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Alessandro, though, had other matters on his mind.
‘I must telephone my mother now and inform her of our marriage.’
Emerald stared at him, barely concealing her annoyance. He was such a very handsome boy, far better-looking than the Duke of Kent, or indeed any of the young men in her social circle. Lyddy could giggle as much as she liked that she thought the dreadful Australian was big and strong and soooo good-looking, but there was no way she would ever find such an uncouth person attractive, Emerald decided. She had caught her prince, but now she had to secure him. Emerald gave Alessandro a calculating look. He adored her and she fully intended that he would continue to adore her. And she knew just the way to ensure that he would.
Removing her hat and then her coat, Emerald stepped out of her shoes and then lay down on the hotel suite bed. Holding out her arms, she commanded softly, ‘Come here.’
Alessandro looked at her blankly at first, and then when she gave him a long meaningful look from beneath her lowered lashes, the blood rose up under his skin, turning his face pink.
‘We’ve been married for hours now,’ Emerald pouted at him, ‘and you haven’t even kissed me properly yet.’
His mother quite plainly forgotten, Alessandro headed for the bed, the urgency that had him fumbling with his shoelaces making Emerald laugh in triumph.
There would be no telephone call to his mother until she decided one should be made, she gloated as she sat up on the edge of the bed to kiss him, glorying in the feel of his body trembling violently in her arms.
‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry…’ Fifteen minutes later Alessandro was practically crying with mortification, in between his attempts to slow his breathing.
The cause of his despair–and of Emerald’s own irritation–was the damp patch darkening the fabric of his trousers, evidence of his inability to control his excitement long enough to consummate their marriage.
She supposed she ought to be pleased that he was so susceptible to her. After all, all she had done was kiss him and then slip her hand inside his trousers to explore the stiff flesh pushing against the fabric. Alessandro, in turn, had played with her breasts, tearing off one of the buttons of her blouse in his eagerness to touch them. It had been when Emerald has whispered encouragingly in his ear, ‘You can kiss them, if you want to,’ that the excitement of doing just that had resulted in Alessandro’s face contorting as he cried out and the hard flesh she had been holding exuding the horrid sticky mess that was now staining his trousers.
Really, Alessandro was making a dreadful fuss, Emerald decided. If one of them had a right to be upset then it was her. She, after all, was the one who had been disappointed and now she had a very distinct ache low down in her body.
Frustrated, she cajoled, ‘Well, never mind, we’ll just have to do it again, won’t we?’
Immediately Alessandro’s tears ceased and he reached for her, clasping her to his chest and telling her emotionally, ‘I am so lucky to have won the love of someone so perfect. I adore you, I worship you, you are my life. I will make it up to you, I swear. Your beauty and my love for you overwhelmed me and disgraced me. Tell me that you forgive me.’
‘Of course I forgive you,’ Emerald assured him sweetly, but there was a determined glint in her eye. ‘After all,’ she added pointedly, ‘we’ve got plenty of time before we need to get dressed for dinner.’
Emerald eyed her naked body in the ornate mirror that hung over the large claw-footed bath she had just stepped out of, admiring the smooth paleness of her skin and the curves of her body. Her nipples were still stiff and a little tender. She touched them with her own forefinger and thumb, tugging experimentally, gratified by the sudden surge of pleasure that coiled through her.
She had left Alessandro asleep on the bed where he had collapsed after he had finally penetrated her. He had wept at the sight of the few spots of blood that had marked his entry into her and her own entry into womanhood, but Emerald had been dismissive of his display of emotion. His penetration of her had hardly hurt at all, although she was not going to tell him that since he was making such a fuss about it and of her, calling her his beloved, his angel, and swearing eternal devotion to her.
The mirror threw back the reflection of her breasts, perfectly teardrop shaped, but now with the larger and stiffer nipples.
An unsatisfied ache pulsed deep inside her, its presence making her feel irritable and yet somehow at the same time also languid. She reached down and ran an investigative fingertip down over her soft dark pubic hair, parting the still swollen lips of her sex. The ache intensified and sharpened. A thrill of excitement suddenly gripped her.
In the privacy of the suite’s bathroom she removed her bathrobe and lay down on the floor, cupping her own breast with one hand whilst the forefinger of the other explored and stroked, its movement quickly accelerating the pulse of the ache inside her body. She was breathing fast and shallowly, her back arched and her legs open.
Yes, that was it, that was the place…Her fingertip moved faster. Emerald closed her eyes, the better to sink deeper into the heat of the scarlet darkness waiting for her, and then to climb out of it, swiftly, so swiftly that its speed took her breath, leaving her only enough to make a small mewling cry of agonised pleasure when the firework display of satisfaction exploded through her.
Emerald eased herself up from the floor of the suite’s bathroom and pulled on her bathrobe, trembling slightly.
Alessandro was still asleep. She felt rather tired herself. Tired but exalted and fiercely proud of the fact that she had been the one to give herself pleasure and, more importantly, take control of it.
She got on the bed and lay down next to Alessandro.
Marriage was going to be fun, especially once she had taught Alessandro how he could make her very, very happy.
‘Send telegrams to our mothers? Why cannot we telephone them?’ Alessandro protested almost pleadingly.
They were in their hotel suite, waiting for the porter to come and collect their luggage ready for the train journey south. Whilst Emerald was glowing with energetic triumph, Alessandro looked tired and on edge. Emerald had woken him in the night to insist that she wanted him to make love to her. Poor Alessandro, she was tiring him out, but then men did not have the endurance that women possessed. At least, though, she had taught Alessandro what she most liked him to do, even if at first he had been shocked and actually embarrassed by the explicitness of her commands.
There was no point in telling him the truth, which was that telegrams sent forewarning their mothers of their marriage would deny Alessandro’s mother in particular the opportunity to be dramatic that a telephone call would give.
‘Telegrams are easier,’ she answered. ‘And besides, your mother might not be there if we did telephone, and then we’d miss the train. Why are you looking like that?’ Emerald went over to him and rubbed her body against his as she held his hand and looked soulfully at him.
‘My mother is going to be very upset. I am her only child, and—’
