Jade Star - Catherine Coulter [81]
“Please,” she said again. “Come to bed, Michael.”
“You’re my wife,” he said very quietly to himself. He chucked aside the dressing gown and climbed into bed beside her.
He lay quietly, still uncertain. Then she was pressed against him, her soft breasts against his chest. He swallowed, and without further thought, he clasped her to him. “Oh God,” he whispered, gently pressing her onto her back. He lowered his head and lightly touched his mouth to hers. A bolt of searing need shot through him, and he trembled with the force of it. He had to go slowly, very slowly. If he frightened her, if he hurt her, he would never forgive himself. He called on every bit of experience he had. He remembered his wedding night with Kathleen, her pain when he entered her that first time. It was a pity that women couldn’t be like men in that regard. No maidenheads, no pain. He drew a deep breath. Very slowly. He merely kissed her, gently, giving her time to decide, to pull away from him, or to react to him. He felt her hand stroking down his back, caressing his buttocks.
“Jules,” he whispered into her mouth. “Let me love you, it’s better that way.”
“Why? I want to touch you.”
“Because I won’t be able to control myself,” he said, his voice raw. He clasped her hands and drew them above her head. The cover came only to her waist, and his eyes were drawn to her breasts. “You are so white . . .” He said his thought aloud: “You are a man’s dream.”
“And you are my dream,” she said, looking at him while he studied her. She felt his warm breath on her breast. Would he touch her there, as Wilkes had done? Make her feel ashamed and somehow dirty? Stop it! He is not Wilkes!
But when his mouth closed over her, she felt a moment of utter terror. She didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. He was so very gentle, his tongue playful and teasing. He raised his head and looked at her in the dim light. “I don’t know where to kiss you first,” he said. “I want all of you at once.”
He came back over her and clasped her to him. He kissed her ears, the tip of her nose, smoothed her eyebrows with a fingertip, told her over and over how beautiful she was. “Now, you must learn how to kiss properly.”
She smiled at that, and waited, willing her mind to ease, to allow her pleasure with him.
“Part your lips,” he said, and she did. She felt his mouth, firm and warm, felt his tongue glide slowly over her lower lip. “Breathe through your nose, Jules,” he said, and tested the waters. “Excellent, little one,” he said, smiling warmly down at her.
“Now, I want to feel your tongue. Yes, that’s it.” He thought he would explode with the intense sensations swamping his body. She was so giving, so trusting. . . .
He released her wrists and she brought her arms about his back. When he thrust his tongue into her mouth, then quickly withdrew, she sucked in her breath in surprise. He laughed softly, and said into her mouth, “I will come into you like that, Jules.” He grinned ruefully. “But I doubt I’ll leave you so quickly. I’ll probably want to stay inside you—” He broke off—he had to. Odd how his own words, his own images, were making him crazy.
“When?”
He closed his eyes a moment, willing himself to control. But he couldn’t help himself. He eased on top of her, balancing himself on his elbows above her. “When you are ready for me,” he managed, and kissed her again, slowly, thoroughly.
Jules felt his swollen member against her closed thighs. She wanted to feel him, and tried to open her legs.
“No,” he said. “Not yet, sweetheart.” Saint wanted to caress and kiss every inch of her, but he held back. The thought of her freezing in embarrassment made him stop cold. But if he didn’t bring her pleasure, he would hurt her, he knew it. Slowly he eased off her. “No,” he said softly when she tried to press herself against him, “no, just lie still.” His fingertips stroked lightly over her bruised jaw, downward, feeling the soft flesh of her shoulders, the silken flesh of her breasts. He took a taut nipple between two long fingers. “You feel so soft . . . and so pink.