Page 101 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

Chapter 20

Andrew had been resisting the urge to kiss Miss Martin for the past three hours.

Hell, it had actually been far longer than that. He’d wanted to taste those pouty lips that rarely smiled and only opened to issue sharp aggressive words—at least around Andrew—since the morning he’d seen her cradling the injured, bloody mutt in her lap, heedless of the damage being done to what he suspected was one of her very few dresses.

Watching her win games today—and listening to her read that asinine novel—had allowed him to observe her when she didn’t have all her spines up. She looked far younger and less bitter when she was occupied with something other than throwing barbed comments Andrew’s way. She looked like a young woman who’d been hurt thanks to an oaf’s callous behavior. Not just the idiocy that had flowed from his mouth in the conservatory that night, but also the fact that he’d evidently been around her dozens of times and did not recall her. He knew his memory left much to be desired, but what she’d told him had chilled him. Could he really be so…oblivious?

But he had her in his arms now, and he intended to make up for at least some of his neglect.

The first thing he realized was that this woman had never been kissed before. She met his mouth with the sort of tight-lipped peck one would offer one’s grandmother.

Virgin! Virgin! Virgin!a warning voice shrieked in his head.

Andrew had known that all along. He didn’t care; she was going to be his wife. She was his to kiss. His to touch.

His to take.

Wild and utterly unanticipated lust roared through his body at the thought, his arousal so intense he actually felt dizzy.

When had he last been so hard? He’d not taken a lover for months—not since before he’d abducted Lady Selina. In truth, it had been a chore to fuck for longer than he liked to remember. The only reason he’d had sex at all had been to annoy Sylvester by parading whores around his London house last Season.

But this? This was no chore. Not at all.

She made a slight noise but remained pliant as he cupped the satiny skin of her jaw, gently positioning her for his invasion.

Rather than simply thrust between her lips, he feathered kisses, learning the shape of her prim upper lip and lush, pouty lower one. He sipped at her, nipped gently, and then kissed the same spot, soothing and licking and caressing.

Her body softened; the tension that had kept her rigid replaced by something else. Something…eager.

Only when she began pressing back against him did he slick his tongue over the swell of her lower lip.

She stiffened, turning into a plank once more.

“Shhh,” he murmured, lightly flicking her with the tip of his tongue. “Let me in.”

Astonishingly, not only did she tilt her head to give him better access, but she rubbed her body against his and moaned softly.

Prickly, judgmental Miss Martin had a fire burning inside her.

Andrew smiled to himself as he pulled back enough to meet her eyes. “Let’s get more comfortable.”

When she nodded, he slid an arm beneath her legs and lifted them up to join the rest of her body on the settee before lying down alongside her. “Much better.” He slid an arm beneath the soft curve of her waist and pulled her closer, their torsos pressed tightly together as he kissed her. She responded quickly, an eager participant, her clumsy efforts not just endearing, but stunningly arousing.

He was hard—achingly hard. It had been so long—so very long—since he’d buried himself in a woman’s tight heat.

This is not the time for that, Andrew.

No, it most certainly wasn’t. Andrew didn’t need his prodding, nagging conscience to tell him that; he had no intention of taking matters that far.

Instead, he reveled in her innocent discovery of kissing, rediscovering it for himself along the way. He must have kissed lovers over the years after Mariah, but he honestly could not recall the last time. Nor could he recall it being so damned erotic.

Miss Martin was an intelligent, sensual woman and she took to kissing like a proverbial duck to water.

The first time she shyly slicked her tongue into his mouth Andrew’s hips bucked, thrusting his erection into the cradle of her tightly clenched thighs.

Yet again she stiffened in his arms.

He pulled back just enough that he could see her face without it being blurry—something that was worryingly difficult to do. Her eyes were wide, the pupils slick black pools of desire. But there was unease in them, as well. “You needn’t worry, sweetheart. We are only kissing…touching. Our clothing will stay on.” Unfortunately. He brushed a stray lock of hair off her temple. “What is it?” he asked when she just stared.