Susan Mallery - The Best Bride

She drew her eyebrows together. She couldn’t fault his argument. Just the thought of anything thrust inside of her was enough to make her side ache more. But this didn’t feel right. It wasn’t the way she’d planned it.

He moved his hand from her side to her breast and gently caressed the sensitized flesh. Her eyes drifted shut. It had felt so good when he’d loved her with his mouth. She couldn’t remember ever experiencing such exquisite sensations. In fact—

The idea came to her full-blown. She rose up on one shoulder, then collapsed back on the bed.

“What?” he asked.

She didn’t answer. Sam hadn’t wanted her to do that. But Travis wasn’t Sam, she reminded herself. Sam hadn’t done what Travis had done to her, either.

“Elizabeth?”

She exhaled deeply. “I was just wishing I’d had more lovers.”

“What?”

She laughed. “Just so I’d know how to handle this situation.”

He shook his head. “You’re handling it just fine. Trust me. Now lay down and relax.”

She shimmied closer, so that she could rest her chin on his chest. “I don’t think so.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” she said, innocently and sat up. She straddled his hips and leaned forward so she could start unbuttoning his shirt.

“What are you planning to do?” he asked.

“Just wait and see. If you don’t like it, I promise to stop.”

Travis warned himself not to blow it. Just because he was naked and she was sitting on his bare belly kissing his chest didn’t mean she was going to reciprocate what he’d done to her. But he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like to have her taste him, touch him in that most intimate way. He told himself just having her in his bed, trusting him with her body, was enough. The hardness between his legs throbbed in time with his heartbeat and told him he was a liar.

Her hands were everywhere. His shoulders, chest, neck, arms. Soft skin brushing, stroking. Her small hot mouth pressed against his flat nipples, teasing him to frenzied awareness.

She slipped back and down, settling between his legs. He thought about telling her she didn’t have to do that. He could simply lie here a few minutes and explode from the need. He tried to think about other things, to get control, but every time he closed his eyes, he was back on top of her, touching and tasting her, loving her cries of pleasure, feeling her release against his lips. She’d been made to be pleasured by a man—by him.

Her hands rubbed up and down on his thighs. He looked at her. She nibbled on her lower lip as she studied him, obviously trying to figure something out.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, cursing his mother for raising him right.

“Do what?”

Hell. “Whatever it is that has you confused.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulders. The movement caused her breasts to sway slightly. The sight of her hard peach-colored nipples bouncing in the air made his erection surge toward her.

“I want to, but I’m afraid you won’t like it.”

He tried to laugh. It came out a little strangled.

“I’ve never done this before. I can’t hurt you, can I? I don’t want to, you know, do anything awful.”

The muscles in his legs and arms started twitching. If it wasn’t for the small red incision, bright and angry against her pale flat belly, he’d roll her on her back and bury himself deep inside of her. That would end the debate and the growing pressure.

“I doubt you’d do anything awful,” he said, trying not to grit his teeth. “But we can stop now.”

She smiled. “Did you know the veins on your forehead are sticking out?”

“I’m not surprised,” he muttered, knowing he was being punished for some previous offense. It must have been pretty bad, whatever it was.

He couldn’t stand it any longer. He started to sit up, determined to suffer the indignity of a cold shower when she reached forward and touched his arousal.

His groan sounded loud in the silent room. She bent over him, her brown hair falling like an erotic curtain, caressing the tops of his thighs. He sank back on the mattress and held his breath.

Her touch was sweet, wet and tentative. A delicate pressure, careful yet adventurous. He could have exploded then, but thought better of it. Her fingers traced small circles at the base of his desire, moving through the hair, slipping lower to cup his softer parts. Weighing them in her hands tentatively, then moving more boldly when he exhaled his pleasure.

It wouldn’t take long, he knew. A few slow strokes, a flick or two with her tongue and he was ready.

“Elizabeth,” he said, tensing his muscles, ready to stop and have her complete him just with her hands. “You can stop now.”

She looked up and tossed her head. At that second their eyes locked. It was the most erotic sight of his life. Her heart-shaped face poised over his engorged maleness, her breasts swinging freely. Pale on tanned, he saw the lines of her bathing suit. She licked his sensitive tip once, then smiled.

“I don’t want to stop,” she whispered.

And she didn’t.

* * *

It was nearly two in the morning when he woke up. He smiled in the darkness when he felt Elizabeth’s warm body pressing against his side. One of her soft, delicate arms lay across his chest. Her face was buried against his arm. He could smell the scent of her body and the lingering aroma of sex.

In seconds he was hard. He didn’t have to fully form the memory of what she’d done before he was ready to have her do it again and again. He figured he’d get tired of looking at her and making love with her in about fifty years. That thought scared the hell of out of him.

Slowly he slipped out of bed, being careful not to disturb her. He picked up his jeans and stepped into the hallway. After closing the door softly behind him, he pulled on his jeans and buttoned the fly.

He checked to make sure Mandy was sleeping soundly, then picked up her bear off the floor and set it on her pillow. Finally he made his way downstairs. Louise took care of the grocery shopping and kept him stocked with all the essentials. He reached in the back of the refrigerator for a bottle of beer and twisted off the top.

The cold liquid went down easily. Not bothering to turn on any lights, he walked into the family room and settled on the sofa. The leather was cool against his bare back. He shifted to get comfortable, then relaxed and closed his eyes.

A bigamist. He would never have guessed that one. It was hard to believe something like that had happened to someone as sweet as Elizabeth. It wasn’t right. His hand tightened around the beer bottle as if the slick glass were Sam Proctor’s neck.

She’d mentioned that her ex-husband—former husband, or whatever the hell he was to her—was still serving time in prison. Travis was glad. He hoped the bastard never got out. The anger inside of him simmered down to a slow burn, tempered by the question of what he was supposed to do now. Elizabeth had obviously been embarrassed when she’d told him the truth. He’d hated doing that to her. He’d tried to get her to stop talking, but she’d continued on as if finally telling someone about her past was the ultimate act of absolution.

He’d hated knowing she was uncomfortable around him. Had their lovemaking made it better or worse? He shook his head and took another swallow. The knot in his gut told him it was all about to get worse. Damn. He should have handled it better. He shouldn’t have kissed her in the first place, or he should have tried harder to get out of making love with her.

He grinned mockingly. Oh, yeah, Haynes. Get out of it. As if making love with Elizabeth had been some irritating charity work instead of the most incredibly intimate, erotic act of his sorry life.