He blew air over her seam, gratified by the answering, swift buck of her hips. “Do you trust me, my love?”
She didn’t hesitate in her answer. “Yes.”
He was humbled. Gratified. And he was going to bloody well worship this woman. This woman he loved. His wife.
His.
Something primal overcame him. He dragged his hands to her bottom, cupping her arse, and lifted her to his mouth. He licked into her, closed his lips over her responsive pearl, sucked, worked it with his teeth. She tasted like the abundance of spring, like sweetness and musk, salt and sea, earth and life and everything that was necessary. Nothing had ever tasted so bloody good on his tongue, and he knew instinctively that nothing ever would.
Listening to her sounds, following the cues of her body, he learned her. Found what she liked. Just where she liked his tongue, how firmly she wanted his teeth to rake that sensitive bundle of flesh. He didn’t stop until he had her where he wanted her, and she shook and spent against him, crying out in a soft exhalation, her body tremoring, coating his tongue with her essence.
And then, he rose on his haunches, dragged her robe and chemise the rest of the way up her body. He didn’t stop undoing and tugging until all of it was gone, and he knelt between her thighs, admiring the pale gloriousness of her form in all its splendor.
“Lydia.” Her name became a caress as he ran his hands up her long legs to her waist, and then higher still. He cupped the firm, round globes of her breasts, thumbed her hard nipples. “Lydia, my darling.”
“Please,” she cried out, writhing beneath him, her slick folds undulating against his aching cock.
Breath hissed from his throat, and he knew he would not last much longer. Bowing his head, he sucked a nipple into his mouth. He licked and nipped, kissing along the ridge of her collarbone, her neck, the spot behind her ear that made her wild. “I want inside you, love.”
“Yes.” She gasped when the head of his shaft grazed her pearl with each movement of her hips against him. Her hands traveled over his body, fanning flames of desire into a raging inferno. Over his chest, his arms, his back. Tentative strokes that gave way to bold strokes. “Alistair, I cannot wait.”
He kissed her then, instead of answering, a long, deep claiming, allowing her to taste herself on his lips. She was sweet, so bloody sweet. Everywhere. He guided himself to her entrance, breaking his mouth away for a moment to gaze down at her. God, she was lovely, her hair a dark halo about her face, her blue-flecked eyes glazed with passion. His wallflower bluestocking turned to fire in his arms.
“There will be pain,” he rasped, poised to take her. So bloody close to heaven. “I will go slowly, my love.”
She nodded. “I trust you, Alistair.”
The simple statement sent a stab of guilt straight into his gut. She did trust him—he could see her open heart and innocence there in her sparkling gaze. He did not deserve her trust, for he had not been truthful with her about his need for her dowry. It nettled him now, with a fierce persistence, but the damage had already been done. He would tell her, he promised himself, as soon as he could. Nothing could induce him to ruin this night, this chance to make her his.
He kissed her again, and thrust his hips, sheathing just the tip of himself within her tight, wet channel. She gasped against his lips, and though it nearly killed him, he remained still, allowing her to adjust before he proceeded.
“All right, love?” he asked.
She kissed him lingeringly. “All right.”
Their mouths clung. He slipped a hand between their bodies where they were joined, delving into her slick folds to tease her where he knew she liked. Another slow roll of his hips, and the last barrier between them was broken. She stiffened beneath him, fingernails biting into his shoulders, but never ended the kiss, her tongue sliding into his mouth in a mimicry of the way he thrust inside her. And then she moved beneath him, bringing him deeper.
He kissed the corner of her mouth.
“Alistair,” she murmured, clenching around his cock. “I will not break.”
No, she would not. His wife was strong and capable, and at her urging, he canted his hips, fully seating himself. She released a seductive sigh, beginning to move with him. As one, they went together, over the edge of passion, reaching heights he hadn’t even known existed. She was perfection. He thrust. Everything he had imagined and more. Another pump. Fingers worked over her flesh, bringing her to a frenzy until she tightened and shuddered on him, spending again. Another thrust. He was keenly aware of every sensation: the sounds of their bodies meeting, the scent of violet and arousal perfuming the air, the sweet taste of her on his tongue, her breasts crushed against his chest, nails raking skin, her long legs around his waist, her mouth urging him on.
One more swivel of his hips and he buried himself inside her to the hilt, losing himself, filling her with his seed. He rocked into her again and again as the waves crashed over him, and he found himself in her.
“Lydia,” he whispered against her lips. He had not told her the full truth, but on this night, he would tell her the only truth that mattered. “I love you.”
