“You are arrogant. Why do you torment me?”
Yet it was a sweet torment he inflicted upon her. His fingers rubbed, working in a slow motion that produced as much pleasure as need. She felt torn by the twin emotions, each so opposite from one another but being created by the same action. Her hips wanted to lift up to his hand and increase the pressure. She felt compelled to strain toward him, seeking some form of release from the aching need filling her passage.
“Have you ever been pleasured?”
“What?”
That single word sounded hoarse. She shut her mouth and swallowed to try to force herself to recall how to answer in a smooth tone.
“You have never fingered yourself?”
“Of course not.” She tried to twist away but was pinned quite securely. His fingers continued their slow and lazy motion. Her taut muscles began to ache. It seemed impossible to relax or to even be completely still.
She wanted to be filled. Wanted it so badly she almost cried out in demand.
“Release me. You promised we would wait.”
Her words sounded sulky, as though she wanted to taunt him until he lost his own control and gave her what she craved. In the night, it seemed right to feed the desire tearing at her. The darkness hinted at absolution for any sins committed while hidden in its velvety folds.
He leaned down and bit her neck, a soft nip that sent a ripple of pleasure down her spine.
“I don’t want to wait, I want to fill you tonight and feel you clasping me with your thighs. I can feel the need shaking you, Bridget. Tell me you desire release.”
His tone was gruff, and part of her rejoiced. His lips found her breast again, and he nuzzled the soft mound before teasing the nipple with little kisses. It was too soft for what she needed, and she arched up to press against him.
“I will not.” The words felt as if they were torn from her. Her body shivered in disappointment.
“I shall not make it such a simple thing for you, Bridget.”
His finger continued to torment her, building more hunger beneath its slow motion. She wanted something more, but she was powerless within his grasp to obtain it.
“You are my wife; there is no shame in taking pleasure from my touch.”
He loomed over her again, and she could feel the change in his mood. Tension felt thick in the air when his fingers stilled. She shuddered, her body reacting to the lack of motion. She still needed more. Needed something harder and faster to satisfy her.
“Tell me you desire pleasure from my hand.”
Hard and unyielding, his words drew a sharp gasp from her. She shut her jaw so fast her teeth clicked against one another, but he chuckled at her response and gave a sharp tug on her chemise. The lightweight fabric rose up her legs quickly, baring her to the top of her thighs.
“Begone, Curan.” She didn’t care if he took exception to her tone. He’d been warned to avoid her in private if he wanted properness from her.
He snorted, sounding as frustrated as she. “And leave you hungering, sweet Bridget?”
He pulled on the fabric of her clothing again. Even her weight did not prevent him from raising it above her waist. A soft sound came from her lips as she felt her sex being touched by the night air. She shivered just a tiny amount as the first layer of her innocence was stripped away.
“Where has your confidence gone?” The trace of amusement in his tone chaffed her pride.
“You shouldn’t jest. Would you rather I was a slut? Well accustomed to a man’s touch? Eager to follow my lustful impulses the moment I laid eyes upon a man who pleased me?”
His fingers gently returned to her mons, petting the soft curls that grew there in a gentle motion before seeking out the cleft that lay beneath them.
“I would rather you accept that I am your husband. The man you will willingly welcome into your body without further hesitation or excuse.” His fingers penetrated the folds of her sex, sinking down until they connected with that point that was keeping pace with her heart rate.
“I want to hear you say that you are mine.”
She wanted to. The need was clawing at her insides. Her hips were begging to lift once again and press her clitoris against his fingertips. She felt desperate for that contact, so intensely hungry that her body shivered while she battled against her pride. But she would not submit so simply. Reaching out, she touched his thigh and trailed her fingers across it until she found the hard bulge of his cock.
He drew in a sharp breath that whistled through his clenched teeth.
“And what about what I desire, Curan? Submission is quite boring when it is the only thing allowed.”
His finger moved on top of her clitoris, sending a bolt of white-hot pleasure up her passage. This was what she had craved. Direct contact, his flesh against her own.
“This is very much about what you desire, sweet Bridget. Submission to my will has rewards.”
His finger rubbed the sensitive little point, drawing a moan from her. She had never made such a sound before but seemed to be a stranger unto herself at that moment. Stripped away were the polished manners and poise she had spent years perfecting. There was no set of rules that she understood to follow as his finger drove her into a mindless state where nothing mattered but the need twisting tighter and tighter beneath his touch. She clamped her thighs closed, but his hand remained in place. He leaned down over her to pin her shoulders flat, filling her senses with his warm, male scent. It was intoxicating and impossible to ignore. Her thoughts dis-solved into
