“To your bed?” I clarified, raising an eyebrow, letting my hesitation hang between us. I’d completely healed, even my scars had faded. There was no need to keep sleeping in Oren’s bed like a patient.
“Why not? It’s where you want to be.”
“Is it where you want me to be?”
Closing the book, he crossed his arms, daring me to argue with him. “It is.”
I did not move. “What are you going to do? Watch me while I sleep?”
“No, is it wrong of me to want my wife in my bed? To sleep side by side and feel a flicker of normality, like we are two lovers and not … this.” He gestured impatiently as though that would give me an idea of what he meant.
“We aren’t pretending,” I filled in for him, a hole of emptiness, want, and despair growing in my heart. “I don’t know if I can.”
A lump swelled in my throat, almost choking me, longing for that normality. If my parents were still alive, I’d be in the city, married to a kind boy that eventually I’d love, but nothing like what Oren offered. His passion was hot, then cold, and when I closed my eyes, I felt his burning kisses sear my lips. It was intense, dangerous, and the truth was, I’d never felt more alive than when in his arms. This tantalizing dance of can and cannot would drive me mad. I sensed Oren carried his own demons on his shoulders that he was slowly showing me, little by little, allowing me a glimpse of what he’d lost through the years of his life.
I must have considered for too long, for Oren tossed back the covers and rolled out of bed with a grunt. He strode toward me and gathered me in his arms before I could protest.
“Come to bed, my lovely wife,” he commanded, luring me with his tenor tones. “Come and pretend, just for tonight, that nothing exists except you and I. We have no cares, no worries, no plans. It’s just us.”
Instead of protesting, I leaned into his embrace, wrapping my arms around his neck. He lifted me as though I weighed nothing and carried me to his bed. We sank into the plush mattress and he released me, only to blow out the candle and cover us with the heavy blankets. I closed my eyes, my cheek pressed against his warm chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.
Moments passed. My body relaxed and my mind drifted away. Somewhere between the edges of sleep and wakefulness, Oren’s arms tightened around me and his mouth moved, a whisper I wasn’t sure I heard correctly. “I need you, Tanith.”
Those three words were all it took, as though he’d said “I love you.” It had been so long, too long since I’d been held, and this pretending, this semblance of a marriage, was not enough. I needed more. Despite the risk and the edges of darkness that crept around my shaky future, I wanted to be bold and hold on to something real. Regrets and hesitations be damned.
Pushing him flat on his back, I straddled him, tossing my nightgown over my head. It landed with a whisper on the floor as I clamped my thighs around his hips, rubbing against his hardness. “I don’t want to think about consequences,” I whispered, emboldened by his sharp intake of breath. “I just want you.”
I half expected him to push me away, but the enchantment of the night held him in its grip too. With a growl in his throat, he sat up, fingers catching in my hair, his lips like a brand as he kissed me. I opened my mouth and our tongues twisted in a dance of desire. Closing my eyes, I let the sensations of his touch take over. His hand on my hip moved to the small of my back, anchoring me to him, while his other hand came around to my chest, cupping my breast gently, tenderly.
Fissures of desire shot through my core, and I moved my hips, grinding against him, wordlessly telling him I was willing, wet, ready. Oren broke the kiss, his lips touching the corner of my mouth as he worked his way down. I threw my head back and arched my back until my chest was level with his face. Panting, I begged. “Don’t stop.”
“I don’t intend to, my love,” he said, indulging in this pretense. Tonight, we were lovers.
Cupping my breast, he rolled the nipple between two fingers, making the bud harden until it hurt. The space between my legs ached, longing to be filled, to be taken. I gasped and shuddered as his tongue lashed first one nipple and then the other, sending shivers of delight up my spine. When at last he took one in his mouth, a mewl burst from my lips until he bit down. I squeaked and my eyes flew open. I started to sit up, but he slapped my bottom, a teasing tap before his fingers dipped to explore deeper.
No one had ever touched me there and my cheeks flushed. Pulling back, he lifted my other breast to his mouth. Breathless, I squirmed, overwhelmed by the sensation of his hardness against me, protected by a barrier of clothing. Even though he held me tightly, I managed to reach down and tug at his trousers, wiggling my fingers inside. When my hand touched his cock, he went rigid, then thrust, a groan coming from his core. I knew then what power I had. I squeezed and was rewarded with another groan. Had no one touched him like this? Had no one loved him?
“Tanith,” he breathed, his head sinking down, pressing against my shoulder. “Don’t stop, that feels like …” He trailed off and something like a frenzy overcame him.
He rolled, lifting me with one arm and placing me on my back. A moment later, his trousers hit the floor, and he planted himself between my legs, rubbing himself against my wetness. Shamelessly, I spread my legs and reached for him, one hand splayed against his chest as he slid into me. Oh, it was perfect as he filled me, and my body clamped around him as if we were made for each other.
Waves of pleasure rocked through me and I cried out, trembling as he held me steady. He waited a beat too long, and I rocked my hips up, silently telling him to proceed. Slowly, he pulled out of me, savoring the moment, and then thrust back. Hard. I arched into him as another bloom of pleasure spread through my body. He caught one of my hands and held it to his lips, kissing my palm and then my wrist before pressing my hand to his heart.
And that gesture—so tiny and seemingly insignificant—was what broke me. He didn’t have to kiss me, didn’t have to be tender and loving. Yet, the fact that he would kiss me as though we weren’t simply using each other for pleasure made me feel wanted.
Wanted for more than my young and supple body, or that fact that I’d made a mistake and stumbled into his lair, making myself his. Yes, he was my husband, but our sham of a marriage had been for protection and convenience. Now, his actions spoke more than his words. I was precious to him. He chose to love me, crave me, protect me, and keep me alive. I spoke his name out loud. “Oren. Kiss me.”
“Anything,” he responded, his voice hoarse as he gathered me in his arms.
My breasts pressed against his chest, the skin-to-skin contact setting me aflame as he met my eager lips. Each kiss intensified the sensations, and even when stars danced around my head, I could not get enough. We moved together, taking and giving pleasure. With each thrust, my pleasure heightened, growing and coiling until I could not tell where I began and he ended. We were one, moving in sync, and I did not know whether it was real or magic. A cold realization came over me that in the past, when I’d been with others, it had been playing around, nothing compared to making love like this.
I climaxed hard, and he held me as I cried out, spasming in his embrace. When at last I stopped shaking, he turned me over on my hands and knees, kissing my shoulders, my back, my neck, his broad hands squeezing my breasts as he took me again. Another orgasm rolled through me, stronger than the last, making my toes curl. I screamed into a pillow even though there was no one to hear me. He slipped out of me as my body went limp and pressed heated kisses down my back to my bottom. Spreading my legs to kiss me there, his tongue tickled my wet slit, making me mewl with contentment.
“I’m not done with you yet,” he whispered.
I trembled under his touch. For what more could he possibly give me? I was thoroughly spent. But I was wrong as he rolled onto his back, pulling me on top of him. Sinking into his embrace, I placed one hand on the side of his face, his silky hair brushing my skin. He smelled woodsy and clean, intoxicating, compelling and even though I felt sated, my hips rolled against his hardness again.
Pressing my lips to the hollow of his neck, I tasted him, and then bit down, delighting at the growls of pleasure I elicited from his lips. His pulse raced under my caress, making me aware of my power over him. This wasn’t one-sided at all. My actions could drive him as wild as he drove me. His hand tightened around my bottom and then slapped, kneading and lifting, until I sat up.
