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Her glimmer of uncertainty gave him a stab of guilt. His attempted humour had come out sounding more sarcastic than intended. Whatever his personal feelings towards her, Elsbeth was a virgin and likely to be nervous.
‘You will probably feel more comfortable with the lights off,’ he said in a gentler tone.
She turned her light off and copied him in lying down. The castle’s ground lights were still on for their departing wedding guests, enough illumination filtering through the tiny gap in the heavy curtains for him to see she’d positioned herself on her back with her hands neatly folded on her belly.
Turning her face to him, she gave another smile.
It was the lack of emotion behind that smile that sent another wave of revulsion kicking through him. Sitting upright, he ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I’m aware this is your first time.’
She didn’t answer, just looked at him, her expression that of someone waiting for him to continue.
‘You and I are strangers,’ he said tersely. ‘If you would rather we wait until we know each other better before we do this then all you have to do is say.’ When she still didn’t respond, he added in a tone he fought valiantly not to sound rough, ‘Is this something you want to do?’
This time she spoke, and without any hesitation. ‘Yes.’
Amadeo looked at her a moment longer. As pretty—asbeautiful—as Elsbeth was,hedidn’t want to do this. Somehow he had to get this over and done with as quickly as he could, being as considerate and gentle as he could. Perfunctory sex. Close his eyes and think of Ceres.
Elsbeth’s heart was beating so hard she could feel its impact against her ribs. She didn’t know if it was anticipation of what was to come or fear that Amadeo might not go through with it.
If they didn’t consummate their marriage, how could they make a baby? That terrified her far more than Amadeo’s growing coldness towards her. Coldness and indifference she could deal with. Not having a baby and therefore always having the threat of being sent back to Monte Cleure hanging over her head... No. She didn’t think she could handle that.
Should she hitch her nightdress up to her thighs and spread her legs to encourage him? Or would that be too wanton?
Too wanton, she decided. Her mother had been emphatic about it. Amadeo had to make the first move. Elsbeth was to be nothing but compliant putty in his hands.
And so she waited for him to make his move, doing nothing more than smile encouragement.
Her heart almost smashed through her ribs when he finally made his move and pulled the bedsheets off her.
His gaze drifted over her. If he liked what he saw, he gave no sign, but when he put his hands to hers and unfolded them from their position on her stomach there was a tenderness to his actions that loosened the knots in her belly she’d not even been aware had formed. Hovering over her, one hand splayed on the bed by her waist, his chiselled jaw tight, his chest rose before he lowered his face and kissed her.
In all Elsbeth’s fantasies about their first kiss—the one at the cathedral didn’t count as it had been only a dutiful peck on the lips—she’d imagined how it would feel. She’d imagined it would be warm and that it would feel nice. She’d certainlyhopedit would feel nice if she was going to have to kiss him for the rest of her life. The last thing she’d expected was the crackle of electricity that shot through her.
This was more thannice...
Closing her eyes, she thrilled as the pressure of his mouth deepened and his hands began to roam over her body. Yes, this felt far, far more than nice, especially when he cupped her breast, and she squeezed her eyes tighter and reminded herself of her mother’s words that she was only to be compliant. She must resist touching him back. If he wanted her to touch him, he would tell her. Amadeo was heir to a throne and, like all spouses of future kings, Elsbeth was his to command, nothing more.
For all her mother’s words though, it was hard to stop herself shivering at the pleasure that came when he gathered the hem of her nightdress and tugged it up to her hips, his hand skimming the flesh of her inner thigh. Every brush of his skin against hers felt like fire. Delicious fire.
Amadeo had had enough. From his bride’s unwillingness to touch him or respond properly to his kisses, he could believe that she too, was simply lying back and thinking of Ceres. Or, in her case, Monte Cleure. The only sign that she wasn’t simply going through the motions came from the puckering of her nipples beneath the silk of her nightdress, but that could be easily explained by her being cold-blooded. Even when he traced his fingers up her thigh and over her soft, flat belly, she gave no reaction. It seemed his wind-up doll had run out of charge.
Ready to put an end to this travesty, he went to right himself and as he moved his hand away from the top of her thigh his fingers accidentally glanced between her legs. To his shock, he heard a faint mewing, the only sound of life since he’d kissed her.
He stared at Elsbeth for the longest time. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, the finger and thumb of her left hand pinching and rubbing at the bedsheet.
Unsure if he was imagining this most silent display of desire, he tiptoed his fingers up her inner thigh and gently cupped her sex.
The last thing he expected to find there was heat.
The faint mew sounded again.
A bolt of lust suddenly crashed through him, as strong as he’d ever experienced, almost as if Elsbeth’s heat had transfused through his skin and straight into his blood. Shocked at the strength of what he’d just experienced, it took a good few beats for Amadeo’s head to clear.
His mouth now filled with moisture, his heart pumping hard, he gently ran his finger along the hot stickiness and was rewarded with a jerk of her body so subtle that, if he hadn’t been paying such avid attention, it would have been imperceptible.
Slowly rubbing his finger over her swollen nub, he took in the closed eyes and trembling plump lips, the slight arching of her back and the tiny tremors shivering across her body.
Mio dio, she was as ripe for him as the juiciest plum.
