The Virgin Huntress (The Devil DeVere #2)(28)

He slid his sex into her wetness with a groan. She felt the head of his phallus seeking and probing her entrance. Instinctively, she raised her hips to meet his thrust, and swallowed her gasp as he plunged into her, breaching the maidenhead that barred the entrance to her womb. At first, Vesta recoiled from the burning sensation that ensued, expecting more pain to follow, but then he didn’t move. His eyes were closed, and his face was drawn taught as if in intense pain. His entire body trembled, and his chest heaved as if he were short of breath.

“Did it hurt you?” she whispered.

He opened his eyes with a look of surprise, and then she felt a low rumble of mirth emanating from his belly to his chest. “I believe that was supposed to be my question.”

“But you look...”

“Just give me just a moment,” he begged. “And please, Vesta, for God’s sake, be very still.”

His face was strained with concentration, and then realization struck. Hew was inside her. The burning had ceased, now replaced by an ineffable feeling of fullness that suffused her entire being. They were joined together in as intimate a fashion as man and woman can be, and it was breathtaking.

***

Hew had imagined this moment, had fantasized about it and played it out in a surprising amount of variations, in both his waking and unconscious thoughts thousands of times over the years, but no amount of imagery and manual stimulation could ever have prepared him for the mind-altering reality of being buried to the bollocks in warm, wet woman.

When he finally thrust into her hot, tight sheath, his eyes nearly rolled back in his head in pure, agonizing rapture. It felt like all the blood had drained from his body to engorge his pulsing staff. The moment he’d breached her maidenhead, his bollocks had tightened fiercely, and he feared that brief moment of initial penetration would be the end of him. Dear God, he prayed, don’t let me embarrass myself now.

For once Vesta obeyed, lying still beneath him while his breathing regulated and her body relaxed around him. He braced himself on his elbows, holding himself at a slight distance for fear that even an inch more exposure to her sweet, welcoming flesh would put him over the edge. Hew closed his eyes, sweat beading his brow, as he forced his mind to master his body, concentrating on breathing and trying to recite Latin conjugations through his clenched teeth, but the only verbs that sprung to mind were unhelpful variations of coitus. Somehow, he still managed to keep his impending release at bay.

Another moment passed, and he had himself back in check. With a last ragged breath, he allowed his mouth to descend upon hers. He focused on the kiss, rather than on his cock, as he withdrew slightly and then flexed his hips, thrusting back in again, and then once more, beginning a slow, rhythmic repetition of the movement. He continued kissing her deeply, probing with his tongue in synchrony with the action of his hips, slow and languorous, creating a blessed, slick friction, the most sublime sensation he had ever known.

She undulated beneath him, and he drove into her harder, deeper, and with greater urgency, which she met and matched with her own. The air about them grew thicker still with a heady and musky mix of sex and sounds of mutual pleasure. She moaned into his mouth and without coaxing, wrapped her legs about his flanks, urging him deeper into her wetness. He lost himself in silky, sultry heat, and the white-hot jolts of sensation that fired every nerve fiber, until his release came upon him, hitting him with a blinding fury. Hew emptied his lungs in a ferocious cry as hot spurts of his seed pumped from his body.

He hovered over her, spent and quivering, until Vesta pulled his head back down to hers, seeking his lips with a misty smile and a sigh. “My own magnificent Hew. Now you are mine, and I am yours utterly and completely.”





CHAPTER TWELVE




Vesta had never known such a powerful connection could exist between two human beings as that forged during the act of love. Hew had been gentle, tender, and passionate too, everything she had imagined and so very much more. She thought her heart would burst with the joy and adulation she felt during their lovemaking. Now she lay dreamily encircled in his arms, her cheek resting on his chest, listening to the low and mesmerizing drumbeat of his heart as he slept. She gazed lovingly at his face, high cheekbones shadowed by thick lashes, a strong, masculine nose, lovely, sensuous lips parted softly in slumber, a small dimple punctuating his chin. An altogether beautiful face. She studied the scar that blemished him but decided it wasn’t really a blemish at all, but a mark of distinction that only made him look manlier.

Not satisfied with only a lengthy survey of his face, she decided to continue her detailed inventory of Hew, the man she vowed to love passionately and faithfully for the rest of her days. Stealing another peek to ensure he slept, she peeled the covers back to his waist for her first good, long look at him, and her mouth went dry; for Hew, even in repose, was a sculpture of lean, hard muscle. Worshipping his body would be no hardship at all. Indeed, she was already filled with the compulsive desire to lick and kiss every magnificent inch of him.

Having never practiced much self-restraint, Vesta saw no reason to start now.

She kissed, first the puckered scar at his right shoulder and then ran her palms over the pectoral muscles of his chest, relishing the slightly abrasive feeling of the little swirls of hair. She dipped her head and kissed his nipples. When he didn’t stir, she darted out her tongue. He tasted slightly salty. She tried to suckle him as he had her but to little effect. Hew slept on.