His Mistletoe Bride Read online

  Soon the fabric of her chemise was wet from his mouth, the tips of her breasts thrusting against the transparent linen in stiff points. Lucas teased them relentlessly, sucking them between his lips, and flicking them with his tongue. All the while, she could not help but arch up to him as little whimpers issued from her mouth.

  After several minutes of that delicious torture, he pulled back. His cheekbones had flushed a dark bronze and his eyes glowed with lust, but a mischievous smile played around his lips. “See?” he rumbled in a deep voice. “I do like it. It increases your pleasure, too, doesn’t it? Don’t hold back, Phoebe. Say what you want and move as much as you want.”

  She stared up at him, feeling a little dizzy with all the sensation. He was right. Making noise did seem to increase her pleasure, although she had no idea why.

  He smiled at the expression on her face. “Don’t try to figure it out. Just let it happen. It will feel that much better if you do.”

  She gave him a dubious nod, then ran her gaze over his broad-shouldered frame. A frame that was impeccably clothed in evening garb, while she lay undressed before him. The contrast rather excited her, although it was not strictly fair.

  “Lucas.”

  “Yes, love?”

  “Do you not think it rather odd of me to be lying here half naked, while you stand there fully clothed?”

  He gave her another of those hot-eyed, assessing stares. “Not in the slightest, but I take your point. Let me remedy that.”

  Quickly divesting himself of his coat, waistcoat, and cravat, he tossed them into the rapidly growing pile of clothes on the floor. Phoebe made a clucking noise with her tongue. “I had no idea my husband was so untidy.”

  He perched on the edge of the bed and began to pull off his boots. He had to struggle a bit but he managed, all while casting a devilish grin over his shoulder as he did so. “That’s what wives are for, aren’t they? To clean up after their men.”

  “Not this wife,” she said in a sugary tone. “I have other things to do.”

  The boots thudded to the floor and he stood. “Is that so? Pray tell, what would those other things be?” Then he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his magnificently hard torso and muscular arms.

  Phoebe’s entire body went boneless with anticipation. Fighting a delicious lethargy, she struggled into a sitting position. “Well,” she whispered, reaching out to trace a finger along the narrow scar that cut across his rib cage, “right now I have to make love to my husband.”

  His eyes flared with desire, and she could see the bulge of his erection swell against the fall of his breeches. With hands not quite steady, he grasped the hem of her chemise and eased it up her body. The nubby linen caught on her nipples, teasing the sensitive points, and she moaned again. A dark laugh emerged from her husband’s throat, echoing her pleasure. After he pulled the garment from her, he gently pushed her back onto the pillows. She lay there, trembling, clad only in her garters and stockings.

  Lucas stood over her, his features harsh with the intensity of his desire. The gleam in his eyes made her pulses jump—in her throat, low in her belly, and behind her knees. And as his gaze roamed over her, stopping at her nest of feminine curls, a pulse throbbed there, too. Hot, wet, and heavy.

  “Christ,” he said in a strained voice. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t deserve you, Phoebe.”

  Her throat tightened with a sudden rush of longing, and of love. “Thank you,” she managed to whisper. “It is very kind of you to say so.”

  Her silly response pulled a startled crack of laughter from his lips. “Kindness is the last emotion I’m feeling right now.”

  Planting his hands on the inside of her thighs, he nudged her legs wide. She peered up at him doubtfully. “Do you want me to take off my stockings, Lucas?”

  He shook his head. “Not on your life, my sweet.”

  After making that odd statement, he came up on the bed and settled between her spread thighs. His smoldering gaze fell on that part of her body usually hidden but now spread wide for his pleasure. Phoebe flushed with heat, trepidation, and an excitement that made her squirm. She could feel the rush of it spread through her body, coalescing in a throbbing ache deep in her womb.

  She stirred restlessly beneath him, and Lucas’s big hands clamped on her thighs, holding her still.

  “And now,” he said in a voice so dark and rough it almost made her swoon, “I intend to play with my wife.”

