She took her time, examining him with frank appreciation. Or so he hoped. Her gaze moved across him like a touch, warming him despite the chill of the night air. He was erect already, but when her wide gray-green eyes studied him so thoughtfully, he couldn’t help but say, “Everything as it should be?”
She blinked, then blushed. “Sorry, was I staring? It is just that you are the first naked man I have ever seen.” And it was in the nature of a gift, he decided, that he was first in something.
“You approve?”Vanity, thy name is man. It shouldn’t matter whether she approved or not; they were married.
“Oh, very much so.” Her voice was soft, a little husky. He felt himself harden further.
“Would you care to return the favor?”
It took her a moment to understand his meaning. Her blush deepened and she nodded but made no move. He reached beneath the bedclothes and found the hem of her modest cream flannel nightgown. He glanced at her again, a query in his eyes, and she nodded.
Slowly he drew it up, over the long, lovely legs, past the dark thatch of curls at their junction, easing it under her bottom, and up to reveal the smooth curve of her belly. Her breasts emerged briefly, small and exquisite, the nipples high and pink, and he hesitated. She pulled the nightgown over her head and held it clutched against her chest, hiding behind it.
He drew the garment gently from her tight grip. “Not quite the confection of silk and nonsense you wore last night.” He tossed it aside and turned back to find her swathed to the chin in bedclothes. Modesty or shyness?
“I did not think you would come to me tonight,” she said in a low voice.
Not come to her? The truth was, he couldn’t stay away. He looked at the way she was huddled in the bedclothes. “You sure you don’t mind?”
She shook her head. It was the light making her shy, he decided. She’d probably never shown herself to anyone. They’d been naked together last night, but it had been dark and shadowy.
He drew the covers back, exposing her nakedness. She made a move, as if to cover herself with her hands, then with a sigh, dropped them.
He looked his fill in the soft candlelight. Her cheeks, chest and breasts turned rosy under his heated gaze. She swallowed and did not meet his eyes. Her nipples lifted.
Cold, or aroused? She wasn’t comfortable being looked at.
“You’re beautiful.” She was too, so beautiful his mouth dried.
Her mouth made a small movement, a moue or a grimace, as if she didn’t believe him and was too polite to say so.
Or maybe she was just cold and getting fed up with being stared at. He slid into the bed beside her and drew her into his arms.
He’d planned to take her with no nonsense, hard and fast and immensely satisfying—for him—and show her who was master in this marriage. But she came to him with a sigh of acceptance, wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing her mouth so sweetly up to his, he found he couldn’t do it, couldn’t bring himself to take her hard and fast and have it over within minutes.
He took his time, lavishing her with tender care, nibbling gently, slipping his tongue between her soft cherry-dark lips, caressing lightly at first, but sweeping deeper, tasting tea and tooth powder and musky dark honey. And woman. This woman.
His wife.
Her taste heated his blood like the finest brandy.
He kissed her, deeply, passionately, his tongue echoing the rhythm his body already rocked with. A low hum deep within her throat was his reward.
He caressed her with hands and mouth, caressing the warm soft skin, the smooth, firm female flesh. He cupped the slight, silky breasts, his thumbs caressing the hard little pink nubbins, up-thrust and aching for his attention.
She trembled beneath his touch, caressing him in return, blindly, frenziedly, as if she did not quite know what she wanted. Or could not think.
He covered first one breast, then the other with his mouth, teasing, nibbling and sucking. She arched beneath him, making soft little noises that might have been protest, except that her fingers were tangled in his hair, holding him fast.
He stroked the smooth shallow curve of her stomach, feeling the quivers starting deep within her. His fingers slid into the thatch of dark curls at the base of her stomach and parted her. She was hot and slick and slippery, more than ready forhim, but he wanted more. He sought and found the small sensitive pearl between the hot sleek folds, stroking it until she was writhing and trembling helplessly beneath him.
And then he slid down her body and put his mouth there, where his fingers had been, tasting heat and honey and salt-dark woman. His woman. She stiffened, uttering a small exclamation, but before she could make any objection, he sucked deeply and she arched beneath him on a high quivering moan.
His pulse thundered; his body, craving release, vibrated with the effort of control. Deep spasms rocked her: blind, oblivious, out of control.
He lifted himself and entered her in one long smooth thrust. The ancient, animal rhythm possessed him and he moved deep within her, thrusting fast and hard in glorious abandon until his climax took him, and he lay gasping and spent.
She came back to herself slowly and turned her face toward him. He lay on his side, watching her.
