The Heiress Bride - Catherine Coulter [49]
He could only stand there, in the middle of the dim bedchamber, with its too-dark walls, shabby furnishings, frayed draperies. And here was his bride telling him he wasn’t to bed her again. It was enough. It was too much. And she’d had the gall to interfere again between him and her brothers. He was enraged. He was quite beyond logical and calm thought. He was on her in an instant, ripping the covers off her. He picked her up and threw her on the bed.
“Stay there!”
He untwisted the covers and tossed them over her. “Get yourself warm.”
“You won’t stick yourself in me again, Colin, I shan’t allow it. It was horrible and you won’t do it. Damn you, get away from me!”
It sent him right over the edge. First her brothers and now her, giving him orders, and she was his wife, and it was time to begin as he meant to go along. He felt himself hardening, and it was enough. He slammed down on top of her. He immediately clapped his hand over her mouth, then shoved her legs apart. She fought him in earnest this time, but it didn’t help. He was between her legs, spreading them wider until he was satisfied, and then he came into her, slower this time, and since she was slick with his seed and with herself, he moved quickly to seal himself deep inside her. When he moved, it didn’t hurt quite so much, but enough, because her flesh was raw. This time she didn’t cry out. The last thing she wanted was for her brothers to burst into their bedchamber again, for he still hadn’t locked the door. She suffered him, closing her eyes, her hands at her sides now, fisted. She turned her face away, pressing it against the mattress, and lay still. He wasn’t violent with her, nor was he at all rough. He moved deep then eased out, once, twice, three times, and yet again. It didn’t last long. He tried to kiss her, but she kept her head turned to the side. She heard his breathing quicken, felt his body pulse and shudder with his exertions. When he released his seed, he groaned deep in his throat. When it was over, he didn’t fall on her as he’d done before. He pulled out of her immediately. She nearly cried out. She felt raw, so bruised by him she wondered if she would be able to walk. She knew he was standing beside the bed, looking at her, but she didn’t care. What did it matter that her legs were sprawled? That she was naked and lying there? It didn’t matter now, nothing did. If he wished, he could take her again, and there was naught she could do about it. Let him look. She didn’t care. He said nothing; she could still hear his breathing, harsh and fast.
“I’m all sticky and I want to bathe.”
He stilled himself. Jesus, he could just imagine how wet and sticky she was. He’d spilled his seed in her three times. He sighed, drawing on his control, dampening his guilt, willing his anger at the absurd situation to quiescence. “Just lie still. I’ll get you some water and a cloth.”
Sinjun didn’t move. She closed her eyes. This was her wedding night and it was a shambles, painful and embarrassing, and then Douglas’s and Ryder’s bursting in. She turned her back to Colin and pulled her legs to her chest. She wished she were the Sinjun she’d been just a month before. Everything had been simple and straightforward to that Sinjun; that Sinjun knew about fun and humor and had dreamed about love. She had looked upon Colin and seen her dream come true. Ah, and what a dream it was to this Sinjun: a mess, a girl who didn’t know a blessed thing. Everything had gone awry.
She cried, for the first time in three years.
Colin stood by the bed. He felt like the damned rutting bastard Douglas had accused him of being. He felt helpless. Her sobs weren’t delicate and feminine, they were hoarse and ugly and immensely real.
“Well, hell,” he said, climbed into the bed, and cupped his body around hers. Her tears lessened. She began to hiccup. He kissed the back of her neck.
She stiffened. “Please, Colin, don’t hurt me again. Surely I don’t deserve any more of your punishment.”
He closed