  Chapter 24

  Phoebe stared up into her husband’s face. Consummating a marriage seemed a serious business to her, but he made it sound more like a game than anything else. What her body felt now—raw, disturbingly carnal sensations—was far removed from any kind of game she could imagine.

  And it took some getting used to, lying naked and spread before one’s husband like a heathen sacrifice. It was both mortifying and exciting, and the exciting part urged her to do outrageous things, like lay back, open her knees wide, and . . . wriggle her bottom, which struck her as quite odd. She could imagine doing other things, too, although even imagining them made her flush with embarrassment. They struck her as wicked and yet so intensely desirable, which generally fit any definition of sin she had ever heard of. But Lucas was her husband and this was the marriage bed, so how could anything they did here be sinful?

  She wished she could ask him about it, but shyness overcame her.

  As if he read her thoughts, Lucas smiled and murmured soothing words to her. Then his calloused palms slid up the insides of her thighs and a delicious heat rippled from his hands to settle deep in her soft, hidden folds. As he stroked her, his fingers inching ever closer to the curls between her thighs, sensation raced across her skin and her body released a soft flood of moisture.

  Phoebe jerked with surprise and involuntarily tried to close her legs. She could not, of course, not with Lucas sitting between them. But the idea that he could see everything that was happening down there made her blush from head to heels. “Lucas,” she said in a strangled voice, “perhaps we should get under the covers.”

  His gaze had been fixed intently on the secret place between her legs—not so secret now—but his head came up when she spoke.

  “Don’t be embarrassed, love. Your body is doing exactly what it’s supposed to do, and I want to see all of it.”

  She frowned. “Why?”

  “Because it’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

  “If you say so,” she answered doubtfully. Perhaps she could partly understand, since she was deriving a great deal of pleasure from viewing her husband’s magnificent body.

  Obviously finished with explanations, Lucas returned his attention to his hands and what they were doing to her. Slowly, stroking her as if she were a kitten, they moved up her thighs to finally reach her damp heat. Shivers raced in the wake of his fingers, making her weak and light-headed. She was tempted to collapse onto the pillows, but something compelled her to keep watching. It fascinated her, the harsh, desirous look on his face, and that made all the sensations racing through her body wildly exciting.

  Gently, his fingers stroked her, finding and then parting her soft folds. Phoebe moaned, raw need awakening in a throbbing rush of desire. Unable to stop herself, her legs fell wide, opening everything to his touch and sight.

  “That’s it.” His voice came out in a rasp. “I want to see every part of your luscious body.”

  She sank back on her elbows, eyelids heavy, and watched her husband. Now she understood the word play, because that is exactly what he did. His fingers traced through her wet curls, rubbing, stroking, and eventually finding that delicious point of sensitivity. When his blunt fingertips brushed against the little knot of flesh, she cried and arched up, pushing her mound against the palm of his hand. It felt as if an arrow of liquid heat shot straight to her womb, then gathered at the base of her spine.

  “Yes, darling. That’s it,” he urged. Up on his knees now, his big body loomed over her. A faint sh
een of perspiration slicked his shoulders and chest, and the hard lines of his features looked carved from granite. “Just let yourself feel everything.” He circled the hard nub with his teasing fingertips as he murmured to her in a deep, entrancing voice. “Let your body go where it will.”

  She had no choice. Phoebe had never felt so out of control, as if something shivered under the surface of her skin, waiting to explode. She had experienced something of that on her wedding night, but this was stronger, wilder, as if that previous interlude had unleashed a sensation—no, an emotion, yearning to escape. It required only her husband’s touch to call it forth to freedom.

  His hands danced magic over her flesh until she twisted beneath him in a mad craving for release from the sensual torment. And yet she could not help spreading her legs even wider, silently begging him to give her more.

  “God, Phoebe,” he groaned. “You’re so hot. So wet. I can’t wait to bury my cock deep inside you.”

  Her eyes, almost closed, flew open. His words made her stomach clench with wanting, and she shifted restlessly beneath him.

