by K. T. Samois
When he looks up, it’s to Ree staring down at him, green eyes warm with love and dark with desire. The kiss he presses to her is achingly gentle, barely more than a susurrus of breath against the petals of her.
Ree jolts like she’s been electrocuted and nearly breaks his nose with her hips.
“God,” she moans brokenly, loudly. Ree’s always been discrete, rarely making a sound. To hear her so exquisitely undone makes him harder than mortar shelling in a sandstorm.
“I think we’re on a first name basis by now. No need to be so formal,” he teases, a breath away from her skin. He could taste her if he wanted, trace his tongue along her core and see if she’s as delicious as she looks.
Below him, Ree’s as provocative as any apple. Hardin’s not much for religion, but he has read that part of the book. He knows Adam ate the fruit of knowledge when Eve offered it, and it was good enough to be damned for. With Ree below him looking like a Red Delicious, he can see the trade was a worthwhile one. He leans in for a slow lick, extending the blade of his tongue and cleaving her with it.
This time, Riona screams as her body arcs up, and Hardin thinks they might have heard it outside. His mouth moves with purpose, enough of it that Ree’s thigh quakes against his arm and she breaks her grip on the bedsheets to tangle a hand in his hair. The noise he makes in response is feral, and he lunges forward, consuming her until all he can hear is her voice, babbling his name as she comes undone under him.
He’s smug as a serpent when he rises for air.
He stands, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his bespoke silk shirt, and that action propels Ree into movement. Her fingers undo the buttons of his shirt, hands flashing fast as sparrows. When she shoves the fabric off of his broad shoulders, he lets it fall. Hardin knows he’s impressive, and Ree’s never shy about appreciating it. Her hands roam over him avariciously, lips following in their wake.
It’s only then that Hardin realizes she’s been murmuring something under her breath.
“Louder, kitten,” he orders, and she makes a noise of need, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the skin of his throat.
“Please, sir. I’m yours. Please,” she begs, pupils vast and dark as night, and that’s enough for him. He’s done making his wife wait. Hardin holds out his hand; Riona takes it and steps off of the bed when he steps away from it. He notices it’s with her left hand; he won’t have it. She won’t hide herself from him tonight.
“You’re overdressed.”
Ree nods.
“Please fix that,” she asks politely. He moves with unmistakable intent, and soon the lace of her peignoir is on the floor. The lingerie under it does nothing to preserve her modesty. When it joins the puddle on the floor, Hardin can’t, doesn’t, restrain himself from kissing her. His hands cup her cheeks, even as hers wrap around his shoulders. She can taste herself on his mouth, but can’t bother to care.
He kisses her as though he’ll never get the chance to do so again. When he pulls away for air, it’s with the smug smile Ree thinks suits him so well.
“One last detail.” He delicately extracts the gilded pin from her hair. His hands make quick work of it, and within moments her hair is tumbling around her face and down her back.
When he lays her down, she goes willingly; he guides her the entire way with a cautious hand. She spreads her hair out, so she’s not laying on it, and Hardin takes a moment to admire the curls. He traces his fingers through it, the way he might a candle’s flame. The backs of his fingers trace down the length of her throat, where her pulse beats a tattoo in her throat. His nails trace lightly down from to the austere cathedral arch of clavicle to the lushness of her breasts. When she arches her body into his caress, nipples pebbled against his palms, Ree hums with interest.
Making love with Hardin this way is a dreamy pleasure. She floats in the sensation of his hands on her, enjoys the way his teeth tease each peak, the way his tongue and lips soothe each sweet, sharp ache. She knows she’ll be red all over tomorrow, but she doesn’t care; let Hardin paint her up with a hickey or ten.
She feels like a masterpiece and luxuriates in the sensation.
“Riona-“
She doesn’t even bother to open her eyes.
“Yes.” Ree says, with utter conviction. There’s nothing Hardin could dream up that she wouldn’t want to try. Ree trusts her Captain absolutely. She also wants her husband. She’d waited two years for this, and Riona’s done with foreplay. His grip on her hip tightens, and she amends herself quickly. “Please, Sir.”
