DeliveredIntoHisHands Read online

  “By thirty days!” Garrick reminded him.

  Marc shrugged. “Still older.”

  “And wiser and smarter and—”

  “Not that smart if you go through with the Joining.”

  “Enough!” Garrick said. He had reached the end of his patience with his friend.

  “Just saying,” Marc defended.

  “Just say no more,” Garrick warned, eyes narrowed dangerously. He glared at Marc until his friend looked away, nodding at the reprimand.

  A light knock sounded at the door. Garrick turned toward it.

  “Come!”

  The baron’s manservant opened the door. He bowed. “The High Priest asks that you present yourself, General,” he told Garrick. “The ceremony is about to begin.”

  “Thank you, Basil. I will be there shortly.”

  The servant bowed again and eased the door closed.

  Silence played out in the room until Marc took a long, loud breath. He turned to his friend with a smile that looked forced and strained. “Ready?” he asked.

  “I am,” Garrick agreed.

  “Then let’s do this,” Marc said. He strode to the door, opened it and stepped back. “Your destiny awaits, General.”

  The ceremony went by in a blur for Garrick. He was too busy staring with wonder at the lovely vision that walked down the aisle toward him at the stroke of midnight. To the accompaniment of tinkling bells, Antonia kept her eyes on him. The gentle smile on her face took his breath away and made the rebellious part of him hidden behind the black uniform pants ache to be set free. He managed to reply at the appropriate times and say the words expected of him. He knelt when he needed to, had his shirt removed so the band of Joining could be soldered on his arm. He had trembled with intense feeling when his bride’s hands went to his shoulders while the band was applied. Holding her against him as hers was soldered into place made his head spin. There was such an intense protective instinct welling up inside him that should the Royal Jeweler’s soldering wand had slipped and he’d burned her, Garrick would have beheaded the poor man with his bare hands.

  As the words were spoken over them that made her his legal wife, his heart swelled with so much pride he felt tears gathering in his eyes. Walking down the aisle with her on his arm, he wasn’t sure his booted feet even touched the white silk carpet that Antonia had insisted on in place of the ermine.

  The reception that followed would forever be a hazy recollection in his mind. No doubt the very expensive Chrystallusian plum wine had been good. It had certainly been heady enough. The canapés had looked exotic and most likely had been delicious but he didn’t know that for a surety. Music had played but he would never be able to tell their children to what it was he and their mother danced or if he had tripped over his feet when dancing with her mother. There had certainly been laughter and toasts and well-wishes but he would never be able to recall any of that. His eyes, his hands, his arms, his thoughts had been centered entirely on his bride and he began counting down the minutes until they could be alone from the moment he had seen her coming down the aisle toward him.

  Now that he had carried her over the threshold of his room, he stood just beyond the doorway as nervous as a green youth about to get his first lesson in carnal knowledge. All he could do was stare down at the lovely vision whose arms were wrapped securely around his neck and try to still the raging emotion choking him.

  “Ricky?” she asked softly.

  He swallowed hard. “Aye, love?”

  “I think you can put me down now.”

  “Put you down?” he asked.

  “Aye,” she said. When he didn’t, she lifted her hand and curled her fingers in his hair. “Ricky? Put me down.”

  “Um huh,” he said, taking her to the bed. Gently he lowered her to the mattress then eased his arms from under her. He straightened and just stood there staring down at her. “Better?”

  “Than what?” she teased as he removed her slippers.

  He sat down beside her and tugged off his boots, peeled off his socks and laid them aside then and stretched out on his side facing her. He slowly smiled and reached up to tuck a wisp of hair behind her ear. “You are so beautiful just looking at you makes me ache.”

  “In the right place I hope,” she said saucily, her lips twitching with humor.

  “Brazen hussy,” he said. He trailed his fingertip along her jawline.

  “And who awakened that brazenness within me, Milord Vampire?” she inquired then the teasing look slipped from her face and the color fled her cheeks.

