She hesitated to respond.
Yet, with the way he looked at her, he already seemed to know. There was no point in pretending. Not with him. He knew her worst, most vulnerable moment.
“Oh, you don’t know how much I wish it never crossed my mind again. But when I felt the cool air on my legs, I just . . .” She blew out a breath.
He pressed a kiss to her cheek. Keeping her against his side, he rolled to his back, his breathing still rough and labored. “It’s only natural to be afraid. I knew better, and I should have been more patient.”
Frustrated, her hand fisted over his chest where she rested her head, listening to the driving thud of his heart. She was so full of wanting that her own heart was going to burst. There was so much longing in her that she was desperate to put an end to it, her body restless.
She had a sense that if they weren’t able to overcome this, here and now, they never would. And she would be trapped forever with those painful memories instead of with something to replace them. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“I know.”
“And I want to be with you . . . as your wife.”
“We have time for that,” he said with gentle, unnerving fortitude, his hand skimming down her bare arm, toying with the fallen tapes.
“But I don’t want to wait.” She knew she sounded like a petulant child, but it couldn’t be helped. This was too important to remain unsaid. “I’m tired of always waiting. Sometimes I feel as if I’ve spent my whole life waiting.”
“For what, highness?”
She didn’t know what the answer was until it fell from her lips. “For this, I think. To be here with you.”
He stared fixedly at her for a moment. Then a slow, warm smile curved his lips, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.
This kiss was slower, patient—such a simple thing, really—and yet it left her breathless. It was as if he’d just told her a secret. Her heart thumped warmly, her blood quick to simmer once more.
“Perhaps if I knew what to expect, then I wouldn’t be nervous. Whenever I’m unsure or have a question, I go to the lending library to see what I can learn.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” he said fondly, his fingers playing lightly along her back, her nape, driving her to distraction. “But if I tell you everything I want to do to you, I imagine you will become even more nervous. I have a very long list, you see.”
“Tell me. Imagine that you’re writing a book on the subject and I’m just an avid reader.”
“Highness, you’re not making this any easier. Now I’m thinking about you reading such a book, following every word with the tip of your prim and proper finger, then your tongue flicking over the pad to turn the page.”
Emboldened, she brushed her fingertips into the springy hair, pretending to read the firm muscles, line by line, pausing at the flat discs of his nipples and watching them pucker against her touch.
“You are a fascinating subject,” she whispered, loving the warm feel of his flesh, the crisp hair as she continued to read all the way to his navel. Looking up at him through her lashes, she saw him watching her with a hot, glazed look in his eyes. “Tell me just what I need to know so that I can be prepared.”
He stared at her for a long moment, deliberating, debating. Then, at last, he said, “Lower your hand.”
She swallowed, disconcerted by a battle between nerves and a shameful degree of curiosity. And, of course, the curiosity won.
Splaying her hand, she followed the tapered trail of hair that led to the waist of his trousers. “Here?”
“Lower,” he said, his voice tight with strain.
She obeyed, riveted by the large outline beneath the fall front, angled from his waistband to the mound between his thighs. She skimmed lower still, settling over the thick ridge, feeling him shift against her palm.
He choked out a groan. “Aye, there.”
She trailed down the full length, marveling at the hardness, the heft. And he was hot there. Attempting to curve her hand around him, her own body responded with coiling warmth.
“That,” he said through clenched teeth, “is the part of me that will be inside of you.”
Ainsley pondered this and drifted lower, and lower still. Comprehending what to expect, however, didn’t assuage her nerves.
“Surely not all,” she said, her brow puckering. It would never work. “Though perhaps, the trousers are impeding my understanding. I’ll need to see what you look like beneath the wool.”
Inquisitive, she flicked open the first fastening.
“Wait.” He stalled her hand. “Not yet. I don’t think I can bear it.”
“If you are shy or worried that I won’t like the look of you, I’m sure I will. You are exquisitely formed in every other way.”