“Riona,” she hears him whisper against her temple, even as she feels a blunt pressure against her. Ree shivers with anticipation. He slides in slowly, careful not to push or rush. Ree’s grateful for his patience. It doesn’t hurt, but that doesn’t mean she wants him to move just yet, and one leg comes over his hip to hold him in place. Hardin seems content to loom above her. His silver stream of hair falls into his eyes, and blue eyes darken with desire as she adapts to the feel of him. His muscles clench as he resists the urge to move, and Ree indulges herself by stroking her hands along the ridges and planes of him. After a moment, Ree feels the slight pressure ease; when she nods, Hardin bends to kiss her fiercely.
“Fuck, Riona,” he groans, and Ree can’t help her punch-drunk giggle.
“Yes please, sir,” she says, panting for breath even as her mouth closes around the muscle of his shoulder to keep quiet. It doesn’t work; she begs and whimpers and he seems to bask in all of it.
“Let me hear you, Riona.'“ He punctuates his order with a deep roll of his hips. She wraps her legs around his hips instinctively; the change in angle makes her toes curl.
“There — Hardin, again-”
Ever conscientious, he does; she feels her muscles clench around him as she arches into the movement. It’s decadent, and Ree wants to bask in the sensation of belonging. She’s waited for him her entire life, and she never wants this moment to end. She can feel Hardin’s eyes on her, even as his pace and angle never change. Ree kisses him, greedy for more of whatever he wants to give her. His hand slides down, teasing her just the way she likes. Ree has composure and discipline and decorum — all of which goes out the window when she screams her husband’s name as she comes.
Hardin kisses her, consuming and wild as a forest fire. His hips snap against hers and hold. His voice, that cultured purr she enjoys so much, groans her name as he follows her.
Ree reacts instinctively, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and down over his back. She wants this, the closeness and press of his weight, the way he smells of sweat, and cologne warmed by body heat, and the sea-deep scent of them. Her legs form a vise around his hips; when Ree opens her eyes, she and Hardin are face to face and close enough to kiss.
She holds off for a moment, just to enjoy the view.
Hardin looks deeply satisfied, even as his biceps tremble from the exertion of holding himself up. The tiny stress-lines he’s worn all day have evaporated, and the tension has leached out of his shoulders. He might look a little smug, but given that she feels a little boneless, he has good reason to be.
It takes some time for Ree to come back to herself, but she isn’t in any rush. Hardin has rolled onto his back at some point and tucked her up against him. She stretches luxuriously, enjoying the way her sensitized skin feels as it brushes against his. Ree feels delightfully debauched, loose and indolent as any sun-warmed cat. When she tilts her face up, he’s smiling down at her.
Her smile goes soft.
“Hi, Hardin,” she whispers, and his eyes narrow in amusement.
“Hello, Riona.”
“I love you,” Riona Araby tells her husband. He stares for a moment and then presses a kiss to tousled red hair.
“I love you too, Riona,” Hardin Araby tells his new bride.
“You would be the sort of man who says it after sex,” Ree says, delighted. She’s still laughing as he tumbles them over and kisses the words into silence.
***
D
awn’s golden light wakes her, but the empty bed gets her moving. She can hear the water running in the bathroom, so she isn’t too worried. At least until she swings her feet out of bed, stands, and catches sight of her reflection.
“Oh, my God,” Ree whispers as she tries to stand on wobbly legs and catches sight of herself in the mirror. There’s a soreness in her hips, and a twinge between them, and a Pollock painting of blue fingerprints and red mouth marks smeared over the skin of her breasts and thighs and hips.
A shout from the bathroom sends Ree scrambling over to see what’s the matter.
“Oh my God!” Ree gasps, staring at the mess her fingernails have made of Hardin’s back. He’s staring at the gouges in the mirror, and Ree can feel the blood drain from her face.
“I am so sorry-” she starts, but it dies in a gasp when he kisses the words out of her mouth.
“I’m not,” Hardin replies, smug as the devil himself. “But if you feel guilty about it, you’re welcome to kiss them better.”
So she does.
***
Watery morning sunlight has given way to the sharp edges of midday, and then on to the soft warmth of early afternoon, before Ree bothers to answer the phone. The only reason she does is because she’d neglected to take the one in the bathroom off of the hook, and Evie’s incessant calling is interrupting her first couple’s bubble bath. Ree, nestled against Hardin’s back with her hair in a bun, enjoys the novelty of enough room to spread her legs out. She stretches luxuriously, and Hardin cups a hand around her middle to keep her from sliding into the water and getting her hair wet.
