Page 32

An anguished sob broke from me. “Don’t go... don’t stop—”

“Not if there was a sword to my throat,” he growled, and then those digging fingers were angling my hips, lifting me up and guiding my thighs to wrap around him, his hardness right there at my slick opening.

He pushed inside me, burying himself deep, and the pleasure-pain of it shattered me. Overtook me. The fullness. A stretching, tingling burn that begged for pause. For a moment.

“Oh!”

His eyes locked on my hidden face, glowing icy gray, wide with his own shock. “You’re tight,” he grunted.

I panted, hanging on desperately to him, the joints of my fingers aching.

“My apologies. It will ease,” he promised with a formality that felt absurd as he pushed into me again, lodging himself to the hilt with a moan. “Fuck, you feel good.”

He held himself still then. I was aware of the hard length of him, the throb and pulse of the cock inside me. He waited.

I flexed around him, working through the burning fullness, contracting and yielding to his shape until I was trembling, huffing, until I started to move and wriggle restlessly beneath him.

“Oh... oh,” I whimpered, my inner muscles experimentally squeezing. My desire for more intensified.

More movement. More friction. More of the Beast.

I couldn’t wait. I wasn’t able. I didn’t like this stillness, this paralysis. I was too overcome. My body clamored for action.

I reached down and bit him on the shoulder through the veil, tasting his salty-clean skin through the thin material, my teeth sinking into hot flesh. I didn’t know how I knew to do that, but it achieved the desired result.

He snarled and drove into me again, plunging hard. Again and again. One of his hands flew from my hip and seized the gaping bodice of my nightgown, tugging it down. There was a brief rip as my breasts spilled free. He cupped one, lifting it to his descending head. He didn’t break pace, thrusting inside my pulsing sex as the hot suction of his mouth closed around one nipple, drawing me in deep.

I cried out, despising the wild sound, knowing everyone could hear me outside our cocoon.

As though he could read my thoughts, his head came up and he covered my mouth through the veil, swallowing the sound.

“Forget about them,” he commanded against the fabric. Against my lips.

That mystifying fog was everywhere now. Flooding the chamber,creeping into our marriage bed to cover us, curling against our bodies like a lover, smothering my overheated skin with a cooling film.

I sobbed, feeling a great pressure rising up in me. Wild. Confusing. I didn’t know what to do with it. To fight the mounting swell or to dive into it? I moaned against his mouth, my veil wet and clinging like a skin between us.

He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me up until we were sitting, facing each other, still joined, panting, chest to chest. I rocked against his rolling hips, riding him instinctively, desperate for the friction.

I clung wildly to his shoulders as the tension built and built, deliciously, excruciatingly good. Even as the cold mist shrouded us, the air between us crackled and sizzled like food on a spit.

His fingers dug like talons into my bottom, anchoring me for his pistoning hips. His cock pushed and pulled deep inside me, fast and wild and relentless.

We lost any kind of rhythm, our urgent actions frenzied and clumsy. My fingers curled over his nape, clinging to him as my sex tightened around him, squeezing, working hard toward some indefinable goal.

I found it then. That elusive rapture.

My body erupted into a violent bliss. Bright spots blinded my vision as I burst apart and then went pliant, sagging against him as tiny shudders of pleasure eddied through me long after I had stilled.

He pumped several more thrusts, seeking, claiming, grinding out his own satisfaction with a deep, purring groan until he jerked still inside me, flooding me with his seed.

I dropped my face into the crook of his neck, overcome with embarrassment now that it was over.

Now thatlaterwas here.

He twitched inside me. His hands left my bottom, roaming upward to rub my back. I tensed, unaccustomed to such tender ministrations on my back. My back was not a place for gentle hands.

I looked at him, and even through the fuzzy barrier I perceived his pleasure, his astonishment. In this. In me.His wife.