  He knew precisely the thought that had suddenly intruded to cause her paleness. In calling him what he was, her mind had gone to the Changing.

  “Push that from your mind,” he said, moving over her. “That is for a night in our future. Not tonight.” He took her wrists in his hands and drew her arms over her head. “Tonight is about pleasure.”

  “Then I order you to pleasure me, knave,” she said in an imperious voice, lifting her chin.

  Garrick arched an eyebrow. “Knave, milady?”

  “You can call me a wench,” she said. “I can call you a—”

  She got no further for he slanted his mouth over hers and took possession, thrusting his tongue deep into the warm, wet cavern. Wedging a knee between her legs, he spread her thighs as much as the Joining gown would allow then dragged his stiff cock against her core. He liked that she did not close her eyes when they kissed but kept them riveted to his. It seemed more intimate, more intense that way.

  Crossing her wrists together, he held them easily in one hand while he slid the other hand down her slender arm. He moved his lips to her cheek then to the side of her neck, worked his way to her shoulder then tugged the bodice of her gown down until he could kiss the rise of her breast. Her breath was beginning to quicken as he planted soft kisses above her breast.

  “Garrick, this gown is burdensome,” she said against his hair.

  He raised his head to look up at her from beneath his lashes. “Is it now?”

  “Uncomfortably so. I can’t move my legs at all. You have me pinned to the bed, love. I can’t wrap them around you as Cherise tells me you men prefer.” Her lips twitched and he knew she was teasing him.

  “Well, that won’t do, will it?” he asked.

  “No, I would say not,” she replied.

  “How much do you like this gown, wench?” he queried.

  She shrugged as well as she could with him lying atop her and with her arms shackled above her head. “Not so much.”

  “It’s a pretty gown,” he reminded her.

  “It was my mother’s choice,” she said. “Not mine.”

  “Then you won’t mind if I relieve you of it as a knave would a wench?”

  She pretended to yawn and closed her eyes as though deciding to sleep.

  “Oh, now that is a challenge this knave cannot ignore,” he said in a low, deep voice.

  “I hope not,” she replied.

  He eased off her enough that he could snag his fingers into the bodice of the gown then ripped it. She gasped but kept her eyes closed.

  “Ho hum,” she said.

  “You’re treading on thin ice, wench,” he warned. He gathered the material in his hand and pulled tautly. The gown ripped all the way to the hem.

  He was stunned to find her completely naked beneath the gown. He stared at the creamy flesh of her breasts, the prominent dark nipples, the sweet indention of her navel, the patch of dark hair at the apex of her thighs… Then his gaze jumped back to hers.

  “Antonia!” he said in a shocked, accusatory voice. “You came to your Joining without your…?”

  “I came loaded for bear, knave,” she said. “Cherise said—”

  “Cherise is going to have her plump ass turned over my knee!” he stated.

  “She’d like that but I wouldn’t,” she said and moved against the sheet in a way that his attention immediately lowered to her body.

  Garrick licked his lips.


  “You want an ass to spank, mine is willing,” she said.

  Once more his eyes flew to hers and he could feel them darkening. If he wasn’t careful the red glow of his Vampire side would show. Only anger and lust brought that crimson tint and he knew she wasn’t ready to see that side of him yet.

  “I will never lay a hand to you, Antonia. I told you that,” he said.

  “Even if I want you to?”

  “No.”

  She sighed. “We’ll see about that.” She writhed again then curled her little tongue over her bottom lip. “Are you just going to lie there all night and stare at me or are you going to do something with that hard pressure against my thigh?”

  He shook his head. “Wench, I take it back. You aren’t brazen. You are downright shameless.”

  “Trust me when I say you’d have me no other way,” she said, throwing his earlier words back at him.