The phone dangles indolently from her fingertips as her right hand hangs out of the deep soaker tub, careful to keep the mess of her inner arm angled downwards. She feels indolent and well-loved and wants nothing to ruin her honeymoon mood.
Even Evie’s hovering can’t dull my glow today.
“Okay, I am sorry-” her sister tries anyway, voice pitched into a register only dogs should be able to hear.
“-but it’s four in the afternoon, Riona! You scheduled brunch at eleven! Father O’Flan’s already started in on the flan, the cupcakes, the petit-fours and the last fucking crumb of my sanity,” Evie adds with a semi-manic shriek, “so if you could kindly peel yourself off of your husband and come greet your guests before you rush off to make your flight at four forty-five, that would be great!”
Ree looks up at Hardin and grimaces. “Did we say eleven?” she whispers, sotto voce.
Hardin nods, bemused.
“Huh. Whoops.” Ree says, unrepentant. Her sister continues unabated. Ree gives her another minute of colourful invective before taking herself off of mute.
“I’m sorry,” Ree interjects. She can feel Hardin’s muscles clench; he’s trying not to laugh. “But this is a new phone — who’s this?”
Ree can hear her sister scream through the suite door — 3000 square feet of prime Manhattan real estate away.
“Oh my God-” Evie starts, but Ree thumbs the red button and blissful silence reigns again.
“Is she very upset?” Hardin asks for a moment.
He almost sounds concerned, which for him must be near existential levels of alarm.
“She wasn’t on speaker and you heard the conversation,” she says, sloshing over to cuddle against him better. “You tell me.”
You can tell me anything you like, she thinks avariciously. We have forever to try it.
Her husband refuses to bite. “Are you worried?”
Ree stares at him. “Are you joking? What’s she going to do, have us evicted? I’ve had better things to do today than take her call. Anyway, she can buy herself a bridge and get over it. There’s one in Brooklyn I’m sure she’d love to own.”
“Don’t give her ideas,” Hardin says, sounding sulky. “In this economy, she might afford it.”
She grins at the snotty tone in his voice.
“Oh, you’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first.” Ree teases as she gets to her feet and steps out of the tub unselfconsciously. She snatches a butter-soft towel from the bath stool, but freezes in place, watching the city below her. Hardin, remembering her reaction the night before, is already halfway to his feet with water sluicing off, but she arrests his movement with a bright smile.
“Oh, wow, the view from here is actually pretty cool during the day.” Her resilience amazes him, so he just watches raptly. She notices, like everyone else. Unlike everyone else, she calls him on it squarely.
“Are you- you’re staring at me.”
Absolutely unrepentant, he grins. He’s got a hell of a view to admire, too.
Hardin stands and holds out the plush robe for her. “I am. Is that a problem, Riona?”
Ree’s never met a challenge she hasn’t wanted to surmount, so she steps forward into the shell of his arms and lets the robe fall to the floor.
“Mm. Not at all.” Ree turns, smiling up at him with mischief in her eyes. “Hey, Hardin?”
“Mm? What is it, kitten?” He sounds just the slightest bit distracted. Ree feels her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t drop his gaze as her hand slides down again.
“I was wondering — can you miss a flight if it’s a private jet?”
Acknowledgements
To our parents: If you suspect we wrote this, you’re probably right. Bet you wish you weren’t.
To Corporate: If you suspect we wrote this, you’re definitely wrong.
To our inspiration: Thank you for instructing us on how to master the universe.
To our generous beta readers: bless you for your encouragement, patience and superb taste in road-trip soundtracks.
To the people on Youtube who barely know we exist, but without whom this self-published novel would not have been possible: Thank you for examples on what to do, and lessons on what not to.
To the four-person Starbucks team that halted all business to help us find the perfect drink for the worst character: We appreciate you and will never name you, so your colleagues can’t shame you.
To our readers:
May your endings always be happy. May your smut always be spicy. May your Kindle always have a charge, and your spine never crack. Thank you for your support, and see you soon.
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