He issued a choked laugh. “You are about to unman me, wife. And I would much rather spill my seed with my cock buried to the hilt inside you.”
“Oh.” She blushed, her body clenching, feeling oddly empty. “Is that how you refer to your . . . um . . . phallus?”
Living in London, she’d heard the bawdy word many times, and like any respectable woman she’d turned a deaf ear to it. But now it was different. Spoken in his gruff drawl, she felt an illicit thrill race through her.
He sobered, his expression chagrinned. “It was crudely put and I should learn to speak more delicately.”
“No, indeed. It was not a reprimand. I should rather refer to your . . . cock as you do.” She flushed at least five hundred shades of red, she was sure.
“Damn,” he said, his head falling back on another groan. “I should never have mentioned it, for now I want to hear your sweet, proper lips say that vulgar word whenever we are alone.”
“It isn’t too vulgar. At least, not when you say it.”
He hauled her fully on top of him, then kissed her again, so soft and gentle that it nearly brought tears to her eyes. He was assuring her by slow degrees, telling her she was safe, that she was desired. That he would take care of her.
A rush of tenderness overwhelmed her. It was so powerful that it shook her, leaving her heart open and raw.
And she didn’t know what to do with the deluge of emotion flooding from the flayed organ beneath her breast. So she gave it to him in wild, frenzied kisses, fitting her body to his, seeking that perfect alignment that they’d found before. And she found it again, hips tilting, rubbing. “I want to kiss you all the days of my life.”
Reed didn’t answer with a similar declaration. He growled, a low and primal sound. Shaping his hands over her skull, he kissed her with so much passion that she trembled from the force of it.
This time, when she felt the hem of her petticoat inch higher, exposing her legs, she was eager for the cool air to relieve the sweltering blood humming through her veins. And she wanted to hurry him along. She was tired of boundaries between them.
Straddling his hips, she wiggled, ridding herself of the garment, while he took care of her stays and chemise with a scoundrel’s efficiency. Then all at once, she was bare before him.
The rainy gray light illuminated every inch of her milk-white flesh. His hungry gaze missed nothing, resting first on her teardrop-shaped breasts, the left slightly fuller than the right. Then he drifted to the midriff that was neither flat nor plump but some degree of softness between, and finally on the dark thatch of curls that guarded her sex.
She felt more shy than she ever had in her life. Perhaps she was too hasty in deciding completely against boundaries.
She tried to wrap her arms around herself.
“Please don’t,” he whispered, a pained breath shuddering out of him. “I’ve thought about you for so long, I just want to look.”
Her dusky nipples pebbled under his scrutiny, her stomach clenching. “I’m not symmetrical. In fact, I’m a bit—”
“Perfect,” he interrupted. Lifting his hands, he cupped the heavy swells, and her breath came out in a squeak. “And mine.�
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The possessiveness in his statement did terrible things to the rhythm of her heart. She should be ashamed of how it thrilled her.
His thumbs dragged over the tender crests, drawing the rosy flesh tighter still. She covered his hands on a gasp, her hips hitching against his. Her breasts ached, heavy and ripe like fruit ready to fall from the tree. With each teasing pass, a spear of pure pleasure quickened the deep pulses in her body.
He rose up, taking a pale swell to his mouth, and she clung to his shoulders, watching as he brushed his lips across the vulnerable peak, his breath warm and soft. Then he sealed his mouth over her.
Ainsley gasped as he suckled her flesh, laving her. Reflexively, her hands clutched his head. And she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to stop . . . or to do this forever.
Forever, she swiftly decided, arching her back, giving herself over to each tender tug and the tight coiling building inside her. And when he stopped, she whimpered in protest.
“Patience, highness,” he crooned, flicking his tongue over the eager tip. “There are rules about these things.”
She would have smiled if her body wasn’t ablaze with need. “Rushing is acceptable in certain situations. Such as crossing the street or leaving a house on fire.”
