“Too good.” He breathed the words so softly she could barely make them out. “Too good.”
His mouth tasted sweet from the port, but his skin was salty and spicy—smoky and woodsy. And there was the scent of the grass.
She would never, ever think of grass again without thinking of him.
He was on top of her again. The sensation of his member between them, almost painfully hard, made her gasp, but in the best way. Not thinking, only feeling, frantically and desperately, her hands left his hair to work at the falls of his trousers.
She was clumsy but determined.
His fingers joined hers, and together, they fumbled until the fabric was loose. He removed his weight for just a second, and she helped. Together, they pushed the wool out of the way.
She caught sight of it in the moonlight. It was larger than she’d imagined, almost menacing.
She touched him… silky and warm. Her fingers curled around it. It felt smooth, polished, and hard.
After a strangled sound, Harry hissed between his teeth, lowering himself, oh, so slowly.
And then he was there—it was right there—and Harry had one hand reaching between them, sliding it around, and then re-positioning himself.
For a flash of an instant, Melanie prepared herself for what she’d always heard would be inevitable pain, but that thought was banished the instant he nudged inside.
Pain, yes, but so much promise.
Still, she couldn’t stop the raspy sound that bubbled out of her throat. He pushed in farther, and she exhaled a trembly breath, feeling herself stretching.
Filled.
And then filled even more.
Harry’s face was buried in her throat, and as he began moving deeper, a pressure was growing inside. And even thoughthe joining had all her focus, her skin tingled everywhere. She closed her eyes, imagining, envisioning his most intimate part of him in her most intimate place, stroking her.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Malum.
Harry.
He was a mystery. But he was also a man.
Inside. Claiming her in unimaginable ways.
And as those tantalizing strokes turned more meaningful, more powerful, Melanie frantically grasped at the feelings that were just out of reach. Please….
Please…
“Please….”
“Trust me, Sweet. I’ll get you there…” His mouth was on her breast over her clothing, and his hand between them again. And then… “Let go,” he said. “You know the way…”
And just like that, she was there, tumbling into a place she hadn’t known existed. She was falling, dizzily, finding herself while losing herself, into the unknown that was her own person.
Harry was touching her, encouraging the waves of pleasure as though he felt them too. Ebbing and flowing until she was trembling.
“Sweet. My Melanie.” He murmured rusty endearments, and she felt… cherished. Worshiped. Precious.
She felt tears leaking out of her eyes, but she wasn’t crying. No, she was simply… feeling.
Harry’s arms grew rigid. His entire body grew rigid, he was deeper, so deep. Melanie thrust her hips up, grinding against his.
