Eager to see her, to bare her delicious curves to his gaze, he gave the chemise one final tug that sent it pooling to the floor. She wore only her stockings and garters, and the vision was so decadent, so wanton that it was all he could do not to thrust himself into her there and then. He struggled for control. He wanted to prolong the pleasure for them both.
Tamping down his lust, he lifted her in his arms and placed her on the bed. Coming down on top of her, he worshipped her body with his mouth; her neck and shoulders, her breasts. He followed his questing mouth with his hands, kneading and shaping the flesh, committing each curve to memory. His hands followed the curve of her hips and traced the line of her thighs. He gloried in her honest response. Every moan, every sigh, the arch of her back—they fanned the flames of his own desire.
Liquid heat consumed her, and her flesh burned with need. Everywhere he touched her, she felt heat. It pooled under her skin, making her writhe beneath him and arch into his touch. When his hand slid between her thighs, pressing against her, while his lips played over hers, she couldn't contain her cries. That sound spurred him on and he parted her legs more fully, opening her to his questing hands.
She felt the callused pad of his finger sliding inside her, parting the slick folds of her sex. He found the tiny nub of flesh, and flicked gently. She cried out, arching into his touch. He repeated the movement, increasing the pressure slightly, and she gasped beneath him. He moved down her body and pressed a soft kiss against the dark curls. His hot mouth was wicked as it played over her tender flesh. He licked and sucked at her slick swollen flesh before easing back and blowing gently, the cool rush of his breath making her gasp.
He could feel the tension building inside her, in her thighs and in the quivering of her belly. He became relentless, his mouth moving over her in lush, languid strokes, tasting and teasing her heated flesh. Her hands gripped his hair and he gloried in her primal response. He closed his lips over the tiny pearl, sucking gently. Her body shuddered, and then she came apart beneath him. He surged upward then, coming to rest between her parted thighs, eager to be inside her. He claimed her mouth again, kissing her deeply, hungrily, claiming her. Never had a woman driven him to such lengths, incited such madness in him.
Emme was breathless, unable to find words for what she had just experienced. She accepted his kiss and the hunger that it conveyed. She understood, in that moment, why women fell—how they could be tempted and seduced. She had never thought herself beautiful, but his passion for her made her feel beautiful, and powerful.
She was still gasping when he rolled her to her stomach and pulled her up onto her knees. She didn't have to ask what he was doing. She understood that there were many ways in which their bodies could be joined. He pressed himself against her, his erection nudging against her sheath, the thick head pressed against her slick opening. He entered her then, parting the dewy walls of her sex with his own turgid flesh. There was a slight burn as her body stretched to accommodate his in this new position. There was no pain, just the sensation of being filled by him, and it was wondrous.
When he was seated fully within her, he thrust against her. The sensation was exquisite, his shaft pressing against her most sensitive flesh in delicious friction with each thrust. The feeling was so intense, the pleasure so complete, that she began to spasm around him, her body gripping him tightly. Rhys gritted his teeth, thrusting inside her, feeling her clenching about his shaft. His movements grew faster, more fevered, and when she cried out, her body pulsing beneath his, his own release ripped through him. He thrust deeply, one last time, his body quaking with the power of his release.
He rested his head against her shoulder and pressed his lips against the indention of her spine in a whisper-soft kiss. His breathing was ragged, and his heart pounded in his chest. He was crushing her, he knew. Summoning the strength, he withdrew from her body. No sooner had he done so, than he regretted the loss. He craved her. He'd known many men who'd given themselves up to the demons of drink and opium. She was his vice, his weakness. The depth of his desire for her left him shaken. Forcefully, he put those thoughts aside. He was complicating matters far more than necessary, he rationalized. She was his wife. The novelty would wear off soon enough, and they would settle comfortably in with one another. Ignoring his inner voice, he pulled her close, her back against his chest and their legs twining together. There was no impediment to enjoying his newly-wedded bliss.
It was Emme who spoke first, her hands stroking the hair roughened skin of his forearms, and skimming over his hands, until he clasped hers and twined their fingers together. “I think I will like married life,” she said, her voice low and sultry.