  “Lucas, please,” she begged, “I want . . . I want . . .”

  She wanted what he gave her the other night, but had no words for it. She stared up into his eyes, stormy gray with desire, and silently pleaded with him.

  He gave a husky laugh. “All right, love. I’ll give you what you want. Then I’ll take everything I want.”

  His dark promise made her shiver.

  “Look at me when you come, Phoebe,” he whispered. “Look at what I’m doing to you.”

  Helpless to do anything else, she watched him part her folds with exquisite delicacy, and then slowly push a finger into her tight passage. She gasped as her body clenched around him with tiny spasms. Gently, he stretched her, then inserted another finger. It burned a bit, but the shivery little contractions grew as he slowly pumped in and out, dragging his fingers through her slick folds and then pushing them back into her soft passage. Each time, he deliberately rubbed over the hidden bud, assailing her body with more hunger, more need.

  Phoebe writhed against the tangled sheets, arching up to press into his tormenting fingers. With a rough laugh, Lucas reached up one hand to capture her breast. He rolled the stiff tip between his fingertips, then gave it a gentle pinch. She cried out as a storm of sensation rushed through her.

  “Lucas,” she wailed in a ragged voice.

  As she sobbed, straining for release, he once more pumped his fingers deep inside as his thumb pressed down against the hard nub of her sex. Her womb contracted in a deep spasm, sending luxurious ripples through her tight inner muscles. Her flesh clamped around him and she cried out, arching her hips up into his hand, straining to increase the wild pleasure. For several moments she seemed to hang suspended, arousal slamming through her with a rapturous heat.

  Then the hard, driving pleasure began to fade, easing into little shudders that leached the strength from her limbs. Phoebe fell back onto the pillows, gulping in air as her heart gradually stuttered into its normal rhythm.

  As she lay panting, trying to catch her breath, Lucas slid his fingers from her passage. Without his touch, without the feel of him inside her, she felt empty and already aching for more. How could she possibly feel that way? She could barely move a limb or even lift her head. And yet, she still wanted more from Lucas.

  She wanted him.

  With a great force of effort, she managed to prop herself up on her elbows. Lucas had moved back to sit quietly on his heels, watching her with a dark, captivating gaze. Her heart gave an erratic thump and, unexpectedly, tears stung her eyes. She wanted him so much that her throat grew tight with emotion.

  “What are you doing all the way down there?” she whispered.

  A wicked smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and he came to his knees and began a slow prowl up her body. He stopped at her breasts for a few minutes, leisurely tasting her. He went from one to the other, plumping and kneading the full mounds as he sucked her tight peaks into rigid, aching points. Dragging his tongue slowly across her nipples, he soon had her writhing and panting again, and aching for the feel of him inside her.

  Finally, he left her breasts and kissed his way up her neck to hover over her mouth. She languidly draped her arms over his broad shoulders, loving the way his tough, muscled body pressed her down into the mattress. As much as it excited her, it also made her feel protected and loved.

  “Did you like what I did to you?” Lucas whispered as he nibbled around the edges of her mouth.

  She drew her nails from his neck across the bridge of his shoulders, relishing the way his muscles jumped under her fingertips. He pulled in a deep breath, and against her chest she felt the rapid pounding of his heart.

  “What do you think?” she said, craning up to capture his mouth.

  He swooped to meet her, taking her lips, her tongue, all of her in a kiss so passionate it tumbled her insides with excitement. Growling low in his throat—and she felt the rumble vibrating all through her body—his tongue swept into her mouth, swirling and tasting in a hot dance of possession. She clung to him, pouring her soul into the kiss. All the loneliness and yearning of her life was obliterated by the taste of his mouth, the weight of his body, and the energy that sparked between them.

  He broke away, his breath almost as shattered and panting as hers. His eyes were as turbulent as a storm at sea. “I need you, Phoebe. Now.”

