One of his hands was between them now, the other on her bodice, cupping her breast. She arched into that touch, her nipple hard and tight, the motion making her intimate flesh graze against his fingers. And then she felt the fall of his trousers giving way, his length springing forth against her.
This was what he had meant when he had said she could have him. He was giving her his body. And heaven help her, she wanted it. Wanted him. Wanted everything she should not want.
“Yes?” he repeated, his breath humid, making her shiver as his lips brushed over the shell of her ear.
There it was. The question. She could tell himno. She knew him well enough to understand that he would never force her, nor hurt her. He was an imposing man, a joyless one, perhaps even merciless too. But he was not the sort of man who took pleasure in another’s pain.
How could she deny him? How could she deny either of them? She had come to him tonight, and whilst this hadn’t been what she had been seeking, she was helpless to do anything but seize what she longed for. To answer her desire.
Just one time, she promised herself.
No one but the two of them would ever know, and it would never happen again. Here was her chance. Her lone chance.
“Yes,” she agreed on a sigh, her hips moving in an instinctive rhythm, seeking, searching.
The blunt head of him grazed her folds, then rubbed over her aching bud. He made a low sound, not a grunt, but a swift moan of appreciation and, still gripping himself between them, ran his length up and down her sex, tantalizing her with the promise of more.
Until, suddenly, there was more. Much more.
He brought his cock to her entrance. There was pressure, a great deal of it. He was a massive man. Too large. The pressure turned into a burning sting as he surged up, stretching her body in a way that was foreign and yet not entirely painful. Her breath caught.
She knew enough of the rudimentary aspects of congress between a man and woman to understand what was happening, to know whatwouldhappen. And yet, her mind had proven woefully inadequate. She hadn’t been prepared for the shocking intimacy of him entering her body, the hot sting of his length sliding deeper, claiming her thoroughly in a way she’d never been claimed before.
The hand that was on her waist urged her downward, and she wanted to follow his lead, but she was also afraid he might break her in two.
His head fell back against the chair, his dark gaze questioning as he stopped, his cock thick and stiff inside her. “You’re so tight. Relax and let me in.”
“I did,” she said, astounded that he could not feel himself inside her when he was all she felt.
The thickness of his length, impaling her. The heat of him. The strength. It was overwhelming. She felt as if she were full, so full, surrounded by him, invaded by him, possessed by him.
“I’m only partially there, sweet,” he said, further surprising her. “Lower yourself if you can and take me to the hilt. I want to be buried so deep inside your sweet cunny that it feels like I’ll never leave.”
His voice was low and pure, molten seduction. Velvet and sin and every wicked thought she’d ever had in the dark of night and the solace of her own private chamber. His words filled her with a flurry of mad wanting.
Deep inside me.Never leave.
“Yes,” she said, and then before she could further consider the ramifications of her actions this night, she did as he asked, lowering herself in one full motion. The pain that seized her was unexpected. It was sharp, splitting.
She gasped with shock, falling into his broad chest, tears pricking her eyes.
After so much pleasure, the full effect of him inside her was unexpectedly unpleasant. Was it his size? Had she been too rough? Had she done something wrong?
“Sweetheart.” His lips were at her temple, soothing, reassuring, one of his hands sweeping comfortingly up and down her spine in rhythmic motions. “Talk to me.”
She swallowed hard, burying her face deeper into his throat, his cravat tickling her nose and distracting her from the twinge of pain throbbing between her thighs. “I’m… I’ve not…”
“Hush,” he murmured consolingly, apparently taking pity on her stammered attempts at explanation. “I know, my beautiful spitfire. You should have told me the truth. I would have been more careful when I took your maidenhead.”
He knew.
She hadn’t fooled him, then. But of course she hadn’t. Why would she have imagined for an instant that this magnetic, enigmatic, intelligent ruler would have believed her when she had just given him ample evidence of her lack of experience?
But then the rest of what he’d said occurred to her.
I would have been more careful when I took your maidenhead.
Those words meant that it wouldn’t have mattered if she had been a virgin or not; the king wanted her, and the king would have taken her. He would have made her his, regardless.
