by Shayla Black
Then Aric stood. His thighs seemed to bracket hers as he rose to his full height, more than half a head taller than herself. Still, his gaze drilled down to her, heating with each moment that passed.
“Husband?” His whisper demanded an answer.
Gwenyth flushed, realizing what she had implied. What she now wanted. “Husband.”
“Gwenyth…” His raspy voice sizzled down her spine. “Having you near pleases me.”
His water-woodsy scent, his body’s heat, and that hot stare combined to scatter her thoughts. “It—it does?”
“I would show you how much.”
With that silky-rough whisper, he took her face in his massive palms and tilted her mouth beneath his. Gwenyth felt her breathing shallow—then cease altogether. He drew closer, seemingly into her, as they touched at shoulder, chest, belly, thigh. She felt the hard length of his desire against her as he leaned in and possessed her mouth with a shimmering brush of a kiss.
Flashes of light bursting behind her eyes, Gwenyth grasped Aric’s solid shoulders for support and opened her mouth at his silent urging.
The kiss was long, near endless, flowing like the meandering tides of a languid river. She tasted spiced wine on the tongue that swept her mouth with lazy abandon. A thick warmth slid through her veins when he nibbled gently on her sensitive lower lip, then indulged in another mating of their mouths.
His fingers wound through her hair as he cradled her head, keeping her at his gentle command. An ache formed inside her as she strained upward to receive more of his tender pleasure. And he gave it without restraint, without hurry, brushing his lips over hers again, before settling with a male moan of need on the curve of her neck.
“So soft,” he murmured, then trailed a damp path down to the upper swells of her breasts, which began to ache for his touch.
As if Aric could hear her body call to him, he removed her stomach girdle after little more than a touch. With a clink it slid to the stone floor as his breaths mingled with her sighs and the sound of crashing surf outside. Her dress followed beneath his dexterous fingers, slipping off one shoulder in a silky caress, followed by the other, until the gown slithered to her feet. Until she stood clad in naught but her thin chemise and the pendant he had given her.
An instant later, his hands journeyed from her hips up, to cling to the front of her fluttering belly. Then up more he moved, ceasing only when he lifted the full weight of her receptive breasts in his hot palms. She gasped.
His stare was like thick liquid silver as his thumbs flicked across the hardened tips. A jagged sigh of pleasure, of need, escaped her lips. Fog swirled in her mind, leaving her deliciously dazed.
Restlessly, he dragged his hands down her back, to her buttocks, and pressed his hardness against her feminine mound. A current of desire bolted her, piercingly sweet between her thighs.
“Aric,” she called, knowing full what she asked of him.
His stare fastened on hers in the next moment. He, too, knew what she asked of him. Something fierce and pounding lay visible in his gaze, gentled by the tapers’ soft shadows and a surprising reverence that robbed her of breath.
“You, little dragon, I’ll want always.” His murmur skittered over her skin a moment before he lifted her to his chest, her knees supported in the crook of his arm, their faces inches apart.
He indulged in the taste of her mouth, savoring her with firm lips and an exploring tongue. Gwenyth felt her heart pound in rhythm with the fluid desire flowing in her body, pooling between her thighs.
As Aric reached the grand tester bed, he eased her down upon the soft mattress, palm lingering on the length of her thigh before he stood at her feet. Gwenyth propped herself up on her elbows and sent him a curious glance as he took a step back.
Then he removed his hose and stood before her in powerful, glorious nakedness.
Gwenyth swallowed at the smooth baring of his burnished skin, the solidity of his corded thighs, and between… God’s nightgown. There he looked stiff and substantial, thick and ready. And large to her maiden’s eyes. Her breath left her in an uneven sigh.
Aric lowered himself beside her and lay on his side, facing her. “Do not fear. I will do all I can not to hurt you.”
Before she could speak, he took her in his arms again and eased her chemise up the length of her trembling thighs, over the fluttering curve of her belly, above the weight of her needy breasts. His palms trailed beneath the chemise, caressing her skin with a welcomed warmth, his hand alternately brushing and pressing into her flesh.
