She made a noncommittal sound. She’d prefer some light. She wanted to see him. But that wasn’t very bridal, she supposed.
He snuffed the candle out. The room was dim, lit only by the light from the fire, dancing and ephemeral. Just enough for her to see him. She was glad of it. He was worth looking at.
He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over her, his arms braced on either side of her body. He smelled clean and warm and his cologne was light, bracing, enticingly masculine.
“It will be all right, you know.”
Emm hoped so. She was trembling a little. She shouldn’t be, but she couldn’t help it. She ran her tongue over her dry lips.
He made a low sound deep in his throat, bent and touched his mouth to hers. The lightest of caresses, a bare brush of skin against skin. Masculine aromas teased her senses. Heat, spice, a beguiling hint of tooth powder and brandy. He teased, tantalized, aroused. She wanted more, heard a soft murmur and realized it came from her.
His fingers were in her hair, cupping her head, angling her mouth to him as he eased her lips apart. The taste of him flowed into her, potent, dark heat of man. His mouth sought, demanded a response she hadn’t expected, hadn’t known was in her.
His mouth enslaved her. Ripples of sensation washed through her. She melted, mindless, clutching onto him as if she were falling, not pressed beneath his hard heated body.
He cupped her breast, brushed fingers across her nipple, and a jolt of pleasure-pain-heat speared through her. She arched herself against him, moving restlessly, not knowing what she craved, except more.
He sat back, a sudden withdrawal that abruptly chilled her. Her eyes flew open. He rose and pulled off his dressing gown. His eyes locked with hers, he stood naked before her, a Greek god sculpted in alabaster, his member proud, erect.
She’d never seen a man wholly naked. She devoured himwith her eyes, knowing she ought to be more modest, more bridal. More virginal. But she couldn’t help herself. He was magnificent.
He bent and flipped the sheets back, cooling her heated body. He stood looking down at her for a long moment. She couldn’t read his expression. His face was in shadow. “Pretty nightgown,” he murmured. “But we don’t need it tonight.”
He lifted her nightgown up, over her legs. “Lift your bottom.” She lifted. Then it was over her belly and breasts. “Raise your arms.”
She was naked before him. Exposed.
She wanted to hide, to cover herself, and not out of modesty. She was too tall, too thin, not endowed with the kind of curves that women should have. But she was what he’d married, for whatever reason, and she braced herself for his examination.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and lay down beside her, his body half covering her, skin to skin, from thigh to breast, all hard masculine heat.
She supposed all men said that to their brides on their wedding night. She appreciated his kindness. She slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her. She wanted more of his kisses. Heated, drugging, luscious kisses.
He explored her then, thoroughly, with hands and lips. He ravished her with his mouth, nibbling, licking, finding places on her body that she had no idea were so sensitive. Or arousing.
His hand slipped between her thighs, and he lavished attention on her breasts, while all the time his cunning fingers drove her mindless, teasing, soothing, drawing ripples, waves, shudders from her body.
Her body vibrated to his every touch. Absorbing him, enraptured by the relentless, seductive ravishment of his mouth and hands, she slowly lost all sense of herself. She was nothing, a being consisting of nothing but sensation. And aching, desperate need.
He moved over her, and without conscious volition her legs parted, trembling with anticipation.
She felt him, hot and heavy and blunt at her entrance,and her body clenched with longing. He hesitated, and without thought she pushed herself against him.
He entered her with a long, hard thrust and a loud moan. She took him with something between a whimper and a gasp. He paused, lodged deep within her, then began to pull back.
She locked her legs around him, hauling him closer, taking him deeper.
And then with a heavy, guttural sound he was moving inside her, plunging... thrusting... driving her... to frantic need. Desperation. And ecstasy.
Lost to everything, she shuddered and thrashed around him. A final, husky groan, a gush of warmth within her. She trembled on the pinnacle of... something... and then...
The room was dim when she finally opened her eyes. The candle in the dressing room had burned to a stub; the fire was down to coals.
She must have fainted. Or something. But only for a few minutes, she was sure. He lay beside her, breathing heavily, as if he’d just run a mile.
She was panting too, but she felt loose, floaty, totally relaxed. Euphoric.
Why had nobody ever told her that lying with a man could be like... likethat?
