The Wedding Bed (The Sun Never Sets, Book One) Read online

  Bending down, he caught her earlobe between his teeth and tugged lightly. The stubble on his jaw scraped against the sensitive column of her throat. A thousand tiny pinpricks of pleasure pulsed down her spine.

  “Patni,” he whispered again, his warm breath rushing over her ear.

  Her senses swam. His voice, so rough and low, washed over her like a caress. Calla clutched the seat of her chair and rocked, forward and back, unconsciously tightening her muscles, her body as brittle as a bow that had been strung too tight. She strained to turn and face him but he wouldn’t let her. His hands locked her firmly in place, facing forward, away from him.

  “Not yet,” he said. “Let me show you how beautiful you are.”

  Kneeling behind her chair, he reached beneath her skirts and lightly grasped her ankle. He traced his fingertips up her calf, drawing the fabric of her gown with him. Calla caught her breath, watching in the mirror, mesmerized by the soft rustle of silk and taffeta as it flowed upward over her leg, revealing her silk stockings. He stroked her ankles, her calves, the tender underside of her knees, then drew his fingers up her legs, gently caressing and exploring. He reached the ribboned garter on her thigh and stopped.

  Sweet, heavenly torture.

  Pleasure mingled with tension. Heat pooled between her thighs. They’d only been married a week, but he knew her. He knew how to touch her, how to thrill her, how to lead her to the dizzying edge of erotic bliss and leave her dangling, panting, begging for more.

  He tugged the ribbons from her garters and rolled her stockings down her legs, letting them pool about her ankles. Leaving her pale, satiny flesh entirely exposed. His hands slid up her thighs. Finding her feminine core, he eased two fingers inside her. With his thumb, he teased the tight pearl at the entrance to her sex. She bucked, her hips slid forward. She pressed herself into him, welcoming his touch.

  Derek withdrew his hand. A fine sheen of moisture coated his fingertips. The scent of her arousal perfumed the air. In the mirror, his eyes locked on hers as he brought his hand to his mouth and lapped her sweet dew from his fingertips.

  Calla gasped, then took a deep, shuddering breath.

  He nuzzled the velvety skin of her throat and whispered in her ear. “Look.” he said. “Look how extraordinary you are.”

  Unable to do anything but obey, she gazed in the mirror. Staring back at her was a woman she barely recognized. Her indigo gown was twisted about her waist, her stockings a silk puddle at her feet. Her hair fell in wanton disarray, a dark cloud swirling loosely about her shoulders. Her nipples were peaked, her breasts twin ivory globes, swollen and sensitive. Her legs had fallen apart in wicked invitation to Derek’s touch.

  Calla trembled. It wasn’t her own appearance that flooded her emotions, but that of her husband. Immaculately dressed in evening attire, his rich mahogany skin looked even darker, his brooding features more fiercely Indian. He stood slightly apart from her, gripping the back of her chair, his expression coolly aloof—except for the abject longing burning in his gaze.

  Her passion took on a sudden, urgent edge. Thus far Derek had always taken the lead in their love-making. But Calla couldn't wait. She gained her feet and spun about, resting one knee on the chair for balance as she captured his mouth with her own. She had to tell him what she felt, and this was the language in which they communicated best.

  There was no softness in her embrace, no slow, budding desire. Her need was too overwhelming to allow for grace or modesty. She poured all her hunger and longing into that single kiss. She kissed him with all her heart and soul, kissed him as though they were about to be swept away from each other forever unless they could find some common ground to which they could cling.

  She felt Derek's initial shock at her embrace quickly fade, his response escalating with the same primitive urgency that had seized her. He locked his arms around the small of her back and pulled her even more tightly to him, returning her embrace with a possessive fervor that sent fiery tremors racing down her spine. Calla burned with longing and lust. She wanted to touch him everywhere at once, and to feel his hands caressing her naked flesh in kind. She tore at his jacket, his shirt, tugging them from his limbs, battling the garments as though they were enemies to be subdued and vanquished.

  “Calla,” he said. Just her name. Just once.

