Compromising Situations
Reformed Rakes 2

“Don’t come in.” There was a slight edge of panic in her response.

“Why not?”

Her answer was muffled. “I’m not ready.”

“Unfortunately,” Andrew said and opened the door, “I am.”

His young wife gasped at his abrupt entrance, whirling around on her seat at the dressing table by the armoire, her hairbrush in hand. Contrary to her words, she was fully clad in nightdress and dressing gown, buttoned, cinched, and covered with concealing cloth from the neck down.

It was difficult not to laugh, and he didn’t try to stop himself. “You’re right,” he said, strolling in and closing the door. “You aren’t ready. Why don’t you start by taking off your clothes? That will help considerably.”

“My maid just helped me put this on,” Christa objected in a ridiculous argument, looking delectable despite her voluminous garments, her long pale hair shining and her smooth cheeks slightly flushed.

Andrew deliberately untied and discarded his cravat. “I’ll apologize most profusely in the morning to her for the wasted effort. Come now, making love is always better done when both parties are undressed.”

Desperate, luminous blue eyes gazed at him. “Do we have to?”

“Make love? Yes, I’m afraid so, my dear. That’s what wedding nights are for. Believe me, without wedding nights, there would be no bridegrooms.” Sitting down calmly on the edge of the antique tester bed, Andrew tugged off a boot. If someone had told him even three nights before this that he would be soothing a frightened virginal bride into his bed, he would have said the person was utterly mad. “Now,” he added matter-of-factly, “take off your robe.”

He dropped his boot on the floor, a little surprised at his own impatience. Already his erect cock filled his breeches uncomfortably, throbbing against the tight material, his hungry gaze taking in his wife’s lissome form as she reluctantly slipped her robe off her slender shoulders. His breath caught in his throat, and he suddenly understood her embarrassed hedging more fully.

As a garment, the nightdress did not qualify. Sheer fabric clung in a provocative outline to every curve and hollow of her body. The gown was made from a fine lace, the pure, pale color just a sheen over her flawless skin, and he could see every tempting, minute detail of the body of the young woman before him, down to the triangle of downy hair at the apex of her thighs and up to the blush of her perfect pink nipples.

It was perfect.

Damn, her breasts were just as he imagined, full and lusciously high, begging for his hands and mouth.

His voice was a little thick as he asked, “Where did you get that gown?”

“Helena gave it to me.” Christa’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, as if she had to exert considerable control to keep from covering herself. Her chin lifted a little, the shimmering veil of her hair brushing her hips. “I can’t see it even serves a purpose but she insisted you would like it.”

“Oh, I do.” His smile was dark.

“Andrew,” she said his first name tentatively, “don’t you think it would be better if we got to know each other first?”

“No.” His answer was honest and completely male. He was hard as hell and unwilling to negotiate. “We can exchange words over the breakfast table for the next four decades. I’ll find out whether you like marmalade with your toast soon enough, but tonight is for a different type of discovery.”

“I didn’t think you’d agree.” She sounded a little disconsolate, her lush lashes lowering a fraction.

Pulling his shirt from his breeches and deftly unbuttoning it, he slipped out of it and tossed it aside. “You enjoyed our embrace last night.” It was a statement, not a question, because he well remembered her surprisingly enthusiastic response.

With one brow arched, she stared at his bare chest as he walked toward her. “I have a feeling this will be a little different.”

“Yes, it will.”

Christa didn’t retreat, but he sensed that she wanted to run. Stopping in front of her, Andrew ran his hands lightly down her bare arms, catching her hands so their fingers intertwined. Gazing into her eyes, he said huskily, “I think you are very beautiful.”

Looking up at him, a small smile touched her soft, tempting lips. “And you, of course, are extraordinarily handsome and charming. Is this how you usually seduce women, by holding their hands and giving them compliments?”

“I’ve never had a wedding night before. This will be as unique to me as it is to you.” Considering he was rock hard and aching, assuring her he would go slow seemed overly optimistic, so he didn’t try. “Let’s move to the bed,” Andrew suggested, not waiting for an answer but lifting her in his arms. Her body felt warm, soft, and delicious, and the subtle scent of her perfume was alluring. Through the almost nonexistent gown, he could feel her smooth skin and ached to taste and touch it.

“You won’t need this,” he said as he laid her down, untying the bit of ribbon at the neckline so he could strip off the filmy garment. Nude, his young bride was every man’s carnal dream, those voluptuous breasts quivering as she stared up at him. Settling next to her, Andrew ran a fingertip down her face, tracing the curve of her cheek before he lowered his head and kissed her.

Her mouth was sweet and receptive, and whatever her trepidations about the actual act of sexual intercourse, in seconds her arms came around his neck, and Christa pressed closer. Andrew could feel the hardening of her nipples against his bare chest, and he made a low, involuntary sound of approval deep in his throat. Tangling his tongue with hers, he stroked the curve of her hip, urging her closer until their bodies fully touched.

Heaven, he thought hazily.