Bound to Be a Bride by Megan Mulry Page B

the way he held her, physically or by a mere look, made her weak with wanting him.
    “Please do not stop doing that—” She gasped anew when his insistent finger found the slit in the fabric and touched her raw, slick flesh. “Oh, Javier!” Her head was tilted back and her breasts were desperate for his attention.
    He sensed she was craving more. “Speak.”
    “Oh, I cannot. A man does not want to hear such things.”
    He pulled his hands away abruptly, from her throbbing, eager center and from the grip he had been holding at her lower back, pinioning her wrists. “Because a woman does not want such things?” he taunted, resting his hands on his hips.
    She blushed furiously. “You are cruel,” she whispered.
    “No, my love.” He trailed his finger along her trembling lower lip. “Anyone who told you that was cruel. I am here to disprove those false notions.”
    She kept her gaze lowered. “But, then, what if everything they told us—”
    “Shhhh.” He was so tender when he chose to be. “Come here.” He led her away from the window and back toward the large bed. “I love your skin.” He touched her long neck, trailing down with a light touch. “I love your heart.” He kissed the rising flesh of her left breast. He finished removing the blue dress, leaving her in her shift, corset, and underclothes.
    She stood before him, wanting to be naked against his nakedness, then afraid that it was wrong to wish for it.
    “Oh, Javier.”
    “What is it?” He was busying himself with undressing her. And because Isabella was used to being dressed and undressed by other people—by Sol, by the maids at the convent—she slipped into an almost-familiar feeling. At the end of the day, when her corset was being removed, she felt like the exhale was the exhale of every frustration of her existence, a release of both the physical and the spiritual challenges with which she was presented each day. He was encouraging her to tell him about the convent. What had it been like? What time did she rise? When did she eat? Was her bed comfortable? Were the sheets coarse? Did she like kneading bread?
    And she answered him pleasantly and distractedly, because he had asked her to imagine she was in those places—the garden, or the kitchen, or her small, narrow room—so by the time she realized what he had done, she was standing at the end of the bed with the cool night air caressing every inch of her exposed, bare flesh.
    But he had stopped asking questions and he was standing a foot or two away from her, staring at her. And suddenly, she was horribly aware of her nakedness and felt like Eve must have felt when she realized she was not an animal but a naked and shameful human, uncovered and wanton. She turned quickly to grab something with which to cover herself—something, anything!—the pale blue linen bedcover at the very least. She made a quick dash for the head of the bed, but she was not quick enough to reach it before Javier grabbed her.
    He held her, one forearm pinning her waist, the other hand fisting in her braided black hair. She was panting wildly. Afraid for her soul. In a state of abject terror that he would hurt her, that everything the nuns had said was true—that men were brutal, animalistic, careless, cruel—Isabella began to struggle. She felt like she had to defend herself from something, but she hoped very much that Javier would prevail.
    Even as she fought him physically, she heard her own voice as if she were in another room. “Take me… don’t listen to me… have me… please listen to me…” And through all her thrashing and insanity, he soothed her and contained her anxiety with soothing words and gentle, encouraging kisses.
    All the while, he was restraining her, physically binding her to the large four-poster bed.
    As when he had acted as her lady’s maid and divested her of her clothing, he was saying one thing while doing another. In the midst of her chaotic ranting, he had somehow managed