  He pulled back, breathing hard. Stared at her. He scooped her up into his arms. “Not here,” he said. He carried her into to his adjoining chamber. In the past, they’d made love in her bed, then he would adjourn to his own room. This was different. She dimly recognized there was a significance to the gesture that she should note. But her emotions were too overwhelming, her mind too dizzy to puzzle it out.

  He dropped her gently on his bed and hovered above her, over six feet of glorious, dark masculine beauty. He traced his hand lightly down her side. She shivered.

  "Are you cold?'' he murmured against her hair.

  "It doesn't matter."

  "I can light a fire."

  "Don't leave me."

  The command was primal, necessary. She pulled mindlessly at the buttons of his trousers, her fingers shaky and clumsy with desire. He followed her lead, fumbling impatiently with the tiny hooks and eyes that fastened the waist of her gown. Somehow they managed to rid themselves of their clothing. Trousers, gown, boots, stockings, drawers, chemise, all of it lay crumpled and abandoned in a disorderly pile at the foot of the bed.

  As they renewed their kiss, Derek’s hands moved voraciously over her skin, caressing and exploring, heating her flesh with his touch. Calla mimicked his motions, almost desperate to return the pleasure he was giving her. His body was corded muscle and sinewy strength, a thrilling combination of pure male power and raw, lusty heat.

  After a moment he tore his mouth away from hers. He nuzzled the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck and nipped at her collarbone. He lowered his head to her breast and laved her areola with long, lush strokes, finally taking her nipple into his mouth and suckling, swirling around the sensitive tip with his tongue. Calla cried out and arched beneath him, dragging her nails along his back. Derek retreated but didn’t stop. He kissed her belly, her thighs, and the back of her knees. Every place his lips brushed her skin felt inflamed, singed by his touch.

  Needing more than to passively accept the mere touch and feel of Derek's kisses, she pressed her mouth against his neck. His skin was coarse satin beneath her lips, the taste salty sweet on her tongue. She kissed his chest, the broad planes of his shoulders, his flat male nipples. She felt his muscles leap to life, subtly tensing wherever she pressed her lips. Emboldened by his reaction, she brazenly explored his body with her mouth, licking and tasting and sucking, reveling in that newfound source of pleasure.

  She moved farther down, across his ribs and belly, then abruptly halted at his stiffened manhood. She cupped him gently in her palm, experimentally running her fingers over the silky skin of his penis. His member throbbed in reaction to her touch. But did she dare kiss him there? She cast a questioning glance at her husband, only to find his eyes closed, his breathing shallow, and his jaw tightly clenched, as though he were exerting every ounce of his will to hold himself back.

  Overwhelmed by carnal curiosity, she reached a bold decision. As he had not objected to the touch of her fingers, surely he would not object to her kiss. She bent low, lightly pressing her lips against the tip of his throbbing member.

  She heard Derek's sharp, quivering intake of breath, a sound that was more reflective of pain than pleasure. But the low moan that followed assured her otherwise, as did the way he dug his fingers through her hair, as though urging her on.

  She drew him into her mouth, lightly swirling her tongue around his hardened cock. He felt silky smooth on the outside and yet rock solid within, pulsing with life. A deliciously erotic combination of masculine contrasts. She traced her tongue up one side of his penis until she reached the dewy slit at the crown. Then she eased her jaw open, taking him in the warm, silky cavern of her mo
uth.

  Derek’s hips bucked. He gave a long, low hiss, then clamped his mouth shut. A muscle flexed on the side of his jaw. Interesting. Calla watched her husband’s reaction with unreserved fascination. She brought him into her mouth as deeply as she could, then drew back, only to move forward again, establishing a slow, steady rhythm with her lips and tongue. She would have drawn the experience out longer, but all too soon she heard him give a hoarse groan and subtly shift away from her.

  "Calla—" he managed, but even that single word seemed to be an effort, torn from deep within him.

  He reached for her and pulled her upward. Bracing himself on his elbows above her, he kissed her with deep, savage possession. His hands moved over her body in an almost frenzied pattern, tracing her every curve and hollow. A tide of hot, quivering desire churned within her, mounting and building with each passing second.

