses. What was there to question when her

body was shuddering with desire?

He pulled the sheet away and tossed it to the bottom of the bed. His hands slid up her leg, and Torie stilled in sudden anxiety.

Only her maid had seen her unclothed. Morning light was pouring into the room.

"Aren't we supposed to do this in the dark, at night?" she asked, her voice cracking. "Under the covers?"

Dominic shook his head. "There's no should about it. I would like to make love to you at every time of day." His dimples appeared. "We should test every hour of day

and night to determine which is your favorite."

Torie gulped. "At the moment, this room is very bright." She pushed her nightgown past her knees. Her body was besieged by

feelings she had no words for. Her breasts felt heavy, and her nipples felt oddly tight. She wasn't stupid enough to ignore

the craving sensation, but she was trembling half from desire and half from fear.

"I don't like being a virgin," she said crossly.

Dom threw back his head, and there were those dimples again, because he was laughing, actually laughing. Torie found the sound

intoxicating, likely because he was so sober most of the time. She found herself leaning toward him, tracing the generous

outlines of his bottom lip with her finger.

"Why don't you laugh more often?"

His dimples vanished. "Men don't," he said simply.

"You seem to me to have far too many ideas about what men can and can't do," she said, allowing him to suck the tip of her

finger into his warm mouth.

"I promised you a body made for sportive tricks," he growled in her ear. "A male one."

Torie took her finger out of his mouth and then slipped it in her own, hollowing her cheeks. "You taste delicious," she murmured,

pouting.

"Hell," he groaned, his eyes blazing with intensity. He swung off the bed, stood up, and stripped off his robe, moving back

to the bed naked.

Dom's chest muscles brought back the moment when he first stripped off his shirt. But a furrow of silky hair pointed down,

and there weren't any breeches blocking Torie's view this time. Seeing his thighs in breeches wasn't at all the same as when

he was kneeling on the bed in front of her, letting her look her fill.

She looked down again, felt her eyes widen.

He was... big.

Not that she knew much about sizes, but there wasn't a lady in the ton who hadn't experienced an idiot in silk pantaloons

accidentally brushing her hip and cackling because he apparently thought she'd be overcome by desire, by—

By what she realized now had been impoverished versions of her husband's hard flesh. It was smooth and looked almost painfully rigid. She cleared her throat. Dom was grinning at her again. Not boastful, the way those foolish boys were, but openly.

He was big everywhere.

Her eyes went back to the muscles in his thighs, and she discovered that she had been correct about her affinity for a farmer's

body. "I meant to..." she said with a gulp and stopped.

"What?"

"I thought of marrying a farmer," Torie murmured, her eyes eating up the way Dominic's muscles bulged as he shifted his weight.

His limbs weren't furry, but they were roughened with hair. Her prickling skin informed her that she would enjoy the sensation

of his legs against hers.

"A farmer?" He sounded bemused.

"Who would have legs like yours," she managed. Dom had been honest with her, so: "I made up my mind about the farmer back

when you were betrothed to my sister, though I never looked at you with desire then, I swear it!"

The dimples came back. He wrapped a hand around her cheek and bent to kiss her. Torie put her hands on his shoulders, loving

the way he twitched under her fingers as if he were excited by that simple touch.

"May I lie beside you?" he murmured against her lips. "You probably have questions. I would be the first to say that my sketch

was insufficient. The legs were just sticks, after all."

After he threw that big powerful body down onto the sheet, arms crossed behind his head, Torie couldn't think of a single question. Not when she could caress him until a rough groan escaped his lips, and then rub more to see whether she could produce that sound again.

Which she could.

His fingers clenched in the sheet, and he started talking, muddled, broken half sentences coming without forethought from

his throat. Even though, she dimly realized, she would have said that every word Dom spoke came with forethought.

He walked out of rooms to protect himself from spontaneity.

Not now. Not here.

He raggedly told her exactly what her touch was doing to him, especially once she slid lower in the bed and draped one of

her legs over his, her fingers dancing down his ridged belly.

She hesitated until he wrapped his hand around his tool, showing her how to slide along its length with a twist. When she

imitated him, he wrapped his hand over hers and pulled in a way that made him throw back his head with a groan.

It gave her a deep stab of satisfaction that the man who prided himself on keeping a remote, somber expression couldn't do

so now. Every time her hand moved, he grimaced, eyes gleaming under half-closed lids, gripped by desire that no one could

mistake, even someone with as little experience as she.

That is, no experience at all.

