“Look at me.” A supplication, not a demand. “Describe your sensations.”
“I’m lightheaded.” Her brown eyes lifted, bold and sure. “And full of want.” She traced his ear as if she were molding. “But on edge—as if something were about to make me fall.”
He wanted her on edge—teetering so perilously she’d fail to notice the pain.
He stroked within her curls. Heat. Such heat. She burned, too…for him.
“Julia.” He looked deep into her gaze. “This will hurt, but only at first.”He thought.
“Tell me what to do.”
“For this time”—good God, her first time—“don’t worry about doing anything at all.”
“Just lie here?”
He nodded, widening her legs with his knee. Every depraved thing he’d ever whispered hadn’t been as hard as a simple, technical description. He hardly deserved to be her guide.
“Let me put my cock…” He moved his finger. “Here.”
She moaned something that sounded like ayes.
Her soft inner thighs pillowed his sides. He braced, positioned, closed his eyes, and he pressed his cheek against hers. He filled with her heady scent, promised himself he’d never take her for granted, and then, swiftly, he thrust into a heat so tight and wet he smoldered.
And while he smoldered, she screamed.
“Shh.” He winced, throat closing. Her pain ached in his limbs. “Shh. Loosen your grip.”
“I can’t,” she gasped.
His chest heaved with the strain of holding his hips perfectly still, his mind grasping for something that would bring her back to him, unbind her fear.
“Kitten,” he said against her ear.
She whimpered and gripped his shoulders.
“Hold as tight as you wish, just let go…inside.”
“I don’t understand.” Her nails bit into his back. “It hurts! Everywhere! How can I hurt in my heart?”
“It’s all right.” Barbarian to continue when he knew her intricate perfection might fail to fully adjust. “We’ll stop.”
Her nails dug deeper. “No.”
Tangled together. Suspended between pleasure and pain. He stilled the primal urge to move. Too much. He could feel every muscle, wrecked and desperate. He closed his eyes, but he was too late. The wet seeped through his lids.
They were frozen, panting. Then, miraculously, by the smallest of measures, her body slowly molded to him…a sensation so indescribable he bit back a sob.
“Better,” she sighed.
Her breath evened; she arched her hips. He responded with an instinctive thrust, excruciatingly slow. She bent her knees and pressed her legs into his sides as her death grip melded into a caress.
Heaven.
“Husband,” she sniffled. “My husband.”
He was too large, too lumbering, and yet her body accepted him in. She was warmth and love and padded softness.
She was his. Truly his.
