Page 23

Wedding Night

A fire crackled in the fireplace in the centre of the Litvin family room. Damir’s parents had retired to Adelina’s house, giving them space and privacy for the night. Stood beside the fire, Damir prodded the logs before setting the poker aside.

With a shy smile, he collected the blankets from the three-seater sofa, then draped them across the wooden floors. To hide her shaking fingers, Adelina grabbed the cushions and propped them on top of the sprawled blankets. Unpinning the veil from her hair, she set it on a bookcase.

“Will you take a seat?” He gestured to the cushioned chairs positioned around a small, round table. Removing his jacket, he rolled his white sleeves to his elbows .

She nodded, sliding into the seat—the flames beside her warmed her arms. “We had a beautiful ceremony.”

Leaning across the table, he took her hand in his and kissed it. “Indeed, it was. It would’ve been lovely to see more of the spring equinox festivities, but we have many more years ahead of us for that.”

Cheeks burning, she lowered her gaze and clasped the decanter of wine, pouring a glass for them both.

“Shall we make a toast?” Her voice was thin, almost inaudible. Her chest tightened—a combination of her tightly drawn corset and her nauseating nerves.

Flattening his shirt with his hands, Damir joined her at the table, then grasped his own glass. “To my beautiful wife.”

She smiled as they clinked their glasses.

She gulped her wine in an attempt to rid the dryness from her mouth, but the alcohol provided no such relief. Yet it did numb the sickness in the pit of her stomach and her overwhelming desire to flee.

Her gaze caught her new husband, whose foot tapped the floor in a fast rhythm. He pressed his lips together, swallowing a mouthful of wine.

A loud crack and pop from the hearth made her jolt in her chair, sloshing the remaining wine in her glass onto the table.

Simultaneously, they both shot out of their chairs, heading in the direction of the kitchen branching off the main sitting room.

“It’s all right, I’ll get a towel.” His eyes shone in the warm glow, and a calmness spread through her.

As he disappeared into the kitchen, she slipped back into her seat to hide the trembling in her legs.

Leaning forward, she propped her arms on the table and scanned the row of portraits positioned on a wooden shelf opposite her.

Small paintings, and while their brushstrokes weren’t wholly perfect, it was clear who they depicted—Damir and his parents through the years.

When Damir returned, he mopped up the spilled wine. He tucked a curl behind her ear and a tingling sensation shot up her arm. Her fine hairs stood on end, and her cheeks warmed.

While he took the towel back to the kitchen, her gaze flicked to the array of plump cushions and thick cosy blankets in front of the fire. She swallowed.

Readjusting her position on the chair, she shifted her attention to him as he strolled over and relaxed into the opposite chair. She desperately desired a distraction, anything at all to help the time pass before they inevitably ended up naked in each other’s arms.

Despite her nerves, she longed to touch him, to explore him as his wife. More so, she wanted to understand him, and what it meant to be joined as one.

Leaning towards her, he stroked the triple stacked wedding ring on her left fourth finger. His touched lingered, tracing a light line on her wrist. Her breath briefly stopped, and any words she’d planned on uttering escaped her.

He cleared his throat, eyeing the almost empty wine decanter.

“Shall I get us more?” His voice was husky.

Unable to speak, she nodded .

In several strides, he was beside a wooden cabinet. Opening it, he revealed two bottles of vodka and three bottles of wine.

With his back to her, she puffed out the large gulp of air she’d held in for too long and collapsed against the back rest. She ran her hand over the top of her hair.

Pull yourself together. Don’t be a coward.

Tracing her finger along her collarbone, a warmth bolted through her core. Her desire for his hands gave her the courage she needed.

She lowered her hand when he faced her and closed the space between them, bottle of wine in hand. Giving her a coy smile, he topped up her glass. Setting the decanter aside, he walked behind her. His fingers rested on her neck, then moved upwards into her hair.

She leaned into his touch—every nerve in its vicinity alight with fire.

He bent, pressing his lips to her head.

Fuelled by a need to be connected, she placed her hand on his arm below his rolled sleeve. As if the chair might disappear beneath her, she clung to him, the knot of nerves inside her tightening.

“We don’t have to rush this.” He swept her curls over her shoulder.

“No.” She rose. “I want to do this.”

Stroking her cheek, he explored her skin.

“Kiss me.” Her words were light on her inhale.

