Chosen for the Marriage Bed by Anne O'Brien

might disturb an in experienced bride. Yet there was no clumsiness in her responses, as she came to him readily enough, rather a lightness, an elegance. Nor was she ignorant. When her first trepidation had loosed its hold she turned confidently, her lips warm on his. Her skin was soft, smooth beneath his fingertips, her movements graceful and feminine as she lifted her arms to lock them around his neck, to curl her fingers into his hair. When, surprising him, she stretched against him, pressing firmly at breast and hip and thigh, a deep sigh in her throat warm against him, it stirred his desire until he was hard for her.
    But he held back. Talked to her to ease her fears, knowing al ready that she was a woman who needed the conviction of her mind above the seductions of the flesh. So he talked as he stroked and discovered.
    Soft, foolish thoughts, Elizabeth acknowledged in passing, but so very appealing. Whispered words against her lips, against her hair, against the pulse that quickened its beat beneath the satin skin of her throat. Ridiculously flattering, as she knew, but they gave her a gloss of pleasure. Such consideration here for her naïvety. But also, she realised, an imperative demand as his mouth heated, his kisses became deeper, his tongue sliding between her lips to possess. Her skin shivered, but she did not dislike it. She could feel the urgency in the quick tense of his muscles, the need in his heavy erection against her thigh. Now a thrill ran through her, unexpected, a knot of heat in her belly, that it could be so, that he should want her so readily. Her secret fears that he would need to overcome distaste to take her coldly out of necessity dissipated in a bright flame as his mouth captured her breast.
    Despite everything, Elizabeth de Lacy was entranced.
    Slowly, deliberately slowly as his tongue caressed and excited, Richard let his fingers drift down over her breast, her flat belly, lower still. Felt her skin ripple in tiny shivers. With a gasp she stiffened, then once more stretched against him, breath warm against his neck, and as it must her thigh brushed against his erection. He shuddered on a hissed intake of breath, his control suddenly balanced on a knife edge. It would be so easy to push the matter on. But he drew back a little with his weight on his forearms and breathed heavily.
    Elizabeth immediately became rigid in his arms, a stone statue of a victim of the Medusa’s stare. ‘What is it? Did I do some thing wrong? I did not know…’ The words were dragged from her, harsh in the still room.
    Here was panic. So the fears were not too far away. He silenced her with his mouth, still gentle despite the over-whelming need to bury himself in her and take what was his.
    ‘No. Nothing wrong. You are all pleasure, lady,’ Richard gasped.
    For a long moment she remained tense in his arms, as if considering his reply. ‘You have a way with words, Richard Malinder.’ Then relaxed against him, her lips opening beneath his, all soft and silken heat. Did she know how alluring she was? Probably not. The desire to push her past edgy thought to drive her to pure sensation became imperative.
    ‘It will hurt?’ she asked. But not a question.
    ‘Yes.’ Honesty, tempered by a brush of lips, a slide of hands. ‘But not beyond bearing if I have the skill to make it so.’
    ‘As I am sure you do.’ Her dark eyes caught a momentary glint of the distant light from the dying fire. He knew she was watching him, alert to his every move, still wary, still thinking. ‘Then I will trust you.’
    Such simple confidence in his talents was his undoing. His fingers sought and discovered that she was not unready as her thighs opened for him. He moved over her, into her, a slick wetness. Pushed against her until he was held deep.
    There was discomfort and pain, but momentary and, as he had promised, not beyond bearing. Elizabeth stilled, held her breath, aware of nothing but the weight of his possession and the