Her kiss only grew hotter, sweeter, headier. She tasted like the elixir of the gods.
She levered herself up, tightening her arms about his shoulders. His legs had been outside hers, trapping hers; now he supported her and shifted, pressing one long thigh between hers. She murmured, an incoherent sound lost between their lips. He set her down; she balanced on her toes, held high by her hold on him and pinned by his chest. Shifting, he released her luscious derriere and slid both hands forward, caressing the sweet indentation where hip met thigh before moving on to the front of her naked thighs. With his thumbs, he found the crease at the top of each thigh; pressing lightly, he slid both thumbs slowly inward.
Her breathing fragmented; their kiss turned desperate as his thumbs tangled in her silky curls. He played, teasing, being tantalized, then, skillfully plundering her mouth, he sent one hand upward, fingers splaying over the delicate skin of her stomach, caressing, then kneading evocatively. In almost the same breath, he let the fingers of his other hand drift down, gently pressing in, searching through her heated softness to find her.
If he hadn't been kissing her, he sensed she would have gasped. She was slick, swollen, and so hot. Her breasts strained against his chest; he held her steady and gently probed, then stroked, soothed, only to take further liberties.
The intimacy was new to her-he knew that in his bones. Her late husband must have been a clod. Yet she was flowering sweetly for him; her nectar burned his fingers as he circled her entrance, then drew back to caress the nubbin of flesh now tight and throbbing with need.
She quivered, her fingers digging into his upper arms as she arched her head away. He allowed her to break the kiss and catch a shattered breath, then he deliberately reached deeper and circled her entrance again…
She shivered. He was asking and she understood-after a fractional hesitation, she bent one knee, sliding her slender calf around his leg. Opening herself for him.
The only thing he managed to remember after that was that she hadn't been pleasured like this before. So he penetrated her slowly, letting her feel every tiny increment as he slid one finger into her sheath. She was scalding hot; he wasn't surprised to discover she was tight as well. Her experience of intimacy appeared miniscule. She clamped firmly about his finger, her breath shivering in his ear. He turned his head, found her lips, and soothed her with a long, slow kiss. As he withdrew his finger, her hips instinctively tilted, her body begging for more. He gave it to her, clinging to the reins of his impulses, howling to have her, urgent and ravenous. He was too experienced a lover not to know what would be best for her; with his lips on hers, reassuring, distracting, and inciting in turn, he set himself to show her what could be.
And when her fingers bit deep and she pulled back from their kiss as her body shattered in glory, he felt like a conqueror, victorious, triumphant, with the spoils of his conquest in his arms. Her released passion washed over him in waves, surge after surge of heat and fierce delight. The soft moan that escaped her, one of fulfillment laced with residual need, the waft of her ragged breaths against his cheek, the thundering of her heart pressed close to his, the evocative muskiness that rose from where his fingers filled her to combine with her perfume and drive him mad-all urged him on.
She was ready, so gloriously tall, and he was desperate.
It was the work of seconds to release his straining staff, to lift the leg she'd crooked about his knee to his hip. To draw his fingers from her hot wetness and set the head of his erection to her entrance. Gripping her hips, he caught her lips and plunged into her mouth, and into her heat.
She screamed.
The sound, trapped between their lips, reverberated through his head. Then she tensed, like a vise, about him.
He gasped, breaking their kiss, grimly fighting for control. It couldn't be-yet it was. Had been. The shock shook at least a few of his wits into place. After a fraught second in which he tettered on the brink of madness, he managed to block out the physical long enough to ask, "How?"
He had barely enough air in his lungs to form the word, but with her face close by his, she heard.
"I…"
Her voice quavered; she was, it seemed, as shocked as he, if not for the same reason. That, he could understand. If this was her first time… he was buried to the hilt inside her.
She gulped in air. Her words came in a shaky whisper by his ear. "I was a child bride. My husband… he was much older. And ill. He wasn't able to…" She released her grip on his arm to gesture. The movement caused her to shift upon him-she caught her breath on a fractured gasp.
"Shh. Gently." He found her lips and soothed her with a kiss while he struggled to take it in. A child bride left virginal by her aging husband? No doubt it did happen, although it had never before happened to him. Her unexpected innocence, however, raised a most pertinent question. Had she known he would…?
It took all his effort, and the last shreds of his will, to force himself to ask, "Do you want me to stop?"
Hardly elegant phrasing, but it was all he could manage with her clamped, the tightest, hottest, wettest dream he'd ever had, about him.
Her answer was a long time coming. His teeth were gritted, every muscle straining against the driving need to have her. With what little wit he still possessed he fought to ignore the warmth of the lush body in his arms, the constantly fluctuating pressure against his chest as she breathed rapidly, raggedly. He was so aware of her breathing, he knew when she reached her decision and drew in a deeper breath to deliver it.
He steeled himself to accept it-and prayed.
She shook her head. "No."
He exhaled. "Thank God."
"What-?"
He kissed her deeply, reassuringly, then lifted his head. "Don't think, just do as I say." He hesitated, wishing for the hundredth time that he could see, then added, "It'll feel a lot better very soon." He could only guess what she was feeling-he couldn't remember the last virgin he'd had. But she was still very tense; every muscle below her waist was locked tight. She was certainly not comfortable; she might even be in pain.
Withdrawing from her and repairing to the bed would have been the simple option. Unfortunately, with her tensed as she was, withdrawing from her would probably cause her more pain. But the bed was a must. "Raise your other leg-wrap it about my waist. I'll hold you." When she hesitated, he brushed her lips with his. "Trust me. I'll carry you to the bed."
She drew in a breath, and lifted her other leg, moving more confidently when she felt his hands shift and he took her weight. Locking her legs about him, sliding her arms about his shoulders for balance, she levered herself up a little, easing herself from him.
He gripped her hips. "That's enough." Grimly denying the impulse to surge back into her, he turned and carried her the few feet to the bed. Carefully, he laid her down with her hips close to the edge. As he'd expected, she relaxed just a little on finding the bed beneath her. Just enough for him to ease out of her a fraction more as he straightened, not fully but so he leaned over her, his weight on his locked arms.
Keeping his hips still, he found her face and brushed back the strands of gossamer soft hair that had fallen across her cheek. Her veil was still in place, still brushed back-he left it as it was. That, one day, she would remove for him, when she was ready to trust him with her name. Tonight, she was trusting him with her body-for tonight, that was enough.
Framing her jaw, he leaned forward and kissed her. For a moment, she lay passive, then responded. Once she was kissing him back freely, he flexed his hips and pressed into her again, filling her, stretching her even more than before. She sucked in a breath and tensed, but then eased. He drew back and pressed in again, then repeated the movement, his action steady and even. He kept the tempo slow until her muscles relaxed, until her legs were loose about his hips, her hands lax, fingers trailing on his sleeves, her body open and accepting and starting to stir, starting to lift and surge with his rhythm.