Snaking his hand to the back of her neck, he bent and pressed his lips to hers. Tentative at first, with the soft tickle of his breath on her skin. Then his arms wrapped around her, pressing her against his chest, nothing between them except clothes and the glow of firelight.

She tasted the rich berry wine on his tongue, and the painful knots in her stomach unwound with each of his touches. His fingers against her arms. An eager kiss on her collarbone. A grasp of her hair.

Together, they lowered onto the strewn blankets, still clothed, their mouths exploring each other.

He drew back from the kiss, his lips barely touching hers. “I want more of you.” He tugged at her dress and moaned. “More,” he murmured again.

She pulled away and smiled, charmed by his words. “Perhaps we should undress first.”

When he was on his feet, he offered his hand to her. She clasped it and allowed him to ease her up.

Trailing his fingers from her shoulders to her wrists, he kept his gaze locked on hers, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

The golden hue of the hearth fire cast shadows across the plains of his face and highlighted the bridge of his nose.

His dark eyes appeared bottomless in the dim light.

“Laces,” she whispered, turning to face the closed curtains.

He fumbled for the drawn laces of her corseted dress.

As he loosened the fitted garment, she remained still as stone, aside from the slight rising and lowering of her chest with each breath.

Lifting his fingers, he traced soft lines across her exposed shoulders, behind her curls, and to the back of her neck. She leaned into him.

Within minutes, he’d removed her corset, tossed it onto the floor, and began his work on removing her skirts .

Stood in her undergarments, she dropped her gaze—he was fully clothed.

Closing the inches between them, she pressed her body against him, and draped her arms over his shoulders, clasping her fingers at the back of his neck.

Stepping on to her tiptoes, she met his lips with her own, tasting the sweet berries once again. His tongue brushed hers, and the fibres of her being burst ablaze. An overwhelming combination of heat and chill spread across her skin.

He grunted as he broke the kiss, then drew his shirt over his head in one fell swoop, tossing it onto the floorboards. Undoing his breeches, he kicked them aside.

His hands traced the collar of her undergarment, guiding it towards the edges of her shoulders. It slid down the length of her body, exposing her pale skin.

Aware of her nakedness, she fought the urge to wrap her arms around her bare breasts, or dive under the blankets. Instead, she held her chin high, kept her hands rigid by her sides to mask their shaking, and fixed her unwavering gaze on his.

Chest raising and falling with sharp breaths, his lips parted as he absorbed the sight of the outline of her collarbones, her breasts, and her beaded nipples. Reaching out, he touched her, and as he kneeled upon the blankets, she lowered with him.

With one hand cupping her cheek, he leaned into her and whispered into her ear. “You are beautiful. And I am one lucky man.”

He grabbed her by the waist, crushing his lips against hers.

“Your body…” he said, voice raspy, as his hands roamed the planes of her back, her buttocks, and her th ighs. She weaved her fingers through his hair, unwilling to let go of him.

Slowly, he lowered her against the soft fabric beneath them. He propped himself on to his elbows, then planted light kisses along her collarbones, her sternum, each breast, down to her stomach.

Arching her back, she shivered from the pleasure of his touch. Any nerves she’d felt a moment ago were squashed with each move he made—together, they stumbled through this unknown experience, safe in each other’s arms.

Her knees raised on either side of him as he edged into her. She gripped his lower arms, bracing for the sharp pain. Their mouths collided, and she inhaled the lingering scent of sawed wood and vodka clinging to him. He thrust into her, and she pressed her nails into his flesh.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“No.” She wrapped her arms around his back, drawing him close. She needed more of him, everything he could give her.

With each stroke, her pain subsided, and her body hummed with desire. A moan escaped her lips as his movements grew swifter.

He wound her hair in his hand, his lips parted, and he groaned deep and gravelly as she met him thrust for thrust. Raking her nails over his shoulders, she arched her back, wanting to rid them of any space lingering between them.

As her core tightened, spurring her on to the edge of her pleasure, she pressed an urgent kiss to his collarbone.

She guided his mouth to hers and his body spasmed with release .

Dropping onto the floor beside her, beads of sweat slid down his temples. He swatted them away, keeping his gaze locked on hers.

Turning on to her side, she stroked his jaw.

He kissed her on the nose, then fixed a serious look upon her. “Did you like it?”