Page 8 of The Beast’s Captive Bride (Obsessed #10)

I settle between her thighs, the head of my cock nudging at her entrance. She's wet from her orgasm, but still so small. I reach between us, using my fingers to spread her arousal, to make sure she's ready.

"This might hurt," I warn her, hating the necessity of it. "I'll go slow, but?—"

"I know." She cups my face in her hands, her expression solemn yet eager. "I want this. I want you."

I kiss her as I begin to push inside, swallowing her gasp as her body stretches to accommodate me. She's impossibly tight, impossibly hot, and it takes every ounce of my control not to thrust home in one stroke.

"Breathe," I instruct her, feeling her tense beneath me. "Relax for me, sweetheart."

She nods, taking a deep breath, and I feel her body yield slightly. I press forward again, gaining another inch, watching her face for any sign of true pain.

"More," she urges, her nails digging into my shoulders. "Please, Cullen."

I give her what she asks for, pushing deeper, feeling the moment I reach her barrier. Her eyes widen, a small sound of discomfort escaping her.

"I've got you," I promise, kissing her deeply. "Trust me."

"I do," she whispers against my mouth.

With one smooth thrust, I break through, seating myself fully inside her. She cries out, her body rigid beneath mine, and I freeze, letting her adjust to the invasion, hating that I've caused her pain even if it was inevitable.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, pressing kisses to her eyelids, her cheeks, the corners of her mouth. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"Don't be." Her voice is strained, but her hands come up to thread through my hair, holding me close. "I'm yours now. Completely."

The words ignite something primal in me—mine, all mine—but I force myself to stillness, waiting for her body to relax around me. When she shifts her hips experimentally, I take it as permission to move.

I withdraw slightly, then push back in, setting a gentle rhythm that has her sighing against my throat. The discomfort fades from her expression, replaced by wonder, then pleasure as I angle my hips to hit the spot I know will make her see stars.

"Oh," she breathes, her legs coming up to wrap around my waist, changing the angle and taking me impossibly deeper. "Oh, Cullen."

My name in that breathy voice nearly undoes me. I increase the pace slightly, still careful, still controlled, though what I want is to claim her roughly, to mark her as mine in the most primitive way.

"So good," I praise her, brushing sweat-dampened hair from her forehead. "So perfect around me. Made for me."

"Yes," she agrees, meeting my thrusts now, her body learning the ancient rhythm. "For you. Only you."

I slide a hand between us, finding where we're joined, circling the bundle of nerves that will send her over the edge again. Her eyes fly open, locking with mine as pleasure builds.

"That's it," I encourage, feeling her tighten around me. "Come again. Come around me, Amber."

"Cullen," she gasps, her body going taut beneath me. "Cullen, please?—"

"I've got you," I promise, increasing the pressure, the pace. "Let go for me."

With a cry that might be my name, she does, her inner muscles clamping around me in waves of pleasure.

The sight of her—flushed, eyes wild, completely abandoned to the pleasure I'm giving her—sends me over the edge.

I pull out at the last second, spilling across her stomach with a groan torn from deep in my chest.

For a moment, there's nothing but our ragged breathing, the sound of the fire crackling in the grate, the distant patter of rain against the windows. Then Amber stirs beneath me, her eyes blinking open, a small smile curving her lips.

"That was..." She trails off, seemingly unable to find words.

"I know." I press a kiss to her forehead, then carefully move off her, not wanting to crush her with my weight. I grab a cloth from the bedside table, gently cleaning her stomach, between her thighs where a smear of blood marks her innocence surrendered.

When I'm done, I pull her against me, tucking her small body into the curve of mine. She fits perfectly, as if made to be there.

"Are you okay?" I ask, suddenly unsure. "I didn't hurt you too much?"

She stretches languidly against me, catlike in her satisfaction. "It hurt a little, at first. But then..." She blushes, burying her face against my chest. "It was wonderful."

Relief floods me. "It will only get better," I promise, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"I hope so," she murmurs, already drowsy. "Because that was... mmm."

I chuckle, the sound strange in my throat. When was the last time I laughed? Before she came into my life, certainly.

As she drifts toward sleep in my arms, I study her face—the sweep of her lashes against her cheeks, the fullness of her lips, swollen from my kisses. My wife. Mine now in every way that matters.

The possessiveness I feel should frighten me. Instead, it settles something restless in my soul, something that's been pacing like a caged animal since the night Richard Lockhart left me for dead.

I press another kiss to her hair, inhaling the sweet scent of her. "I'll protect you," I whisper, not sure if she can hear me. "Even from myself. Always."

She snuggles closer in response, trusting and warm against me. And for the first time in fifteen years, I feel something like peace steal over me as I follow my wife into sleep.