With a final tug, he freed her from the garment and tossed it to the floor. Now they both lay naked, and arousal was plain in his eyes.
Aric took her mouth again, tongue swirling, building more need. His fingers aided his quest to claim her, grazing over her sensitive skin where she least expected it, in the bend of her elbow, in the curve of her neck, about the indentation of her navel.
She began to feel heated, restless. “Aric…”
The smile he gave her was ripe with passion and gladness as his stare delved into her, seeming to seek possession of her very soul.
Then his mouth descended on the throbbing tip of her breast. She gasped, holding him prisoner with urgent hands in the softness of his hair. The fire of her need fanned to flame. She reeled at the sensations—the burning, the demanding torment of desire—all of which he created.
Her responses closed around her until she could feel nothing but his heated flesh pressed against her, his tongue taking her body hostage, his breath fanning like a whisper across her skin.
Then his hands began to move, like a musical accompaniment in a song of love. Fingertips made the merest brush across her abdomen, cradled her hip, clung to the inner softness of her thigh. Gwenyth began to anticipate the shooting pleasure that would come next with each caress. But even she was unprepared for his next stunning, intimate touch.
His fingers delved within her wet folds, knuckle stroking the crux of her desire in short, unhurried circles. She arched off the bed, silently demanding the completion her body screamed for. Still, he continued, adding to her agony with a maddening lack of haste and the heat of his mouth on her tight nipple. The need built between each caress, each swirl of his tongue.
He drew upon her breast again, sucking her skin, her very scent, into the heat of his mouth. Pleasure tingled in her breasts, then arched down to her belly—and lower, where her juices now flowed freely for him.
His palm cupped her feminine mound a moment later, engulfing it with the size of his hands. She melted at the sensation of warmth and possession, coupled with an odd sort of security, as if he would allow nothing to harm her.
Then he pressed the heel of his hand into her, kneading her eager flesh again and again. Sparks shot from the bud of her sensation to everywhere else in her body—her belly, her legs, her breasts. No part of her was immune to the tender persuasion of his touch.
When Gwenyth thought she could bear no more, one of his long, blunt fingers pressed the seam of her open and delved into her. Gwenyth felt her body close around his offering with greed, and she bucked against him. Pleasure spiraled to mindless heights.
Never had she imagined something so intimate between husband and wife. Aunt Welsa had always said that men stabbed at women greedily with their lances. Instead, Aric probed gently with the giving firmness of his finger.
He soon added another to the fray. Once inside her, he parted the two fingers, stretching her wider. The sensation was more uncommon than uncomfortable, and she understood its purpose.
“Worry not about hurting me,” she croaked between deep breaths.
A rogue’s smile flittered across his wide mouth as he continued his exploration. “The way I want you now, ’tis best if I have you well prepared.”
Before she could do more than flush hotly at his words, his fingers plunged into her again, teasing her inner walls. More jolts of pleasure leapt within her, building on the others before it.
As she called his name, her
need climbed to new pinnacles. The heel of one hand rubbing, the fingers of another pushing inside her, while his mouth devoured her tingling nipples… Suddenly ’twas too much. The building pressure became an ache that writhed for release. Something within her pulsed furiously, and a moan ripped from her throat as satisfaction began to wash over her.
Suddenly the pressure of his palm against her pleasure point eased, almost lifting away. Nay! ’Twas that pressure she most needed. Gwenyth moaned in protest and arched toward him, seeking surcease. Aric but gave her the lightest of rubs. Still, she convulsed within, gasping as her ache soared to breath-stealing pleasure that made her quiver. Then he returned his hand to her, massaging her center in firm strokes.
A long cry escaped her throat as she shattered in his arms. Wave after undulating wave of satisfaction tumbled through her trembling body. She struggled for one breath, then another, scarcely able to understand the magic of his touch. If she did not know better, she would accuse him of sorcery after all.
As the peaked pleasure became a glow, Gwenyth became aware of Aric’s intent gaze upon her face—and her own unease. Had she been too free, too bold?