"I like your clothespin," she murmured.

He wasn't paying attention, lost in a sensual fog. So she tightened her hand and edged closer, examining the ridges that marked

his stomach. When she licked them, he shuddered and wrapped one of his hands around the other wrist over his head, as if he

were only barely able to restrain himself from touching her.

Torie felt an errant spark of laughter.

This was serious . This was marital consummation, marital intimacy, and all that. But the idea that Viscount Kelbourne had to physically restrain

himself in order not to leap on her? That was funny.

It was also funny to watch his stomach muscles jump when she ran her tongue across them, especially when she edged farther

down. A smile was fluttering in her heart, curling her mouth. It was an important moment, but it was also... funny.

Fun.

Her tongue touched the mushroom head of his tool. He gasped and arched his back, a silent plea, except that Viscount Kelbourne

would never lower himself to plead.

She hummed, deep in her throat, and then licked him again.

A sound broke from his throat.

Perhaps she could make him beg .

Torie was rarely confident. But doing this? Making love to Dom? She knew what she was doing, without written instructions,

without experience.

Just by touch and feel.

She dipped her head and took the fat head of his clothespin into her mouth. Didn't he mention this at some point? Or perhaps

not. Perhaps he only talked about licking her. But sauce for the goose, et cetera.

"How's that?" she asked cheerfully, letting him go with a pop of her lips.

"My God," Dom said, eyes wild. "Bloody hell. Fucking hell."

"Tsk, tsk, do please keep in mind the Prohibited List," she chuckled. And bent over him again. He tasted musky and clean, so she sucked until a need for oxygen made itself known.

"Still good?" she asked, more huskily.

All the time he had been talking, telling her to suck him down, telling her how it felt when her tongue wrapped around him,

telling her she was sinful, delicious, everything he wanted.

"I've been longing for months to see you kneeling in front of me." Dom's voice was a throaty promise.

"I hope you're planning to kneel in front of me too," she told him.

Having this large male body laid out for her pleasure was intoxicating. Her tongue wrapped around him once again. He groaned

deep in his chest and said, "I can't take it any longer."

A moment later she was under him again, snug beneath his heavy weight. It felt lovely. Safe and sensual, as if she could melt

into him, and he would never mock her.

His body shifted. She was suddenly aware that, games aside, there was much she didn't know. That she wanted to know.

But he was in charge now. His jaw was set, and his eyes blazing into hers as he moved her legs so that his fingers could slip

up her thigh.

Celebrating in a gruff voice when she was wet and tender. Cursing when she relaxed her legs and smiled at him. Turning the

air blue when she wound her fingers into his hair and pulled him closer, his mouth crashing down on hers.

"What next?" she asked at some point, catching her breath. She had no fear, just joy in her veins.

"This... that," he said, losing all the eloquence that he usually had. His eyes were strained, his voice savage.

"Well, then," she said, schooling her voice to be demure. "This, that, you, me?"

"Tell me," he said, his eyes on hers. "Tell me what you want, Torie. What you need."

The answer was simple, of course. She'd known the truth even when she thought that Gianna was in her way. "I need you," she

breathed. "Please, Dom."

She almost forgot what came next, except his hand slid up her hip and then pulled her gently into place so that—

She expected a thrust. To be honest, she would have welcomed a thrust, because there was a tingling emptiness between her

legs that was making her shift restlessly beneath him.

Instead, he entered her slowly and tenderly, his eyes asking over and over if the pain was too unpleasant. The feeling wasn't

all that good. But there was a beat underneath every movement he made that sent a promise down her legs.

When he finally sank in all the way, he grunted, and the sound felt right. When he withdrew and plunged in again, that felt

right too. It all felt right, especially when sensation began to spiral up her legs, and her nails dug into his arms.

He was throbbing inside her, and she could feel some sort of storm rolling toward her on the horizon when he withdrew.

Torie gasped. "No!"

His heated gaze met hers. "I have to lick you. Have to taste you." His voice was hoarse, drenched and heavy with lust.

A quiver went through her. "I don't think that is something I will enjoy."

"Please."

The man who never begged was close to it. "All right," Torie whispered. Light was still pouring into the room. She would feel

better in the dark, under the covers. He was going to...

He was doing it.

Looking at her. Pulling her legs apart and looking at her. Torie felt scarlet color flooding her cheeks. She let out a shaky breath, searching his face.

His eyes were wide. "So pretty," he growled.

She glanced below his waist.

