Ophelia knew how to kiss. That was clear. He was torn between greatly enjoying it and being a bit miffed that she knew. Sheknew! But it also occurred to him that the woman was, by her own admission, pregnant, and she didn’t get to that state by not knowing how to respond to a touch. He had to admit that he was feeling some disappointment again. Disappointment that he wouldn’t be the first to touch her, that he wouldn’t be the one to leave his mark on the woman he married. Someone had already marked her. But, then again, maybe it would make the duty today more pleasant, as he wasn’t dealing with a fearful virgin. He was dealing with someone who had experience in intimate matters.
In fact, that intrigued him a little.
So did she.
The truth was that she was feeding his senses. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman, and that inherent needfor contact, for mating, roared. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, and she surprised him by tightening her arms around his neck and nearly strangling him.
Clearly, something was roaring with her, too.
It didn’t make any sense. He’d only just met her. But nothing about this betrothal or relationship had made sense from the beginning, so he didn’t question his reaction to her. He simply accepted it, and as long as she was responding, he saw no reason to stop. They needed to consummate the marriage, anyway, so the fact that there seemed to be some kind of instant lust between them only made it easier.
And far more enjoyable.
At some point, he moved to pick her up and carry her up the stairs, his lips still fused to hers, but in his haste, he ended up tripping, falling forward with his big arms around her, straight into the table. She ended up sitting on the table Astria had been so kind to give them and had her arms around his head, trapping him against her. When she opened her mouth to him, letting him slide his tongue into the honeyed orifice, Creston nearly went out of his mind.
He had to have more.
In fact, Ophelia took on the aggressor role. She had done it when she’d managed to seduce Cecil, a last attempt at trapping the man once and for all. There were four separate times when she had managed to get him into her bed, or she’d slid into his. He’d never resisted her, but he’d let her do all of the work, as if he didn’t know what to do. She’d kissed him, touched him, and when it came time to lose her innocence, that was the one move he’d made. He’d thrust into her body, which had been uncomfortable at first but not painful, and he’d moved a little before spilling himself. That was really as far as it had ever gotten. But she’d gone back three more times, and each timehe’d impaled himself on her body, moved a little, and spilled his seed.
It had been enough to plant a child in her womb.
Therefore, Ophelia knew enough to arouse Creston, but not much more than that because her encounters with Cecil had been so brief. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her robe and shift coming between them, holding him tightly as she furiously kissed him. But unlike Cecil, Creston was responding.
Now, he was taking control.
Creston’s hands were beginning to roam, and he went from holding her tightly to stroking her back and arms. When she didn’t stop him, he grew bolder and moved to her buttocks, squeezing them and pulling her body up against his. Her legs were parted and his body was wedged in between them even though they were fully clothed. Creston fervently wished, at that moment, that they were not.
He’d never been more consumed by a woman in his life.
His mouth went to her shoulder, gently suckling her tender skin, and he began to gently pull back the neckline of her robe. It was loose, and he was able to pull it off her left shoulder, baring her skin, and he feasted on her delicious flesh. He could hear her sighing with pleasure, her hands on his head, her face in his hair. He continued to slowly and steadily pull her bodice off her shoulder, exposing the swell of her right breast.
She still didn’t stop him.
Creston grew bolder.
Creston’s mouth was on her cleavage now, delightful cleavage that he’d never noticed because of the loose dresses she wore. She was thin, that was true, but she was full where it mattered. Her soft, silky body was in his hands and he couldn’t get enough. He pulled the robe and shift all the way down, exposing her from the waist up.
Ophelia cried out softly as his mouth clamped over a tender nipple. Because of the pregnancy, her breasts were full, but they were also very sensitive. She began to pull at his tunic, trying to undress him, and Creston went right along with her. He wanted her as badly as she wanted him, not stopping to think that he should probably move her to the bed upstairs. If she didn’t care, he didn’t care.
He’d have her right here, on this table.
His clothing was coming off in pieces until he was nude from the waist up. Mouth on her succulent breasts, he pulled the edges of her robe apart and pushed her shift up. Then, in a flash, he pulled loose the ties on his breeches and everything fell to his ankles. Carefully, so he didn’t drive splinters into her buttocks, he slid her forward, toward his waiting erection.
Creston positioned himself between her legs, his arousal at her threshold. He was a big man and his male organ was proportionate, and Ophelia’s eager hands moved to his enormous erection as she guided him into her. This wasn’t anything like Cecil, with his average-sized member and apathetic reaction toward coupling. Creston was big, hot, and powerful, and she wanted to feel that power inside her. Once his body touched hers, feeling that wet heat beckoning, he coiled his buttocks and thrust firmly into her.
Ophelia bit off her cries of pleasure, muffling the noise on his arm. He could feel her teeth against his flesh and it only served to inflame him. She was exquisitely tight and hot, and he thrust again, feeling her legs wrap around him and draw him in deeper. His arms went around her, holding her tightly as he thrust into her again and again, harder each time.
He no longer had a mind of his own.
He was a slave to his body.
And hers.
Ophelia was nearly incoherent in her passion, feeling every move with the greatest of pleasure. He was so big, and thrusting himself so deeply, that the pleasure-pain of it was quickly driving her toward release. Nothing Cecil had done to her had even been close to this, and with every successive thrust, Creston was succeeding in driving Cecil further and further from her mind. He was erasing any touch the man had ever given her, any pleasure she might have felt. Now there was only Creston, and Crestonwaspleasure. He was a spectacular figure of a man and he belonged to her.
Allof him.
She never wanted it to end.
