Pirate Hunter's Mistress (The Virginia Brides) by Lynette Vinet Page A
Authors: Lynette Vinet
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prepared her for the throbbing sensations centered within her womanly core. Like someone coming out of a daze, she opened her eyes to find Lark smiling down at her. He rose up on his knees and straddled her, his finger gently probing her body’s crevice, opening her to him. It was then she felt his hardened manhood nudging the moist entrance between her legs and suddenly she understood what was about to happen and knew that she was created for this man to love.
She arched to meet his thrust but was unprepared for the sharp ache when her maidenhead tore. Instinctively she started to pull away, but he held her to him until the hard length of him stretched the tender walls. She moaned her pain and he kissed her. He kissed her until a flicker of pleasure darted through her and obliterated the pain.
With wondering eyes, she watched his face. He was more handsome, more manly, if that were possible, in the throes of passion. And his passion was for her.
Each taunting thrust took her to the summit. Grabbing onto his upper arms, Marlee’s fingernails dug into the sinewy muscles. Her release was a heartbeat away, an eternity of waiting. Suddenly he went still and looked at her, his face a mask of pleasure. Once more, he thrust, and her name was torn from his lips.
Liquid warmth spewed inside of her, a throbbing which caused an exquisite explosion so intense that Marlee thought she’d die from the ecstasy of it.
Later, he held her in the crook of his arm, and her head nestled against his chest. “I never thought, never knew—” she began, but words seemed somehow inadequate to describe the sensations she’d felt.
“I know, I know,” he said and kissed her until she was again clinging to him and aching for his possession. For the rest of the night, Marlee belonged to Lark body and soul. Near dawn, she drifted into a peaceful slumber.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Lark, however, didn’t sleep. He couldn’t. Guilt at what he’d done ate away at him like an acid, and he found all he could do was dully stare at the carved cherubs, naked and cavorting on the ceiling.
Marlee lay so trustingly in his arms. Every now and then she’d give a tiny sigh in her sleep, and he realized just how young and inexperienced she was. He’d taken advantage of her youth, her innocence, cruelly used her. Somehow he felt as if he’d just awakened from a torturous dream into a land of enchanted beauty. Never in his life had he felt so alive with a woman, or dared hope he’d find such happiness. But like all delusions of the mind and heart, happiness was a fleeting and gossamer thing. His short-lived happiness was about to end.
Quietly, he left the bed and dressed. He sat by the table and poured himself a large cup of port to fortify himself for what was to come. His gaze never left the sleeping young woman. Even now, after hours of unbridled lovemaking, his loins hardened at the sight of her. What was there about Marlee that set her aside from the other women he’d known? God, if only he could have felt this same sensation for Bettina, maybe the forced betrothal wouldn’t have seemed like the end of life itself for him.
He’d agreed to marry Bettina only to please his father. His father and Bettina’s father had been great friends in their youth and both had wished to unite the two families through their children. Lark would have been married to Bettina now. Fate decreed otherwise when Manuel Silva captured the auburn-haired beauty off of Lark’s ship after Lark had gone to Bermuda to bring her to Williamsburg. Lark knew he must find Silva soon and recapture Bettina—if she was still alive. He’d marry her out of a sense of honor. He owed her that much.
Lark shivered as an early morning rain gently beat upon the windowpanes. A chill settled over him, and he shivered not so much from the cold but from the thought of what awaited him in the future—his impending wedding if he found Bettina—and more imminently, Marlee’s hatred when he told her
She arched to meet his thrust but was unprepared for the sharp ache when her maidenhead tore. Instinctively she started to pull away, but he held her to him until the hard length of him stretched the tender walls. She moaned her pain and he kissed her. He kissed her until a flicker of pleasure darted through her and obliterated the pain.
With wondering eyes, she watched his face. He was more handsome, more manly, if that were possible, in the throes of passion. And his passion was for her.
Each taunting thrust took her to the summit. Grabbing onto his upper arms, Marlee’s fingernails dug into the sinewy muscles. Her release was a heartbeat away, an eternity of waiting. Suddenly he went still and looked at her, his face a mask of pleasure. Once more, he thrust, and her name was torn from his lips.
Liquid warmth spewed inside of her, a throbbing which caused an exquisite explosion so intense that Marlee thought she’d die from the ecstasy of it.
Later, he held her in the crook of his arm, and her head nestled against his chest. “I never thought, never knew—” she began, but words seemed somehow inadequate to describe the sensations she’d felt.
“I know, I know,” he said and kissed her until she was again clinging to him and aching for his possession. For the rest of the night, Marlee belonged to Lark body and soul. Near dawn, she drifted into a peaceful slumber.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Lark, however, didn’t sleep. He couldn’t. Guilt at what he’d done ate away at him like an acid, and he found all he could do was dully stare at the carved cherubs, naked and cavorting on the ceiling.
Marlee lay so trustingly in his arms. Every now and then she’d give a tiny sigh in her sleep, and he realized just how young and inexperienced she was. He’d taken advantage of her youth, her innocence, cruelly used her. Somehow he felt as if he’d just awakened from a torturous dream into a land of enchanted beauty. Never in his life had he felt so alive with a woman, or dared hope he’d find such happiness. But like all delusions of the mind and heart, happiness was a fleeting and gossamer thing. His short-lived happiness was about to end.
Quietly, he left the bed and dressed. He sat by the table and poured himself a large cup of port to fortify himself for what was to come. His gaze never left the sleeping young woman. Even now, after hours of unbridled lovemaking, his loins hardened at the sight of her. What was there about Marlee that set her aside from the other women he’d known? God, if only he could have felt this same sensation for Bettina, maybe the forced betrothal wouldn’t have seemed like the end of life itself for him.
He’d agreed to marry Bettina only to please his father. His father and Bettina’s father had been great friends in their youth and both had wished to unite the two families through their children. Lark would have been married to Bettina now. Fate decreed otherwise when Manuel Silva captured the auburn-haired beauty off of Lark’s ship after Lark had gone to Bermuda to bring her to Williamsburg. Lark knew he must find Silva soon and recapture Bettina—if she was still alive. He’d marry her out of a sense of honor. He owed her that much.
Lark shivered as an early morning rain gently beat upon the windowpanes. A chill settled over him, and he shivered not so much from the cold but from the thought of what awaited him in the future—his impending wedding if he found Bettina—and more imminently, Marlee’s hatred when he told her
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