  Calla's sexual experience, outside of what she had learned with Derek, was barely enough to fill a thimble. But she was intuitive enough to recognize that that something elemental was missing between them. Despite the dizzying heights to which they soared, she was overcome with a melancholy she couldn't quite dispel. Try as she might to content herself with what they had, she wanted more—she needed more than just a physical release. She needed a release for the emotional tension that swelled within her. But she didn’t dare reach for it.

  She balled her fists in the sheets, thrashing beneath Derek. “I can’t…” Her voice was a breathless whimper, torn from somewhere deep inside. “I need to hold back.”

  “No, jaanu. You need to let go.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can.”

  He kissed her jaw, tracing his lips over the scar left by the tiger cub so many years ago. Exactly right. A reminder that she’d been hurt before, but survived. Courage was its own reward.

  “Trust me,” he said. “I’m right here. I’m here.”

  He traced his fingers down the length of her body, his touch reverent, adoring. With that gentle stroke, with his tender words, something broke within her. Like the release of a dam, a flood of emotions surged through her. Yes. She would allow herself to be vulnerable. She would love Derek a little, let him into her heart, but only when they were in bed together. It was a devil’s pact, but Calla had no choice. She would let go. The sensation was as terrifying and exhilarating as diving from a cliff into a tumultuous sea.

  Because she had no words, she let her body speak for her. With every soft kiss she pressed against Derek's flesh, her heart cried out, I’m yours. With every loving stroke of her hands against his skin, she silently whispered, take me. With every brush of her lips against his, her thoughts screamed, love me. Over and over, with every impassioned embrace, with every lingering touch and soft caress, with every smoldering glance, with every fiber of her being.

  She would have made the moment last forever if she could, but the physical ache building within her would wait no longer for release. Nor, it seemed, could Derek wait any longer to attain his satisfaction. Grasping her about the waist, he rolled her onto her belly, then lifted her into position on her elbows and knees. Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders as he dragged his fingers down her spine. Kneeling behind her, he pressed his hips up against the sweetly rounded flesh of her ass, his thickened cock rubbing against her.

  Calla's eyes widened at the foreignness of the position, but her body seemed to respond of its own accord. He guided himself inside her. Her innermost lips parted to allow him admittance to the warm, silky chamber between her thighs. She heaved a blissful sigh at the delicious friction, the wonder of him filling her so completely.

  There was no gentleness in her husband’s touch. His need was too urgent, as was hers. He drove into her, his hips pounding against her ass, moving with increasing speed and intensity. Her breasts swayed pendulously. Her breath came in short, gasping pants as tension seized her. Her belly began to churn, sending quivering pulses of desire through her limbs.

  Derek sustained the motion of his hips, impaling her body over and over against the steel rigidity of his cock. She felt as though she were flying and falling at the same time, racing headlong toward a cliff from which she would surely plummet and never be seen again.

  Suddenly a shuddering explosion of wonder and satisfaction filled her body. Her limbs tingled and stiffened. Liquid release poured through her as she arched her back and cried out, unable to silently contain her pleasure. In the next instant her strength vanished completely. Derek caught her around the waist and held her up, his powerful arm supporting her.

  He shifted slightly, driving into her with long, hard, pounding strokes that filled her completely. Like her, he was unable to find his release in silence. As his body stiffened and his seed poured into her, he let out a low moan of hoarse, shuddering satisfaction.

  Together they collapsed into the bedding. Their lovemaking ended, he pulled her tightly against him. They lay spent and exhausted, tangled within each other's arms. Sweat slicked their bodies, coating their skin with a warm, silky glow. Slowly their passion receded, fading like a tide drifting back out to sea.

  Calla let out a low, shuddering breath, then tilted back her head to look into her husband’s smoky eyes. She uttered a single word. “Again.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The sun had just broken across the horizon, tinting the sky pale lavender, as Derek tucked his foot into his riding boot. Though he’d had little sleep the night before, he felt fine. Better than fine, actually. Energized. He moved quietly to his wardrobe to retrieve his coat, not wanting to disturb Calla. As he did, he cut a glance toward his bed. To his surprise, she wasn’t asleep at all, but sitting up and silently watching him.

