Jade Star - Catherine Coulter [100]
She smiled up at him. “All right,” she said.
Saint hadn’t expected such a ready compliance—she saw it from the shocked expression on his face. Had he believed she would fly at him and try to scratch his eyes out for spanking her? He looked suddenly uncertain. Maybe it would be easier if he had drunk a bit more. Well, it was too late to give him more now.
Slowly Jules pulled open the three pink ribbons that fastened the front of her nightgown.
He watched every movement of her fingers.
“I would appreciate you looking at my bottom,” she said, peering at him from beneath her lashes. “I guess I do hurt. Maybe you broke something.”
“No, there’s nothing to break in your bottom,” he said, his eyes on a white breast newly revealed by the parting material.
“Still . . .” Jules temporized. She came up onto her knees and pulled her nightgown over her head. She balled it up and tossed it toward the corner. She placed her hands flat on her thighs, and didn’t move.
Saint stared at her, not speaking.
Jules tossed her head a bit, thrusting her breasts outward. She felt foolish for her exhibition, and at the same time, hopefully excited.
As if in a dream, Saint stretched out his hand and gently touched his fingers to her breasts. He felt her quiver, and quickly drew back his hand.
“You aren’t frightening me, Michael,” she said. She didn’t want to fling herself at him, but neither did she wish to be covered with gooseflesh sitting here watching him watch her. “My bottom,” she said, and slowly stretched out on her stomach over his legs.
Saint looked down at the white expanse of back, to her very perfect bottom, down her slender legs. “Your bottom . . .” he said, and laid the flat of his hand over a buttock.
She felt his strong fingers begin to caress her, and inadvertently she moved her hips. She heard him suck in his breath.
She smiled, and placed her own hand on his thigh.
“Is my bottom all right?” she asked, feeling his muscles tighten and move beneath her fingers.
“Perfect,” Saint said with great sincerity. “All of you is . . . well, white and soft and sweet.”
That was the nicest compliment he’d ever given her. Jules turned over, and clasping his shoulders, pulled herself onto his lap. “You said you were going to carry me into your—our—bedroom,” she said.
“Yes,” he agreed, “yes, that’s what I said.”
For an instant he simply couldn’t believe this was happening. She was offering herself to him. After he’d been a nasty bastard to her, after . . . But what if he hurt her again? What if . . . ?
“I’m getting cold, Michael,” Jules said, lightly kissing his jaw.
He rose, clutching her tightly against him, and strode to their bedroom. He wanted to see her, every inch of her, but would the light frighten . . . ? No, she had pulled off her nightgown, and there’d been a light on.
He laid her on the bed and pulled a thick blanket over her. “Now you won’t be cold,” he said. He moved quickly, lighting a lamp, then stripped off his clothes. Still, he was worried, even as he slipped in beside her, beneath the blanket.
“Jules,” he said, looking down into her face, not touching her yet, “the first time we made love, I did hurt you, badly. I’m very sorry for that. I know that you must have thought me an animal, a brute, as bad as Wilkes . . .” He broke off a moment, but Jules didn’t interrupt him. Let him get it all out, she thought. “I didn’t mean to hurt you . . . it was your maidenhead . . . the first time is tough for a woman . . . and I couldn’t stop myself. If you could trust me now, I think it could be better between us.”
“I don’t know,” Jules said, managing a very serious frown. “It was truly awful that first time. You were a complete brute and used me so roughly. I didn’t think you cared at all about me, and I thought I was going to die with the awful pain and—”
“Are you mocking me?”
She gave him a dazzling smile. “Me? Mock you?” She turned onto her