A man’s never seen me naked.
My mother and her friends spoke of sex as something to be endured. But I’ve seen the distant ways they kiss their husbands. More air than cheek. Eyes darting away as if in disgust.
Nothing about Grady disgusts me.
We married over an hour ago and my body still hums with the warmth of his kiss.
Now, alone in our home, there’s no audience to interrupt us. His hands reach for my hips. No dress, corset, or even chemise to hinder his touch. With a gentle tug, he pulls me into his embrace. The course fabric of his shirt brushes abrasively against the stiff points of my nipples.
I nearly kneel over at the wave of warmth that pools between my thighs.
“Whenever you need me, I want you to come to me just like this,” he whispers against my lips.
“Bold of you to assume, I will ever need you.”
“Oh, my darling Rose,” he laughs. “You will. Mark my words. Once I’m done with you, you’ll never mention separate bedrooms again.”
He kisses me then, smooth lips brushing mine, as heat curls low in my belly. He doesn’t stop until I’m dizzy with the need to breathe.
“Come here,” he growls.
Pressed against his front like a wanton harlot, I don’t immediately catch his meaning. Then his hands abandon my waist and slide underneath my bottom. Cheeks burning I sling my arms around his neck and give a little hop. He catches my weight swiftly and effortlessly lifting me up until my legs can wrap around his waist.
With my thighs squeezing his hips, my core presses against the fly of his trousers. Hot with need, I roll my hips seeking friction.
“Answer me honestly,” he says as he begins walking back towards the bedroom. “Do you want me to fuck you, Rose?”
My breath catches, pulse hammering in my throat.
“I do.” The words mirror our vows. I promised myself to this man then and I’m promising myself to him now.
“Tell me you want me.”
He leans over the bed, depositing me gently onto cotton sheets that smell like soap.
“I want you,” I whisper back.
He stands up straight, dark eyes gleaming in low light. The buttons of his shirt slip out one by one as his nimble fingers pluck at them. I get my first look at my husband’s chest. The muscles his shirt failed to hide, ripple as his hands drop to the button of his trousers.
Noticing the prevalent wet spot from where I rubbed myself on him, I scarcely have time to blush before his trousers drop.
I’ve seen illustrations. I’ve heard married women whisper behind white gloved hands. Neither prepared me for the hard length of him.
Thick from base to tip in a shade lighter than the thick muscular thighs it hangs heavily between, it draws my curiosity. I reach out, gripping it softly and running my hand down its length.
Grady shudders above me, a low painful moan pouring from his lips.
“Did I hurt you?” I ask as my hand freezes midway through another pass.
“Fucking hell Rose,” he says through gritted teeth. “If you touch me like that I won’t last long.”
Squeezing him gently I stroke his length again. He’s so responsive to such a simple touch. His muscles tense, arms flexing as he locks his fingers behind his head.
I only have a minute to marvel at the warm weight of him in my hand before it jerks slightly and white pearly seed coats my hand and arm.
He groans loud and long above me as more liquid spurts out of the tip. His dark eyes meet mine as I dip a finger into my mouth. Salty musk bursts across my tongue as he leans forward to kiss me again.
“Lie back, wife.”
