Marie's dropped by to tell us about Claiming his Bride
Claiming His Bride
Victoria cannot even muster a smile on her wedding day. Her
groom is handsome, titled, and wealthy, and her marriage will save her family
from financial ruin, but she is still saddened when she contemplates the long,
loveless years ahead of her.
Bastian never intended to marry, but he gives in to his
father’s scheme because the more he thinks about the bride, the more he wants
to capture her heart. He sweeps her into his arms at the reception, determined
to make her smile and laugh, though he only manages to make her blush and stare
at him incredulously.
Was he wrong to believe he could turn a marriage of
convenience into a love match? Or does another man already hold the heart of
his reluctant bride?
Excerpt:
Bastian had been
waiting for Victoria to emerge from the bathroom for over an hour. He’d
intended to put her at ease and inspire her. He could only conclude he had
failed. However, all her pretty blushes and gasps and wide-eyed stares
throughout the afternoon told him she was nervous, not fearful. Tired of
waiting, he opened the bathroom door, thankful it hadn’t been locked. It gave
him hope she wasn’t dead set on leaving him cold and alone on his wedding
night.
Victoria sat in
a tub full of lavender-tinted water and stared at him with her mouth hanging
open. She immediately drew her legs up to her breasts. “Do you mind?” she said
sharply.
“I do. You’re
going to catch a cold.” He sat on the edge of the large claw foot tub and ran
his hand through the water. “As lovely as the fragrance of bath salts is, I
can’t believe you’d prefer sitting in tepid water to coming to bed with me.”
“I certainly
didn’t say that, did I?” She drew her
legs closer though and made no move to rise from the water.
He pulled the
drain from the tub and stood to unfold a large towel for her. “Out. I’ve seen
it all by now and will be getting a much closer look soon, so no need to be
shy.”
After a moment,
she stood and stepped out of the tub, turning her back to him and drawing the
towel around her. Then he swept her up into his arms, making her squeal.
“I was hoping
for a contented sigh the first time I took you into my arms.”
She lowered her
eyes, her breasts heaving, the nipples almost peeking out of the towel.
“Stop worrying,
Victoria. You aren’t a piece of chattel that was sold off.” He placed a tender
kiss on her forehead. “You’re a treasure that is about to be cherished all
night long.”
He swiftly
carried her to the bed and placed her in the middle of it. He turned down the
gaslights, leaving only a candle by the bed lit as he stripped the final pieces
of his clothing off.
She watched him,
her eyes no longer lowered.
Her curiosity
both aroused and pleased him. “Am I less frightening in the dark?” he asked as
he climbed onto the bed, not missing the way her eyes shyly took in every inch
of him.
She looked into
his eyes. “I’m not frightened,” she murmured.
“Then why are
you trembling?” He drew the towel down and trailed kisses over the tops of her
breasts. His tongue circled her nipple, making her sigh as he straddled her.
“I’m cold,” she
said, her reply barely audible.
“Good thing I
pulled you out of that bath when I did then.” He parted the towel, kissing his
way down her body. She gasped when he kissed her stomach. He licked her thigh,
and she tensed beneath him. He hitched her leg up and parted the delicate curls
to touch her clitoris.
“This is a very
special spot, my dear. I’ll be spending a lot of time here.” He began making
slow circles with his finger, briefly dipping it lower and smiling to find her
quim wet. As he watched her reactions, his cock hardened almost to the point of
pain, a dull ache of longing settling in his groin. She stared up at the
ceiling, and she seemed to be struggling to keep her breathing steady, but
despite this effort, her breasts heaved beautifully. He moved up her body to
draw one nipple into his mouth.
She gasped and
arched against his hand, her juices coating his fingers as he drove her higher
and higher. He captured her mouth with his, their first real kiss. This embrace
was quite different from the cold brush of lips she’d offered during the
wedding ceremony. She opened to him completely as her arms moved up his back.
She moaned, and he felt her sex quiver as she found her release. He slowed his
movements, cupping her sex and massaging it.
“Oh God,” she
cried when he finally broke off the kiss.
“I’d prefer a
less exalted pet name, but call me anything you like, my sweet,” he said as he
moved back down her body.
Bio:
Marie Medina was born in northern New England and raised by
her pale, mysterious godfather in a dark gothic mansion on the edge of her
small, sleepy town. He didn’t turn out to be a Bronte hero or a vampire, as she
thought when she was very young, but he is her best friend and the standard by
which she measures all her heroes (and suitors). She has been writing since the
age of eleven and has no intention of stopping any time soon.
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