  He knew what she was doing. It wasn’t just the act of seducing her husband into claiming her. She was afraid of the Changing and was using humor and banter to push it from her mind. Using her feminine wiles to embolden him, make him lose the tight restraint she no doubt sensed he was trying to maintain. She wanted him wild and forceful so she had his masterful side to contend with and not the Vampire. His lady was a smart, resourceful woman.

  If it was forceful and masterful she wanted, he was up to the challenge.

  “Throwing down the gauntlet are you, wench?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

  “Pinned as I am, I can’t throw anything, you arrogant man,” she replied. “All I can do is endure your primitive lust.”

  Garrick growled. “I’ll show you primitive lust, Lady Warwyck,” he said, using her married name for the first time.

  “You—” she began. The word ended in a squeal as he dropped his head to her breast and took her nipple between his teeth.

  Teeth clamped loosely, he repeatedly stabbed the tip of his tongue against the sensitive nubbin. She bucked beneath him and tried to pull her hands free but he couldn’t allow it. He rolled atop her right leg then wedged between her thighs, shoving his knee to the side of hers to open her.

  “Garrick!” she whimpered as he released her nipple and began firmly sucking.

  He ground his hard cock against her crotch—sliding up and down, swiveling his hips, bumping against her—and she began arching her hips in invitation. Once more she tried to break free of his grip on her wrists but failed. He kept her pinned tight to the pillow, rubbing his body upon hers like the cat he was.

  Antonia had to bite her lip to keep from screaming as he rolled his body slightly so he could kiss his way to her other breast. The moment his lips, his teeth, his tongue touched it, she trembled from head to toe. She could feel him smiling as he nipped her, sucked and licked her, pulling at her nipple with his lips and teeth. She shuddered as he swept his tongue around and around then flicked it over the engorged bud.

  “Garrick, please!” she said. Her body was on fire with need and she was wet between the legs. The hard press of his cock where she wanted it to go was inhibited by the fabric of his uniform pants. She needed him free. She needed that hot shaft inside her, desperate to know what it felt like to be made his woman.

  Garrick gave as much time as he dared to her breast before he began to inch his kisses over to the center of her chest to start downward. He heard her gasp and looked up.

  “I’ve a journey to make, wench,” he said, his eyes boring into hers. “If you want me to make it, I need you to lie still.”

  “I don’t think I can,” she said with a whimper.

  “I’m going to let go of your hands,” he said as though he hadn’t heard her. “I want you to reach up and wrap them around one of the spindles of the headboard.”

  He watched her crane her neck so she could see what he meant. There were thick, oaken carvings that ran the width of the tall headboard. At some later time he could use them to tie her wrists there but that was weeks down the road when she trusted him completely not to hurt or shame her.

  She lowered her head. “You want me to take hold of them?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Aye, and keep holding them,” he answered. “The moment—the very second—you let go of them, I will stop. Do you understand?”

  “You won’t hurt me?” she asked.

  “Wench, I intend to give you so much pleasure you might well faint from it,” he said.

  “That’s not an answer,” she told him.

  “Nay, baby,” he said. “I will never hurt you. I swore it and I meant it.”

  He eased his grip and when she didn’t jerk her arms away, he let go—trailing his fingertips from her wrists all the way down her arm to her shoulder.

  “Now, no matter what I do, I need you to lie still,” he said firmly.

  Garrick gently thrust his arms under her knees then wedged his hands upward until he was cupping the firm cheeks of her rump in his palms. Looking up her body at her, he put the tip of his tongue to the flesh over her navel and made a slow, lazy circuit of it, his warm breath sinking in the sweet indention.

  The wood of the headboard creaked as she jerked against it but she kept her hands where he’d ordered. She was quivering beneath him as he made another circuit and then another then dipped the tip of his tongue inside.

  “Mother of the goddess!” she hissed and jerked so hard on the spindles in her hand he heard one crack.

  He stilled, lifted his head to look at her, holding her gaze captive with his own. His smile was slow, wicked and he watched her eyes widen. He knew she thought he was about to do something sinful to her—could hear her chaotic thoughts tumbling around one another. He arched an eyebrow.

