He wanted her pressed against him, naked flesh against naked flesh. He wanted to stroke her, kiss and taste every inch of her. Fill her with himself. He tried to pull her arms from around his back. “My clothes. I have to get off my clothes.”
She didn’t want to let him go. He was her anchor. He was safety, he was the source of her passion. Her fingers fumbled wildly with the buttons on his vest.
Brent managed to strip himself, despite her help. He had to rise to pull off his trousers and boots. He looked down at her and thought he would drown at the passion in her eyes. When he was naked, he yanked back the covers, slipped into bed beside her, and pulled her against him. “Oh, damn,” he said, and jerked off the dressing gown. Her nightgown presented many small buttons and he ripped the gown off her.
What am I doing? The question came to her sharply, but she dismissed it, not caring. She cared only about this moment, having this man who’d haunted her since that long-ago day in San Diego. She didn’t care that he would continue to despise her. She pressed her hands against his chest. He felt warm, his flesh so smooth.
She felt his rigid sex against her closed legs. He’ll come inside me, she thought. He’ll fill me with himself. Her body rippled with anticipation, and she whispered his name.
He couldn’t get her close enough. When she said his name, helplessly, eagerly, he thought he couldn’t wait. He pulled his mouth away and drew several deep breaths. But it was no good. He’d wanted her for so long. His hand stroked over her breasts and downward to her flat belly. She felt him cup her, his fingers searching, then finding. She cried out, arching upward.
She was warm, wet. She wanted him. He was shaking, he couldn’t wait. “Byrony—” He said her name as if in pain. He spread her legs, and moved over her. He should wait— give her pleasure—But he looked down into her face, saw that her eyes were glazed, saw her reach for him.
He raised her hips in his hands and slid himself slowly into her. He felt her pain before he was aware of the cause. He realized only that she was very small and that her body was fighting him. She cried out, struggled against him. He pressed forward with difficulty. Then he felt her maiden-head.
He went utterly still, his body frozen over her, his mind fighting against what he realized to be true. He stared down at her.
She cried out his name.
“No,” he whispered. “Oh God, no.” He tore through and seated himself to his hilt. He felt pain convulsing through her body, felt her shuddering beneath him. He reared back, beyond all reason, and let himself go. For many moments he was insensate. She didn’t move.
Reality, with its enormous complications, reared its head.
“Byrony,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows to relieve her of his weight.
She opened her eyes and stared up at him. Her lashes were matted with tears. Her eyes were clear, her expression unreadable.
He could think of nothing to say. He’d taken a virgin, a girl who was vulnerable, and he’d hurt her, badly.
“You can’t be,” he said slowly, as if the words themselves would cancel out the truth.
“I didn’t know it would hurt so much,” she said. “I thought it would be very nice.”
“It is, just not the first time. I didn’t know, Byrony.”
“No, how could you?” She spoke so calmly, but her mind was reeling with what had just happened between them. She waited for his guilt to turn to anger.
“Why didn’t you stop me? Why didn’t you tell me you’d never been with a man before?”
“I didn’t want to stop you, and I did tell you. You simply didn’t believe me.”
“You told me you’d never had a lover, Byrony, you had a husband and a baby.” No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he realized many things. Saint, when he had examined her, had known she hadn’t birthed a child. Obviously the child was Irene’s. Obviously her husband had married her to protect his sister. Brent tried to pull out of her, but she clasped her hands around his back.
“No, please don’t leave me.”
Her words made him instantly hard, and it shocked him, this instant and intense reaction to her. “I must,” he said. “If I stay inside you I’ll hurt you again. No.”
He came out of her. “Are you all right?” He pulled her against him, his fingers massaging her shoulders and her scalp.
“Yes.”
“There’s much we have to talk about,” he said, wondering where to begin, what to say.
He felt her head nod slowly against his shoulder, then felt her body go slack against him. She was asleep.
Brent pulled the covers over them, and leaned over to douse the lamp beside the bed. He wanted to laugh, and it took all his will to keep still.
“You randy fool,” he said to himself and the silent room. “You just took a virgin.” Life was made up of the unexpected, and certainly he’d had his share of surprises, but this floored him. He remembered everything he’d said to her, all the very graphic sexual images. He realized that he knew nothing about her, nothing at all. And all she knew of him was what he had shown her.