He closed the gap between them, his finger lifting her chin. “Look at me.”
She did.
“You will get more pleasure than pain. And after tonight, there will never be pain again. I promise.”
He kissed her then, and it was an entirely different kiss from their frantic reunion earlier in the day. His lips covered hers, slowly, as if they had the entire evening to explore. Which of course, they did.
She opened for him, Ian’s tongue gliding into her mouth, tasting her as she did him. When his hands ran from her hips up toward her breasts, she placed her hands on his shoulders.
Cupping her, Ian rubbed her nipples through her shift, eliciting a moan from her. He continued to kiss her, so slowly that Màiri found she wanted just the opposite. A fire burned within her, and this languorous pace would not do.
Màiri thought of being bold, but it was difficult to cast aside a lifetime of sermons about the proper place of a woman.
And yet . . . Ian had insisted there should be no shame between a husband and wife. So, pretending they were, indeed, in the future, Màiri reached her hand between them.
It was hard, just as it had been that day.
Ian’s groan was her first hint that she had done something right. Her second? Just as she’d intended, his slow kiss deepened and became more insistent. When she felt his hands on her thighs, Màiri knew what he intended before her shift was lifted over her head.
“You as well,” she said, breaking away.
Ian complied, lifting his shirt and tossing it aside. When he reached for her, their bodies pressed together, Màiri’s sigh of pleasure was swallowed by a very different kind of kiss. So engulfed by sensation, she didn’t even realize he’d moved them toward the bed until she felt it behind her legs. Lifting her, Ian placed her on the very edge. She attempted to move back, toward the pillow, but his hands on her thighs stayed her.
Then, opening her legs, he squatted below her on the ground. This time, more prepared than the last, she did not attempt to close her legs. Giving her husband complete access, Màiri was rewarded as his tongue expertly licked, his lips revering her in a way she hadn’t thought possible. His hands gripped her thighs, and Màiri found herself grasping his hair with her hands, pulling him closer and closer yet.
She couldn’t help the moans that escaped, and Ian urged her not to try. And when she exploded, he moved quickly, lying her back onto the bed.
When had he undressed?
Making room for him, her core still pulsing, Màiri was too dazed to worry about how this might work. When Ian leaned down, his mouth covering her breast, she held on and attempted to catch her breath.
It was only when she felt his hand between them, opening her and . . .
“’Twill not fit,” she couldn’t help but explain, despite the deep sense of pleasure that coursed through every bit of her.
“It will.” Ian lifted his head. “Can you feel how easily we come together?”
He pressed into her, slowly. Gently.
“You’re wet, so ready for me. I’m almost there.”
“Almost where?”
And then, without warning, he thrust through the only barrier between them. Of course that’s what he had meant. And it did hurt. She squeezed his shoulders in pain, but with Ian’s lips on hers, she did forget it for a moment.
Màiri kissed him back with everything she had, and when Ian started to move again, she realized the pain was already gone. It had been replaced with a fullness like nothing she’d ever felt. Before long, she was actually encouraging him to thrust deeper.
Faster.
He broke away, and she was glad for it. Màiri wanted to see his face, wanted to know what he was thinking. And when she met his eyes, it was clearer than any words could be.
He loved her.
Desired her, aye. But loved her as well. Màiri felt it deep inside of her. As Ian moved quicker, his hand ventured between them, rubbing and circling.
“Ian.” She had nothing else to say but that.
“I know. God, Màiri, I know.”
