“No!” she said crossly, pulling them up. “I know we made vows today, but if you remember I didn’t promise to obey you, and this is why.”
There was a short silence, then he said, “But I still need to fulfill my vows to you.”
“We’ve consumm—”
“Not that. I vowed to cherish you. And now Ineedto cherish you.” His voice was deep and sincere and his eyes compelled her to believe him.
She eyed him mistrustfully. “You ask a great deal.”
“I know,” he said softly.
Right now, she could walk away from this business, heart intact—almost intact, she amended. But she hadn’t expected this, his willingness to stay, to make it good for her—even after he’d fulfilled his own needs—as if her feelings were as important as his.
He claimed he wanted tocherishher. If he truly did…how could she resist?
She said weakly, “It’s just a paper marriage, a—a chess maneuver.”
“Then let us play chess,” he said instantly, sensing her imminent capitulation. “Black knight to white queen.” And he kissed her.
He captured her mouth with his, molding it and pushing her lips apart to gain entry. His tongue moved in a slow rhythm that her whole body responded instinctively to. Hot shivers rippled through her, pooling in the aching inner core of her.
She ran her hands over him. His body was hard and hot and she loved the feel of it, the feel of him. She tasted his skin, salty and musky, loving the male taste of him.
He caressed her breasts through the fabric of her nightgown, a delicious silken abrasion that made her arch and shudder with pleasure. Her skin felt tight and tender and amazingly sensitive. She shivered and pressed herself against him.
There was an intensity to the way he was caressing her, she dimly realized, as if he were learning her, discovering what pleased her.
Everything he did pleased her.
He kissed a line down from her jaw and she flexed like a cat under him, reveling in the sensations of his mouth on her skin. His mouth closed hotly over first one nipple, then the other, playing with it, sucking and biting her gently through the silk, and she moaned and writhed restlessly as exquisite sensation burned through her in waves of pleasure.
Her hands raked his body, kneading, testing, demanding more, exploring the small nubs of his flat male nipples, the smooth bands of hard muscle across his belly, and the line of dark hair arrowing from his belly down to his groin. Last time she had touched him there he’d nearly exploded. She wondered if she could do it to him again.
He reached down and caressed the smooth skin of her thighs, and she forgot her intended destination as they fell apart, tautening and trembling with expectation and need. He drew the nightgown up and up, the fabric dragging against the rawness of her hot, fevered skin.
And then it was off and his hand was between her legs, stroking, circling, teasing, squeezing. She arched and shuddered and her legs splayed and jerked, out of her control, and she clawed at him, wanting something, anything, but not knowing what. His mouth closed over hers and his eyes locked with hers as his fingers stroked and stroked and stroked, and sent her spiraling over the edge.
She lay gasping, half on top of him, still feeling the small aftershocks of sensation deep within her. She looked down at him. He was still hard and wanting and unsatisfied.
She reached down and took him in her hand, stroking and exploring him the way he had explored her. He shuddered and stiffened, gritting his teeth and bracing his legs, as if resisting.
With an instinct as old as Eve, she ran her hand up and down the length of him, caressing the sensitive tip, running her fingers over the tiny bead of liquid, smoothing it over him. She marveled at the hot, satiny feel of him and her palm tightened around him. He groaned.
She paused, not sure what to do. She wanted him inside her now, she was hot and achy again but he wasn’t moving, just watching her, letting her play with him, even though his body was racked and trembling with barely controlled need. For a moment she didn’t understand why. He wanted her and she wanted him, so why didn’t he…?
And then she knew. He was making up for last time.
“You could ride me,” he told her, his voice harsh with need. “It gives you the control.”
“Ride you?” She was intrigued. She straddled his body and then, a little awkwardly, positioned herself over him and guided him into her. She felt the smooth, hot length of him pushing into her and stopped. He groaned and gritted his teeth, but didn’t move. She moved again, lowering herself until he was fully within her. It felt amazing. She leaned forward with her hands on the bed on either side of him, and moved experimentally. He moaned and thrust upward and sensation spiraled though her. She moved with him, flexing her inner muscles, feeling the whole length of him.
She moved again and he thrust and then, suddenly—there was no other word for it, she started to ride him—she, who’d never ridden any animal in her life—rode her husband, rode him as he thrust and bucked beneath her, moving within her. His palms caressed her breasts as she moved, faster and faster, with small, high cries of exhilaration.
And at the last minute he slipped his hand to where they were joined and caressed her and suddenly she was flying, flying and shattering into a thousand pieces around him. With a thin, high cry she collapsed onto his heaving chest, oblivious of anything.
Gabe held her against him, gasping for breath, unwilling to let her go, barely able to think past the thought that he’d just made her his wife in fact as well as in law. His arms tightened around her and he kissed the top of her head where she lay sprawled and sated on top of him. He pulled the covers over them so she wouldn’t get cold.
He’d claimed her: now all he had to do was keep her.