  She looked strikingly beautiful. Her chestnut hair tumbled seductively over her shoulder, her face was soft and flushed. Unless she’d risen during the night to draw on a nightshift—which he doubted, as he’d been achingly aware of her every breath, her every movement—her body was gloriously naked beneath the sheets.

  Silk sheets, he noted silently. Even by his own standards, his room was stark, almost oppressively masculine. As the chamber was private, he rarely gave it any thought. But months ago he’d seen those scandalous linens in a shop window and knew he had to have them. Sheets that were a rich, lush blue. A blue that shimmered and danced, catching every light. Bed linen that was the blazing blue of the Bay of Bengal.

  The same blue of Calla’s eyes. Coincidence? he wondered. Or a foreshadowing of her explosion into his life? He considered the timing. It was entirely possible he’d purchased the linens on the very day Calla had set foot on the ship to England. Had he sensed her drawing near, the way a sleeper awakens at the presence of a stranger? Perhaps that was pure invention on his part, but somehow the conjecture rang true.

  “Take me with you,” Calla said, her voice husky with sleep.

  “I’ll arrange for a carriage ride later.”

  “That’s not the same thing.”

  Derek hesitated. There were a thousand reasons why she shouldn’t go, and only one reason she should. He wanted her with him.

  “Do you ride as well as you used to?”

  She tossed back her head. She arched one dark brow in an expression of mischievous pride. “Better.”

  “I’ll have the groom prepare the horses.” Derek smiled and left her to attend her toilette.

  Hyde Park. Calla leaned low over her mare’s neck, the frosty air burning her lungs as she galloped across an open field. Exhilarating. Later, at a more respectable hour, crowds would gather as London’s fashionable braved the cold to parade in the chilly winter air, exchanging gossip and pleasantries. But for now, the park was nearly abandoned, leaving her and Derek to do as they pleased.

  They raced. Headlong and heedless of propriety, rushing across an open promenade, their horses’ hooves thundering beneath them in wild abandon. Calla sensed Derek’s mount pulling ahead, but he held the gelding in check, keeping abreast of her as the open field narrowed into a serie
s of smaller paths. There they drew back, slowing their mounts to a steady trot, and then a walk.

  Calla let out a throaty laugh that was part satisfaction, part heady thrill. She turned and beamed at Derek.

  “That felt wonderful,” she gushed. “We haven’t done that in ages.”

  “No, we haven’t.”

  Something in his expression told her that his thoughts had turned in the same direction as hers. Softly she said, “You remember, then.”

  “Yes. I remember.”

  Their eyes met. For a moment they were no longer in a frigid park in London, but transported a decade back in time to a sultry afternoon in Calcutta, where they had raced as children along the banks of the Hooghly River.

  Calla allowed her thoughts to turn inward. Derek Arindam Jeffords had matured into a powerful, formidable man. But in that brief instant she could still see the boy in him. Lithe, limber, and daring. Full of masculine pride and swaggering disdain for his feminine guests. She had been aware of him even when he thought she wasn’t.

  “You used to hide and watch my sisters and me,” she said. “You were supposed to entertain us. Instead, you’d disappear. A desperate attempt to escape our feminine clutches, I suppose. It drove your mother crazy. She’d turn the house upside down sending the servants looking for you.”

  “I didn’t go very far away.”

  “I know.” She thought for a moment. “Your favorite spot was the attic rafters just above the nursery.”

  “You knew where I was?” Surprise showed on his face. “You never gave me away.”

  “Certainly not,” she replied indignantly. Then she smiled again. “Actually, that became my favorite game: finding you without letting on that I knew where you were.”

  He studied her in silence, his eyes as gray and shadowed as the winter sky. Yet something about his expression was decidedly intimate. His gaze raked over her features. His lips parted. He shifted in his saddle, leaning slightly toward her. Calla braced herself for his touch, or perhaps just a word or two that would set her insides melting.