The heated gray stare that met her gaze said not.
Aric rolled toward her, above her, his face filled with impatience, with intent. He moved to settle the length of his great body over her. Gwenyth protested with a gentle hand to his shoulder.
“Wait,” she called, voice breathy.
His gaze encompassed a question. His mouth tightened as if suppressing a groan.
She rushed to say, “I-I want to kiss you.”
“Gwenyth, love, I vow we will kiss more.”
She shook her head. “I speak not of your mouth.”
His body stilled utterly. Lust charged into his eyes like a steed in a tourney. “Then where?”
Biting her lip at his whispered question, she gazed at him with expectant eyes. “You… I… Well, that is, your skin. Your body.”
A wide, pleased smile overtook his features as he rolled to his back on the great soft bed. “I am yours, little dragon. And I’ve no intent to ask you to be gentle.”
Despite the depth of her first passion, a giggle escaped her. Did desire and laughter fit together? Seeing the merriment dancing in his eyes, she supposed so.
“Shall I try to be rough, then?” she bantered in return.
“Whatever pleases you.”
Aric curled a hand behind his head and propped his head up on it. And he waited, none too patiently. Gwenyth glanced at the expanse of his bronzed skin before her, the bulge of his arms, the ridges of his hard chest and abdomen. Though the landscape of his skin was by no means unmarred, the variety of scars intrigued her.
Curious, she ran her fingers down a particularly long scar, from ribs to belly, then another just beneath the brown of his taut nipple that stretched nearly to his hip. Both must have bled and hurt more than she had in the whole of her life. And he sat, smiling faintly at her ministrations. How?
Drawing in a deep breath for courage—and to still her quivering innards—Gwenyth leaned toward him. Aric held his breath, the flat brawn of his belly taut, as she placed her mouth on one of his scars, just below his chest.
He tasted like tangy silk, smooth with a bit of salt. To her tingling lips, he felt smoothly rough, like a textured stone. She flicked her tongue against him to retest the surface. Aric sucked in a harsh breath.
Gwenyth traced farther down the scar, toward his navel. She had never really seen one but her own, and his fascinated her. Deeply curved in with a light sprinkling of brownish hair, it invited her. She delved it with her finger, then traced it with her tongue. He groaned, and Gwenyth found herself well pleased. Could she, a woman with no experience in matters of the flesh, really pleasure a man such as this?
Emboldened by the thought, she brushed a thumb across the nubbin of his hard nipple. Aric rewarded her with another hiss. Indeed, their bodies had similarities, despite the vast differences. What delight!
Without further ado, she closed her mouth around the brown bud of his nipple and curled her hand around the length of his hard flesh. Again, he moaned. The sound sent tingles across her sensitive flesh.
God’s nightgown, but he was hot and solid, with skin surprisingly silky. Wondering if the entire length felt thus, she slid her palm up and, with her thumb, tested the bulging tip, which now seemed a mottled blue.
He nearly came up off the bed.
“Gwenyth, love?” He sounded strained, as if he’d been training all day.
She smiled. “Aye, my husband.”
“It seems an eternity I have waited for you. Mayhap you should not do that now.”
Frowning, Gwenyth was reluctant to give up her exploration, but acknowledged that in matters of the marriage bed, he would know more.
“Later?”
“I shall look forward to it,” he said, removing her hand from his length and kissing her fingertips.
The feel of his mouth on her hand made her heart race. When he leaned for her and covered her, a jolt of anticipation charged her stomach. His next words made her nearly faint.
“I want to be inside you. Open your legs for me.”
Working to catch her next breath, Gwenyth parted her shaking appendages.
“Wider.” As she moved to obey, he coaxed further with a voice of pure velvet. “Wider. More.”
Suddenly he wrapped his hands around her thighs, taking control of the matter. His fingers curled into her, and she felt boneless, melting to her core.
Aric spread her wider then she might have thought possible, then finally settled his hips in the crook of her legs. Against the seam of her womanhood, she felt him, hard and unyielding, and not demanding—yet. Then he raised her legs up to his hips.
