Mara McBain Read Online Free Page B

tenting the pale satin nightgown. He reached for her and her back hit the wall as she stepped back. She drew in a sharp breath as his large hands engulfed her breasts. His touch felt scalding in the cool room. His thumbs strummed across her hard nipples like the strings of a banjo, and her knees felt weak. A strangled sound, equal parts pleasure and mortification, escaped her throat. She nearly fell when he stepped back.
    “You’re cold. Get in bed,” he rumbled.
    When she didn’t move, he reached out and pulled back the covers before nudging her toward the bed. She stumbled, but managed to crawl awkwardly across the mattress and pull the blankets up to clutch at her breast just like the silly Victorian girl she had snickered about earlier. Her hands were shaking like a leaf. She watched the light grey pinstriped pants slide down his powerful legs. She swallowed hard at the tent of his drawers. Her eyes jerked back up to his chest, and her brain was suddenly morbidly fascinated with the math. Trey was eight to ten inches taller than her father. While in considerably better shape, she’d still say he outweighed the portly older man by thirty pounds. At a foot taller than she was, that weight difference was about half. Anyway she stacked the numbers, this was going to hurt. 
    His underwear hit the floor and her heart with them. She didn’t have any human comparisons but, despite Adrienne’s reassurances, she was positive the thick shaft curling up against Trey’s navel wasn’t natural and wasn’t fitting in her without a world of pain. All moral convictions aside, she found herself wishing that they’d tried this before the wedding. Trey’s offer to put her back on the train sounded pretty good right now.
    The bed rocked, and the blankets rustled as he joined her. She was frozen in place. He rolled so he loomed over her, supported on his elbow. His bulk blocked out most of the lamp’s light, but she couldn’t help wishing for the obscurity of darkness.
    “You’re shaking. Are you still cold, or scared?” he asked.
    “A little of both,” she whispered, her voice shaky.
    The fingers of one hand played with the locks of her hair hanging over her shoulder. She tensed as they trailed over the slight swell of her breasts, and then followed the column of her slender throat.
    “I can understand you being scared, but we might as well get this conversation out of the way,” he said, his voice dropping into that low bass that fascinated and terrified her all at once. His pale eyes narrowed on her face. “Sex is going to be a part of our marriage, darlin'; a big part. I will do everything I can to make it pleasurable for you, but make no mistake, it’s going to happen. Phony headaches and tears aren’t going to ingratiate you to me. In fact, crocodile tears are a good way to piss me off. I don’t play games, Gen.”
    The timber of his voice changed as he spoke, as did the chill in his eyes. His fingers curved around her neck and, for a moment, she thought he was going to strangle her.
    “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
    Her head snapped forward in a nod so quickly that her chin bounced off his hand. His gaze seemed to soften a bit at her compliance, and his fingers closed around her jaw, his lips dropping to sweep over hers. She gasped when his kisses strayed to the side of her neck and then lower to trace her collarbone. Her breath caught as his lips trailed over the soft mound of her breasts and then took a nipple in his mouth through the sheer material. His hand left her jaw and slid down her to gather the nightgown and drag the flimsy covering back up.
    Genevieve didn’t have the breath to protest, even if she’d had the courage, as his mouth moved down to taste the concave of her belly. She’d purposely made the decision not to wear anything under her nightgown, and with his warning not to play games with him she hoped that the easy path was the correct one. His hand wiggled between her thighs