  His primitive rasp made her body clench with anticipation. She stared at him, her mind dazed by passion. The time for games was past. What they did now would seal her fate and bind her to him forever.

  Swallowing convulsively, she gave him a shaky nod as she instinctively drew her knees up to his lean hips. Then she wrapped her fingers around his biceps, holding on tight.

  The hard lines of his face softened as he gazed down on her. He leaned down and brushed a soft kiss on her lips. “So sweet,” he whispered. “Never worry, love. I’ll always take care of you.”

  She blinked away sudden tears as a smile trembled on her lips. Never had she loved anyone as much as she loved him in this tender, earth-shattering moment.

  Reaching down, he nudged her leg up higher on his hip. She pressed into him, but still he denied her—denied them—completion. Instead, he slid his thick, silken length back and forth against her wet little bud. Delicious tensions once more coiled low in her belly and in her womb. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pleading with him in broken, foolish words.

  Finally, she felt the muscles in his arms bunch under her hands. He shifted, and the tip of his erection nudged into her slick entrance. Slowly, he rocked into her, parting her melting flesh with a steady slide. There was a sudden, sharp burn as he stretched her, and she went rigid in his arms.

  Clenching his teeth, he rested his damp forehead against hers. His body, so bronzed in the light of the fire, held a damp sheen that glowed. They panted, chest to chest, skin to skin, a moment frozen in time. After long, breathless seconds, the burn faded and an aching fullness took its place. Phoebe blew out a little puff of air and lifted one hand up to stroke her husband’s cheek.

  He lifted his head. “Better now?”

  She wriggled beneath his weight, testing it. Lucas made a strangled noise and his pupils seemed to dilate.

  Phoebe smiled. “Yes, much better. In fact, I think I rather like it.”

  Lucas clenched his teeth. “I’m so glad, because I’m at the end of my rope.”

  She giggled, but when he began to move, the laughter died in her throat. The sensation of having Lucas inside her, stroking her so intimately with his body, overwhelmed her. Arousal once again fired all her nerves. The steady rhythm, the flexing of his hips, twisted her insides with a tight, acute sensation that soon had her rising to meet his thrusts.

  He rose over her, ruthless and dominating. She arched her back, thrusting her breasts up in wanton pleasure. When she rubbed her nipples into the hard vault of his chest, he actually growled, pressing her d
own into the bedding. His body seemed to cloak her, and she grew dizzy with the contrast between his unyielding muscles and her soft curves. Whimpering, she twisted beneath him, overcome by his effortless masculine strength. She loved how he made her feel—how this act of loving made her feel—vulnerable, sensual, and feminine.

  And a wife. His wife.

  As that idea took hold, she slid her arms around his back, gripping him close. He slipped one hand under her bottom and tilted her, increasing the depth of his penetration.

  “Lucas,” she gasped.

  He let out a rough laugh as he withdrew almost completely from her body, then pushed back with a hard flex of hips that threw her over the edge. Fire raced through her veins and devastating pleasure seized her body. When Lucas gave a ragged groan, surging into her one last time, she wrapped her arms around him and clutched with a desperate strength.

  “Oh, God,” she cried. “Lucas, I love you!”

  His entire body went rigid in her arms, then he slowly collapsed onto her. For a few moments he lay on top of her, crushing her into the mattress, then he rolled to his side, bringing her with him.

  Gradually, Phoebe returned to earth, and with it returned sanity. The seconds crawled by in silence, stretching into minutes, and still Lucas said nothing. Her head rested on his chest, his crisp hair tickling her cheek as one of his hands slowly stroked down her back. It should have been the perfect moment, the culmination of everything she longed for, and yet doubt once more crept into her heart.

  Emotionally undone by the intensity of their lovemaking, Phoebe had blurted out her love. And Lucas had said not a word. As the minutes ticked by, she could not help sensing he had somehow withdrawn from her.

  Not physically. But emotionally, she could almost swear to hearing the steady rebuilding of the wall that had stood between them. She held as still as she could, waiting and praying she was wrong.