Free The Wedding Bed (The Sun Never Sets, Book One) by Ava Archer Payne Page A

caressed only moments earlier.
    Calla tossed back her head to allow him greater access, running h er fingers through his dark, silky hair as he nuzzled the sensitive skin just beneath her ear. The unexpected contrast of the light stubble on his chin and the softness of his lips sent a tremor of delight racing down her spine.
    “Oh.” The word tumbled unbidden from her lips. Then, after a beat, “ My .”
    That was all she was capable of. Just the faintest breath, the smallest sigh of surrender. A barely audible sign of recognition that the dark, enigmatic man she had married knew exactly how to touch her. That he pleased her in ways she hadn’t even thought possible. And that this was only the beginning.
    He worked free the row of tiny buttons that ran down the back of her gown, loosening the bodice enough to allow the garment to slip from her shoulders. It pooled about her waist, leaving her in nothing but her sheer cotton chemise. Moving with slow deliberation, Derek traced his palm lightly over her breasts through the soft cotton. Her nipples tightened to hard, stiff peaks, wildly sensitive, achingly tender from the friction of the chemise. She arched her back, thrusting her breasts into his palms, craving more of his touch even as the teasing sensation was driving her mad with need.
    He drew in a sharp breath at her response. Dark fire lit his gaze. Using his teeth, he tore free the silk ribbon that fastened her chemise. He cupped one breast, then lowered his head and drew the taut, rosy peak into his mouth. She jolted in stunned surprise. With his lips and tongue he teased and licked and suckled, first one nipple, then the other, giving them both the same wet, hot, loving attention. In the dim recesses of her mind it occurred to her that a proper lady would protest, pull back, but Calla couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
    Instead she writhed beneath him, astonished at the feelings that ricocheted through her at his intimate touch. His embrace was entirely shocking, yet somehow so right . A mere prelude, she suspected, to what was yet to come. Giddy arousal collided with nervous anticipation as he tightened his grip on her body, as though intent on melding them into one. He slipped his hand beneath her skirts, running his palm up her leg until he reached the smooth expanse of thigh exposed between her stocking and her drawers. Letting out a low murmur of appreciation, he began to rhythmically stroke the velvety band of flesh.
    A soft, breathless whimper tore from her throat. A whimper that turned to a cry of alarm when he shifted his palm to cup the dark tangle of curls that covered her sex. Calla clamped her thighs together, instinctively resisting his touch. He couldn’t mean to touch her there , in her most forbidden of places.
    “Easy, jaanu ,” he murmured. “Easy, now. Let me show you.”
    Hi s breath fell softly against her ear in a low, soothing rhythm. So calm, so controlled, so masterful. As though she were a skittish mare and it was his task to gentle her. Whispering soothing nonsense into her ear, he eased off her shoes, her stockings, her drawers, all the while running his hands over her flesh, kissing her mouth, nuzzling her throat, whisking his thumb over the tight, pebbled peaks of her breasts. Calla submitted willingly to his skillful ministrations, losing herself in a blinding storm of pleasure, discovery, and longing.
    Her clothing was coming apart. She was coming apart. Her tidy bun had come undone, causing her hair to spill over her shoulders in wanton disarray. She parted her thighs to allow him shocking access to the slick, hidden folds of her sex, which he massaged and teased with his fingers, bringing her to a state of almost desperate arousal.
    It slowly occurred to her that she ought to find some way to rectify her situation.  She’d been advised that the best way to weather her wedding night was to stoically endure her husband’s attentions. Maintain her dignity. Act like a lady. But it was far