“I am going to take you now,” he warned against her mouth. “From what I understand, it may cause you pain at worst, discomfort at best… I shall try to be gentle.”
She could not fathom how he could ever hurt her. Not physically, anyway. Emotionally—she could not bear to contemplate the notion. Jo swallowed, trying to catch her breath, trying to ready herself. To compose herself.
“Take me,” she urged him, desperate for the preliminaries to be over. Desperate to feel him inside her. At last.
“Tell me if I should stop,” he ground out, sounding as if he were in pain.
His brow was furrowed, his entire countenance rigid. How still he held himself, all to protect her. A new rush of tenderness for him washed over her.
She slid her legs apart, hooking them instinctively around his hips, bringing them together. “Do not. Not now, not ever, I beg you.”
“Ah, God, Josie.” His forehead dipped to hers, their noses rubbing. His lips were firm, kissing her, his tongue bold as ever, sweeping into her mouth.
And then, in an instant, everything changed. He thrust his hips, and his manhood sank inside her. Lodged deep. One full buck of his hips was all it had taken, and he was there, throbbing and hot and intrusive and wonderful. Painful, but wonderful.
Her breath was gone. Her mind, obliterated.
Instead, she relied upon her body, upon instinct.
She clung to him, kissing him back with all the pent-up fury in her heart. With all the longing, the desire, the confusing, raging, effervescent lust. She moved, discovering he was not seated as fully as he could be. There was more.
He thrust again, a rumble reverberating from his chest, and she swallowed it in their kiss. Decker was all she could think, all she could feel. She wanted everything he would give her. All of him.
And he seemed to understand without her needing to give voice to the innate needs within her. She jerked her body against his, bowing from the bed, her legs wrapped around him. He planted a hand in her unbound hair, clutching a fistful, holding her tight to him as he kissed her.
One more pump of his hips, and he was all the way inside her. Deep. Nothing could have prepared Jo for this moment, this consummation of their relationship, this communion of souls and desires and frantic, all-consuming, pent-up desire. He severed the kiss, raising his head.
“How do you feel, darling?” he asked, holding himself still instead of continuing as her body wanted him to.
“Full,” she answered honestly. “And wonderful.”
He kissed her on a groan, and then he began moving again. Slowly at first, gliding in and out of her body with a steady pace that threatened to unravel her. She clutched him, instinctively following his motions, her hips undulating in time to his rhythm. As his tongue plundered her mouth, his fingers once more found that slick nub at her center. He played with her. The combination of his shaft inside her, his fingers flying over her flesh, the weight of his body atop hers, and his mouth owning her lips proved too much.
She clenched on him, convulsing as pleasure overwhelmed her. This was more potent than the euphoria which had come before. Different, better, because he was within her, thrusting faster now, less controlled. As the last ripples of desire lingered, his body stiffened. On a low groan, he withdrew from her. Grasping his rigid cock in his hand, he spent into the bedclothes before hurling himself to his back.
Jo lay there, heart thundering, body humming with the aftereffects of lovemaking.
“When do you want the cream ice?” he asked suddenly into the silence, sounding as winded as if he had just run the course of St. James’s Square.
“Mmm.” She turned to him, smiling shyly, feeling sated, blissful, and wholly unlike herself. “What is cream ice?”
Laughter tore from him. Bold, deep, dark.
Beautiful.
She did not think she had ever heard him laugh before. Or if she had, certainly not with such unrestrained delight. Jo found herself smiling back at him, knowing she was the source of his pleasure, his humor. How intoxicating it was to think that she, a mere wallflower, could so thoroughly please a man like Elijah Decker without trying.
“Vixen.” There was no heat in his voice as he made the charge. Indeed, if anything, his voice was laden with undeniable approval.
“You would not have me any other way,” she dared to say.
“Come here, minx,” he ordered her affectionately.
She scooted nearer, settling against his chest. His arms wrapped around her, mooring her to him. Gently, he brushed a hand over her hair. She inhaled deeply of his scent and returned his embrace.
And as she listened to the steady thump of his heart, that was when she knew for certain what she had been too hesitant to accept until this very moment.
Jo was in love.