Leaning forward on his elbows, he took possession of her mouth again. Lower, she felt his probe. He quickly found her, and at the sensation of his mere tip within her, her desire returned with the force of a storm against a sea wall, tempestuous and unforgiving. He slid farther inside her as his tongue sought hers, swirling, engaging. Inundated by needs plaguing both ends of her body, she groaned.
His rough, hot breath fanned against her cheek as he eased his lance farther still within her. Then he stilled. ’Twas as if she could feel his heartbeat in the throbbing of his manhood. Boom, boom. The sensation made her draw in a ragged breath of anticipation.
Suddenly, Aric cursed. Before she could question him, he surged forward, severing her maidenhead. Gwenyth felt a tearing, then a sting as he settled himself more deeply within her. Then the pain was gone, replaced by the sensations of fullness and liquid pleasure.
He pushed forward, forward. More. Stopping to breathe, stopping to take in her expression with those eyes of magic silver. Then with a grunt and a final surge, he sheathed himself to the hilt within her.
Gwenyth gasped at the sensation. She felt filled in every way, somehow necessary and complete. ’Twas wondrous!
Then Aric began moving. Slowly at first, the length of him caressed her inside. Sensation gathered, like a weight pressing low into her belly.
He quickly gathered speed, each long, slow stroke a glide, a nudge, a subtle demand for more. Her own need urged her to meet his thrusts, one after the other, then again. A low moan tore from his throat that vibrated deep within her.
Yet still, she needed more.
Fingernails seeping into the skin of his shoulders, she dragged them down the length of his back, low, into his hips, as if she could take him entirely within her. A foolish wish, but somehow she needed it. She cried out.
He lifted his mouth from the damp crook of her neck. “You make it hard to be gentle.”
At any other time, she would have smiled at his breathlessness. Now she ached too badly. “Don’t.”
His gaze flashed across her face for a single heart-stopping moment.
Then he ignited.
In long, powerful strokes, he claimed her. A continuous stream of fast surges, frictioned withdrawals
, then the heat of his return, filling her, filling her—seeming to make her whole.
The clenching in her belly intensified until she lost her breath—her very mind—and shattered in his arms for a second time this night. As before, liquid satisfaction made a wondrous curl through her veins, only heightening when he cried out her name and, incredibly, stiffened further within her before finding his own pleasure.
Finally, Aric looked at her, eyes lazily half-closed, breathing still deep and hard. Her heart caught in her chest. She felt him still within her, smaller now but still warm, still a comfort.
“Damnation, little dragon.”
Despite the curse, he seemed well pleased. The thought warmed her down to her toes. This part of the wifely role she would definitely relish in the nights to come.
Sweat dotted his brow, and she pushed away the tawny hair laying there, opening his flushed face up for her gaze.
He dropped a quick kiss on her mouth in return. “I should have known.”
“Known?” Had she misread him? Had he not been pleased?
“Aye, that you would be a demanding minx.” Then he smiled.
“And this is cause for complaint?” she asked saucily.
He laughed, then rolled to his side, taking her with him. “Never.”
* * * *
Aric woke to sunlight bright in the chamber. He stretched and groaned, scenting Gwenyth’s soft fragrance and the mingled smells of their passion. By the saints, he could scarce remember a night in which he had slept better. Peaceful dreamless sleep, too.
He had his wife to thank for that.
With a smile, he rolled over to find her in the bed. Aric found himself alone instead. He frowned. Aye, ’twas late, but certainly she didn’t have so many duties that she must be up with the dawn.
Damnation! He wanted to possess her lush body again. Indeed, he had meant to during the night’s small hours, but so sound had been his sleep, he had not awakened to take her in his arms again. Regret doured his mood. His sigh became a smile when he realized that Gwenyth was his to nibble, savor, or devour at will. No more nights of aching hell as he had endured back at the cottage, no more wondering if he would ever persuade her to warm his bed. Now that she had finally consented to become his wife in the most intimate of ways, well…