"I'm not pretty. Hard and waiting for you," he said, following her gaze. "I need to taste you, Torie. I've been thinking of

these rose petals for months. Desperate for you."

For months? And she was worried about embarrassment? She smiled and widened her legs.

"All right," she agreed. "All yours."

She melted into the sheets, melted into his expression, squeezed her eyes shut, and trusted. And waited, as if she were at

the top of a steep hill in a runaway carriage.

Big hands caught her legs, gently, and pushed them even farther apart. A ravenous groan sent warm breath over her most intimate

part, making her shudder.

Suddenly his tongue ran up her in a wide swipe that felt like nothing she'd ever imagined. She could never have imagined.

Of course, he talked. "You taste like flowers and the sea. So soft." The bed rocked, and she could tell, even with her eyes

closed, that he was shoving his hips against the bed because he was greedy for her, for more of her.

All the time his tongue was dancing over her folds, and then his fingers joined in, a gentle touch after a rough stroke, a sweet caress followed by a thrust of a broad finger.

If she thought she was excited before... She began crying out, sound breaking from her chest without volition, her eyes

still squeezed shut. Dominic groaned and kept licking, muttering disjointedly that she was so sweet and tight, hardly big

enough for his finger.

What did shame matter, when this man, this man, Dom , was unashamedly grinding against the mattress because her taste was driving him wild?

Finally Torie succumbed to the storm barreling toward her. It swept up from her ankles, perhaps from her toes. It turned her

hot and liquid, and when it reached the place where two of his fingers were thrusting...

She exploded.

Helpless, crying out, shuddering. A little afraid, because surely this wasn't natural. Normal. In the daytime? Her mind skittered

again.

Dom dropped his grip on her thighs and rose over her, thrusting inside in one swoop. There was the thrust she wanted, the

wildness that answered her own hunger. A broken cry in her throat, matched by his ragged groan.

For a moment, it was too much, too overwhelming. The feeling was maddening but elusive.

"I got you," he growled, taking her mouth. "I have you, Torie." His kiss claimed her, and she tasted him, the same man who

had kissed her for months. That did it: calmed her spirit if not her thundering heart.

He slipped one hand under her hip and began thrusting in a rhythm as steady as waves coming in to shore. Her mind blurred, and everything slipped away except the shattering sensation unfurling in her body.

It wasn't enough, not deep enough, so she arched against him—at the same moment that he ground down, shuddering, thrusting

deep, emptying himself into her.

His eyes blazed into hers, and she didn't cry out. She screamed as pleasure washed over her again.

"Are you knocked unconscious?" she asked drowsily, a moment later. His heavy body had slumped onto hers after the arms he'd

braced by her ears relaxed.

He turned his head and kissed her ear. Nipped it. "Like a rabbit? I didn't faint, but it was damn close. A man can go much

longer on the second round."

"Second round?" she echoed.

When rabbits did it, the male fell off on the ground. His mate hopped away and started chewing grass again. There was no second

round.

Something stirred against her leg. "I'm going to wash you," Dom said. "Then I'm going to lick you from your earlobe down to

your tiny toes. I'm going to drive you to incoherent bliss, as is my husbandly duty."

"Oh." Torie thought about it. "I think I was there already. Twice."

"Two or three more times," Dom said, moving down so that he could press kisses on the slopes of her breasts. "The sunshine

makes your breasts look as if they're shimmering. Or perhaps that's because I'm drunk."

Torie was rather surprised to see her nipples respond to a delicate flick of his tongue.

"Dew-crumpled rose petals," Dom muttered with surprising eloquence. "No, the color isn't quite right. Strawberry pink." He tapped her nipple, sending a zing of pleasure straight through her. "Darkening to strawberry pink."

Torie squirmed under his investigation, filled with delight, her breath coming faster. Bedding was a messy, intimate business,

but she loved it. "You did say that we are validating our wedding with bodily union," she reminded him.

"We need more union, more validation. I didn't get enough time with these beauties," her husband murmured.

"I feel as if our bodies united," she said thoughtfully.

"We're married now. No escape." He got up and came back with a wet cloth. "Are you sore from all the bodily uniting, Torie?"

She glanced down, and then came up on her elbows. "Is this you?" She swiped a finger through the pearly liquid running down

her thigh and stuck it in her mouth.

Her husband dropped the cloth and bent over, groaning as if he had taken a blow to the stomach. "You," he said. And then nothing

else.

So Torie took the wet cloth and wiped away the evidence herself.