The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

She repeated his name over and over, arching her hips to draw him deeper into her. He found he couldn’t control himself. It had been too long. He covered her lips with his and felt long-awaited release, moaning his own pleasure into her mouth.

“Am I crushing you, sweetheart?” He drew himself above her on his elbows. He was still deep inside her. He felt almost absurdly happy, a sense of warmth and caring for her that rivaled his release. He was held in the curiousness of the feeling, for he’d never before experienced with any other woman such deep satisfaction following sex. Perhaps that was it. This hadn’t just been sex. This had been lovemaking.

Her lips parted, but before she could respond to him, he closed his mouth over hers.

“It would appear, my love, that I am quite unable to allow you conversation. Your lips are much too inviting.” He kissed the tip of her nose and smiled into her eyes. He touched a finger to the corner of her mouth. “You may smile, however, for I wish to see my favorite part of your person— your dimples. God, how I’ve missed those dimples.”

Slowly she curved her lips into a deep smile, and the dimples appeared as if by magic. He kissed each one solemnly.

She shifted her weight slightly beneath his body.

He’d believed his need for her sated, but at her movement, he felt himself grow hard within her once more. “I have a solution that both of us, I hope, will approve.” He slipped his hands beneath her back and in a swift motion pulled her over on top of him. Cascades of auburn hair buried his face. He smoothed her hair back and was tenderly amused to see a flush of embarrassment on her face.

He grinned. “Here I am giving you the upper hand, so to speak. It doesn’t please you?”

She tried to slip away from him, but he gripped her shoulders. “By all the laws of God, if I were to let you go now, I would have myself hanged from the nearest elm branch. Don’t you know how you feel to me? Sit up, sweetheart, I would look at you.”

She seemed to struggle with herself for a moment before she slowly pulled her legs up to straddle him, as he settled her atop him, penetrating very slowly until he was high and deep inside her.

“Do I hurt you?” He lifted up her hips slightly with his hands as she tried to shift her position. “Tell me, did I hurt you? I’m very deep.”

Masses of hair swirled about her face as she slowly shook her head.

Suddenly she paled, her eyes darkened. “Oh, Julien, I must tell you—” Her voice broke off, strangled, and she stared at him numbly, naked misery in her eyes.

He couldn’t allow her to speak, not yet. He could picture the horror in her eyes at what she would think his betrayal of her, his animal lust. No, not yet.

He pushed her hard down against him, and she moaned, whether in pain or pleasure, he wasn’t certain. He wound his hands in her thick masses of hair and pulled her face to his and captured her mouth. There were no more words between them. He possessed her body, as completely as if she were a part of him. With infinite patience he brought her again to pleasure, willing her, for the moment at least, to forget.

36

When Julien awoke the next morning, he reached out for Kate. She wasn’t there. He was alone. For a brief instant he wondered if he had dreamed her coming to him, dreamed her standing there, looking at him, shrugging out of her nightgown, letting him love her and caress her— yes, a dream, a fantasy woven from his deep need for her.

Then he smiled a deep, satisfied smile, stretched to his full length, and brought his arms up behind his head. No dream. It had happened, all of it, and he’d given her pleasure, twice he’d given her exquisite pleasure. And now he wasn’t overly concerned that she’d left him before he’d awakened. It was quite likely that she felt deeply embarrassed after having initiated their lovemaking. Just thinking of her now, naked in his bed, with him over her, made him hard, made his heart speed up. He quickly rose and rang for Timmens.