“That’s not—” She paused, panting, hips working. “That’s not something a girl’s likely to forget.”
He laughed, a chortle that he quickly snuffed. She said the most unexpected things.
Clara heard his laugh, but as usual, she didn’t understand it, and right now, she was too overwhelmed to care about figuring it out. Each stroke of his finger was sending a throb of pleasure through her body, until she couldn’t bear it. She shattered apart, just like before, a sob of ecstasy tearing from her.
He caught the sound in his mouth, kissing her, his fingers continuing to pleasure her, even as she collapsed, panting, against the carpet.
“Clara, it’s time.” His voice was harsher than she’d ever heard it before, vibrating with need she instinctively understood. “I can’t wait any more.”
She nodded, letting him know she felt the same, that she was ready for what she only vaguely knew was about to happen, but then he withdrew his hand and rolled away from her. Surprised, she opened her eyes and turned her head, watching him as he unbuttoned his trousers, and pulled them off.
She slid her gaze down his body for her first glimpse of what she’d wanted to see earlier, but the sight was sufficiently shocking that she stared, aghast, sudden trepidation vanquishing any curiosity she might have felt.
“Rex?”
He came over her at once, and beneath him, she squeezed her eyes shut. With his body, solid and heavy on top of her, and the hard, swollen part of him pressed between her legs, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to continue.
He sensed what she felt. He must have, for he stilled, and she felt his hand cup her face. “Clara, look at me.”
She forced herself to open her eyes.
His seemed vividly blue even in the lamplight, and his voice when he spoke was strained with need. “This part is probably going to hurt you. There’s no way to avoid that, I’m sorry to say.” He paused and kissed her. “I’ll be as gentle as I can. All right?”
She nodded, and sucked in a breath. “Yes. All right.”
She felt his hand ease between their bodies, moving to push her thighs apart. “Open for me, sweetheart.”
She did, spreading her legs apart, and at once she felt him against her, hard and scorching hot. When he moved, the friction was luscious, and her earlier excitement came flooding back as the tip of his hardness pressed against her and into her.
“My God, my God,” he groaned against her neck. And then, his hips surged, and his hardness was fully within her.
The pain was even more acute than she’d expected, a deep, hard, bruising pinch that blotted out any pleasure she’d been feeling. She cried out, but he smothered it, kissing her as his body stilled on top of her.
He kissed her, a long, deep, tender kiss. Then he lifted his head. “Are you all right?”
His voice was so strangled, the words were barely understandable, telling her the strain he was under. She stirred, wriggling her hips, but the pain, thankfully, was easing. “Yes.” She nodded. “I think so, yes.”
He kissed her again, and then, he began to move within her. It hurt still, a little, but there was pleasure, too—pleasure in the hard, thick fullness of him inside her and the way he moved, and she tried to move with him.
Her efforts quickened his pace, and each time he thrust into her, it was a little harder, a little deeper, but that was all right, for her pleasure was deepening, too.
Then, without warning, the explosive sensation she’d only felt from his touch before roared up inside her, a violent, beautiful jolt that sent spasms of pleasure through her whole body. She wrapped her legs around him, her body clenching him tight.
He made a rough sound against her mouth. His arms slid beneath her back, as if he wanted to be even closer to her. Locked in this embrace, she relished it as he thrust into her again, then again, and yet again, and then, shudders rocked his body, and she knew he was feeling the same exquisite pleasure in this coupling that she’d just experienced. Three more times, he thrust into her, and then, at last, he stilled, the weight of his body settling over her. His arms still tight around her, his breathing hard and labored, he turned his head, burying his face against her neck.
Dazed, Clara stared up at the ceiling, her hands caressing the smooth, hard muscles of his back. The pain was gone now, and with his strong body heavy and solid on top of hers, part of him still joined with her, and his arms around her so strong and tight, all she felt was a sweet, singing joy and an overwhelming tenderness.
He stirred on top of her. “Does it still hurt?” he asked, pressing a kiss to her throat. “Tell me.”
She shook her head. “No. Oh, no.”
“Good.” He kissed her mouth, then he stirred again, as if to roll away, but she tightened her legs around him, reluctant to let him go.
Smiling, he lifted himself far enough to look into her face. “I’d love to stay,” he murmured, “but I can’t. I have to be back in my own room before the maids wake up.”
She nodded, knowing he was right. Her legs relaxed, opened, and he lifted his hips, slipping free of her. She grimaced, appreciating that she was still sore, more so than she’d realized. She was also sweaty and sticky, especially in her most intimate place. Lovemaking wasn’t quite as romantic afterward.
He stood up, and held out his hand to pull her to her feet as well, then he paused, smiling, his gaze drifting down over her naked body, a look that made her feel terribly shy and flustered, but pretty, too, and she revised her opinion. Even afterward, there was romance in the act of love.