  “Wh-what are you g-going t-to d-do?” she stammered, swallowing.

  Slowly he lowered his head again and scrunched down farther on the mattress, trailing kisses from her navel into the silky patch of hair that pointed like an arrow to what he wanted most.

  Once more the spindles creaked as he made slow, soft kisses all along that dark curly expanse. He used his shoulders to ease her thighs wider, lifted her hips from the mattress. He wriggled a bit closer to the foot of the bed until the soles of his feet were jammed against the footboard.

  Antonia lifted her head from the pillow. “Ricky?” she asked, her brow furrowed. “What are you—”

  “Lie down,” he ordered. His mouth was beyond the patch of crinkly hair and she shuddered when he spoke for his breath fanned over her sensitive flesh. When she didn’t move, he looked up and put firm command in his tone. “Lie down, wench.”

  He watched the uncertainty in her face become tension but she lowered her head.

  Resting his forearms on her silky thighs he spread his fingers to either side of her nether curls then positioned his thumbs so they bracketed the hidden nub of hooded flesh hidden above her core.

  His wife bucked. “Oh gods, you’re not going to kiss me there?” she gasped.

  “No, I’m not going to kiss you there,” he replied and when he felt her relax, he grinned, pushed back the hair covering her clit, put out his tongue and flicked the little button.

  “Garrick!” she screamed, her hips undulating but she did not let go of the spindles. She jerked hard as hell on them and one came halfway out of its slot.

  “Easy, wench,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m just beginning.”

  He gave her no time to process what he was doing. He had years of experience under his belt—literally—and with a tiny movement of his thumbs he had the hood of her clit peeled back and was slowly licking it.

  Antonia moaned, she hissed, she gasped and was swirling her hips as he continued to torment her. When he stopped, her groan of frustration made his cock leap. He ran the nails of his thumbs lightly down the outer folds of her cunt—easing them apart—until he could slowly lick the cream that was flowing from the opening.

  “Oh gods, Garrick,” she whimpered then sucked in a harsh breath when he pressed his tongue inside her. Her inner muscles pulsed upo
n the invasion and more cream trickled forth. He lapped at her like a cat at a bowl of the heady treat then eased one thumb into her as he dragged his tongue to her clit once more. Her entire body shuddered hard and she tried to close her legs.

  “Unh unh,” he said, nudging her wider with his shoulders. “You really don’t want me to stop, do you?”

  “No,” she whined. “Oh gods, no, I don’t want you to stop.”

  “Good,” he said then blew his breath across her. “Because the best is yet to come.”

  He slowly worked his thumb in and out of her as he stared up at her. She was licking her lips and each time she did, his cock leapt in reaction. The front of his pants was already wet from pre-cum.

  Which told him he needed to remove them as well as the rest of his clothing. He needed to be flesh to flesh with her.

  Gently he took his thumb from her and with one lithe bound was up and off the bed before she had time to react. He was standing beside the bed jerking his shirt from his pants before her gasp of protest came.

  “Garrick?” she questioned.

  “I want our bodies touching,” he said, ripping the shirt open and tossing it away. He tugged on his belt with such fierce force he broke the tang on the buckle. Not bothering to run the buttons of his fly, he simply ripped the fly open and shoved the black uniform trousers brutally down his hips, stepped out of them. He dipped his knee to the bed and positioned himself once more between her legs.

  “Hard for our bodies to touch if you’re crouched down there, Vampire,” she told him.

  He didn’t reply. Instead, he laid the palm of his hand between her thighs and began to rub sensuously. She was still gripping the spindles but one was barely in its groove. Another pull and it would surely come free. Not wanting to be staked in the back by the thing when she came—and she would come hard—he told her to take hold of the spindle beside the broken one. When she did, he slipped the middle finger of his hand into her cunt.

  She drew in a sharp breath, jerked on the spindles then tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Her eyes darkened and her breathing became faster.