“Is your house on fire, highness?”
“Yes! Yes!”
He chuckled, navigating a slow, scorching path to her other breast. Clearly inclined to torture, his mouth coasted unhurriedly along the underside of her breast. He took his time, her body aching. Breathless and desperate, she whimpered, fisting her hands in his hair.
Then, finally, he took her into his mouth and she cried out. Joy and ecstasy rolled through her in waves. Her hips nestled his. A pulse throbbed, heavy and insistent, compelling her to seat herself fully on that heavy bulge.
Reed issued a gruff grunt, his head falling back, eyes squeezed shut. “You are going to be the death of me.”
Her knees pressed against the coarse woolen blanket as she kissed his throat and dipped her tongue into the salty, hollow niche at the base, humming with delight at her discovery. “Not until after I’ve had my fill of you, and that will be a long time from—”
He took her face in his hands, interrupting her with a savage kiss. This felt like more than a claiming but a surrender as well. His next words proved it.
Breaking their kiss, he gazed at her, never wavering. “Whatever you need, I will give it to you.”
Ainsley’s heart fluttered. Reed’s virility and strength did not come from his brawn or from forcing his will onto others. It was something born into him and shaped throughout his life. And, like always, he was willing to wait for her decision.
Another terrifying rush of tenderness filled her, gathering wetly in her eyes, pounding hard in her chest. She knew what it was now, but she was afraid to say the words aloud. So she simply said, “I only want you.”
And then she kissed him.
He made a sound deep in his throat and it vibrated into her, setting the rhythm of her heart. Their bodies undulated, his hands coasting along her back, around the cage of her ribs, brushing her breasts, her stomach, and lower still until his fingertips found the dark curls, and drifted to the dewy heat between her thighs.
It surprised her that embarrassment didn’t make her want to stop his exploration. Not even when he slid one finger down the damp seam of her flesh and back up again, teasing her open on a strained whimper. The touch so good she could hardly breathe.
Closing her eyes, she felt him delve deeper, his fingers honey slick, his callused thumb circling the tautly furled nub of flesh. For someone who had never been particularly passionate, she certainly adapted quite well to this strange new person emerging from within her. Such a simple touch and she no longer cared about being exposed to him. All that mattered was how he made her feel.
She gave herself over to it, her own fingertips gliding absently over his bare arms. Instinctively, her body started to move against him, searching for that shuddering release. Helpless mewls rose from her throat. The tight coiling sensation gripped her and . . .
He stopped and withdrew his hand.
Disoriented, she blinked down at him, his color high, a wild look in his eyes as he ripped open the fastenings of his trousers. A thick shaft of dusky flesh reared out through the opening, the base surrounded by a thatch of dark fur. Staring at him, she was both alarmed and fascinated.
“I can stop,” he said in a murmured rush, then repeated himself twice more, his declaration sounding like a mantra. “We don’t have to go further. I want you to feel safe with me.”
“I do, you ridiculously wonderful man.” And she reached out to touch the hard, enthrallingly silky length.
He stiffened, his lungs working like a bellows. She felt a tremor roll through him at her tentative grasp. And when she gripped him fully, his breath fractured on a groan, his blood surging beneath her palm.
She felt a stirring of feminine power as she stroked down the length of him. “Do you like that?”
“Aye,” he rasped.
“And what about this?” Her hand went up, drawing out a glistening bead of dew at the top. Experimentally, she slid her thumb over the tip to the intriguing slickness.
On a groan, he put a hand to her nape and kissed her, drawing her body down until she was splayed over him, eager and pliant. His furred chest teased her sensitive nipples, making her wriggle against him. And there was a sense of urgency in the way his body shifted beneath her.
Suddenly she felt a hot, hard pressure nudge her entrance. She didn’t instantly welcome the thick intrusion, or the burn of her flesh stretching to accommodate his girth. And Reed, too, must have had his doubts for he cursed and grunted and withdrew from her completely. His breath stalled. Then he entered the clutch of her body with excruciating slowness, wedging inch by inch. But again withdrew.
