He stepped back, reveling in her small cry of dismay.
“Unfasten your nightgown,” he said so roughly, he scarcely recognized his own voice. Tonight he was truly the blackest of devils, tempting, daring an angel to sin. Surely she would say no. Surely she would now flee.
But Catherine’s trembling hands reached up to comply, tugging at the ties, shrugging the garment from her shoulders and revealing the rounded tops of creamy-skinned perfection.
He was doomed.…
She was committing a terrible sin. One that would have her publicly whipped and shamed as the worst kind of harlot. Not wed, not in bed, not even in a bedchamber. Instead, she sat perched on a smooth wooden desk, linen nightgown bunched around her spread thighs, elbows pinned to her sides and breasts partially revealed.
Catherine sucked in a shaky breath. And yet the queen’s entire army couldn’t have moved her from this place. After what Brand had done for her, what he’d risked to save her life, she desperately wanted to offer something in return. And he desired her, even as he battled against it. His kiss just now…she’d thought no kiss in the world could be more seductive, more demanding, more intoxicating than the one in the alley.
No woman could be more wrong.
She felt bewitched, like her overheated, trembling body was no longer her own, and would obey Brand’s every instruction without question. Frightening for her first taste of true passion, but at the same time exciting beyond measure.
“Catherine.”
Glancing up, she met his gaze and shivered. He’d told her the truth; darkness and danger swirled in the fathomless, molten emerald depths of his eyes.
“Y-yes?”
“Either go, or take your nightgown off. All the way.”
Her cheeks ablaze, she shrugged again and the nightgown fell to her waist, her nipples puckering slightly without any protection against the coolness of the evening air.
Brand reached up to cup her breasts, weighing their heavy fullness in his hands. Then his thumbs brushed across the tender tips, and she gasped.
“I…”
“Pale pink now,” he murmured, rubbing back and forth over the hardening peaks. “I wonder what hue after?”
“After? After wh…ohh,” she said, embarrassed at the choked moan that escaped as his touch grew firmer. He alternated the stroking of her swollen nipples with a delicate thumb and forefinger pinch until they were so engorged and sensitive she could scarcely bear the delicious torment, until she couldn’t remain still on the polished desk.
He smiled and lowered his head. Surely he wouldn’t…
But he did, and a soft whimper broke from her lips when his tongue circled one aching nipple then lashed across the turgid peak. Over and over he repeated the action, until finally he took it in his mouth and sucked hard, every tug sending a shard of pure desire straight to her dampening core.
Her cries of delight were overloud in the room, her hands unable to do anything but tangle in his brown hair, anything to hold him to her and ensure he never stopped. Nothing she’d read, nothing she’d seen of hasty corner fumblings could have prepared her for this scorching reality, surely the guiltiest pleasure of all.
“Darkest rose, sweet Carey,” he murmured gruffly as his head moved between her breasts, the stubble on his jaw a sensual contrast to the smoothness of his lips and tongue. “So sweet.”
Eventually his hand slid a hot path down her side, coming to rest on her uncovered thigh. While his mouth continued its lush teasing of her nipples, his fingers began stroking the soft skin of her inner thigh. Around and around his thumb circled, inching steadily closer to the place burning for ease.
“Please,” she begged, intoxicated by the wicked promise in his touch.
Slowly his fingers trailed to her core, and lightly stroked the tight, moisture-soaked curls there. “So wet for me. So hot.”
It felt so good she was unable to think, unable to feel shock or mortification at his words, her mind wholly focused on her body’s desperate need for something, anything to ease the unbearable ache between her legs. Then his thumb brushed a kernel of flesh so sensitive, she shuddered and moaned at the jolt of fierce pleasure.
“I know, sweetheart. I know what you need, beautiful Carey.”
“Brand!” she gasped, joy at the roughly whispered endearments only enhanced when he cupped her. Slowly, so slowly, palm pressing hard against her mound, his fingers surrounded that slick, swollen nub, rubbing and stroking and lightly pinching, pulling her tighter and tighter toward ecstasy, until finally she reached a point she’d never dreamed existed and shattered, her scream of release echoing in the room.
Head awhirl, panting for air, she stared at Brand in wonder.
He watched her, jaw set, perspiration dotting his forehead and temples. Shy at the intentness of his gaze, she glanced down.
And gulped.
Steeling herself against a strong fear of the unknown, all teachings of the church, the knowledge that her life would again be changed irreversibly from this moment, Catherine lifted her chin and attempted a warm smile of invitation.
“D-do you want me to lie down here? Perhaps I could rest my head on your doublet? I know it is painful the f-first time for you must breach my maidenhead, so might you go s-slowly? No, actually, swiftly. If it is swift then it might not hurt so b-badly. I am not some silly girl, I know where your male part must go. I saw a draw—”
A harsh curse interrupted her babble.
“Brand?” she said, lifting one hand to hesitantly cup his cheek.
He jerked away. “Don’t.”
“I shouldn’t touch you? I’m sorry. I’m very new at this.”
“You shouldn’t even be here. This is foolish, all wrong. I’m the…damnation!” he snapped, stepping well back from her and running a violent hand through his hair.
Aghast at the words, she blinked. Tears gathered in her eyes and shivers