Though, stalwart as he was, he repeated this several times until she began to anticipate each shallow thrust and retreat. Gradually, her body warmed to his methodical, velvet strokes, her own hips moving to meet him. She sighed into his mouth, her fingertips twining into his hair.
Yet while she was delighted by this new stirring of arousal, he seemed near death.
A guttural sound of agony caught in his throat. And just as she was starting to feel guilty—though not so much that she would ask him to stop—he took firm hold of her hips, thrust upward, and drove in deep. Impaling her.
Ainsley cried out, her hands curling into fists. She’d known it all along—he was just too big! Too much. She tried to wriggle away.
He held her against him, his voice pleading on one long strained breath, “Please don’t move, not yet, not yet . . . you feel too good and I just couldn’t bear it.”
She went still at once and tried to catch her breath. It was impossible with his thick flesh wedged so deep. Her unyielding body constricted around him, pulsing, pushing. And yet, gazing down at him, she noticed his drawn expression, his shallow breaths, his struggle to maintain control.
It was strange to see him this way. So unguarded. So undone. She wasn’t the only one vulnerable in this moment. In fact, she was the one over him. A position of control, keeping him locked inside. Reflexively, her body clenched on this knowledge, wrenching a stuttered breath out of him, his eyes squeezing shut.
They stayed like that for a moment more, then her pain ebbed, replaced with a feeling of supreme fullness that made her anxious to move. Of course, a very good and dutiful wife would never think of moving when her husband begged her not to. But perhaps she was a bit too used to warring with him to listen completely. She couldn’t seem to stop her instinctive desire.
She shifted, inching upward to lessen the unending pressure.
“Ainsley, please.”
She inched back down, feeling her body stretch as he filled her again. There was raw tenderness, but no pain. Well, at least, not for her.
Her husband, on the other hand, groaned, neck arching, hands flexing on her hips.
“You’ve always had far too much power over me. And now that I know what it feels like to be inside you, I will be putty in your hands for the rest of our lives.”
Her lungs cinched tight on his admission. “You shouldn’t say such things.”
“I didn’t mean to say it aloud. See what you do to me?”
She was only beginning to, and stared down at him in wonderment. How long had it been this way between them? Yet the answer didn’t seem important anymore. All that mattered was that they’d finally made it here.
Lowering down over him, she pressed her lips tenderly to his. In turn, he kissed her, his hips rocking rhythmically beneath hers, the length of his hot flesh sliding slow and deep. Her body gripped around him in a tight, wet embrace. It was amazing how two people who had been enemies, until recently, could move together as one. She never knew she could feel this close to someone, to feel his heart beat in time with hers, to feel his thoughts inside her mind as they searched for the same goal, exploring each other and losing themselves in every pleasurable moment.
He shifted beneath her, arching at an angle. Their bodies rubbed in two places at once. Now it was her turn to gasp. Intimately joined, that pulsing throb kicked with a lush jolt. Beneath her mouth, she felt the nick on his upper lip curl smugly.
“Do you like that, highness?” he teased, arching up to move against that same spot over and over again.
She wanted to say something in return, to match him quip for quip, but she was too busy dying. That’s what it felt like. Her heart beat so fast and her body clenched so hard that she was certain she would erupt like a kettle under pressure.
She couldn’t stop the moans from spilling out of her throat. He drove into her, deeper and deeper still, kissing her as if he knew death was near and these were the final moments of life.
All at once, that tight coiling inside sprung free. Her body jerked. She jolted over him. Stars flashed behind her eyes, a universe erupting inside her in millions of tingling sparks. Unending spasms pulled on his flesh, clenching him tight. Then he broke, too, filling her in violent shudders, her name ripped from his throat in one exalted shout.
The Rogue to Ruin EPB Page 28