The King's Spinster Bride, (Royal Wedding #1)(33)

And then he moves, and everything changes again. With one slow stroke, pleasure ripples up, and I moan, closing my eyes.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his hand stroking down the side of my neck, my shoulder, even as he covers my face with urgent kisses. He pushes deep into me again, and then begins a slow, delicious rhythm that teases every doubt out of my mind. “Hold on to me, love.”

I twine my arms around his neck, clinging to him even as he pumps into my body. Yesterday’s “tasting” was nothing but wonderful sensations, and a coil of need that built slowly in my belly until I went over the edge. I feel that same coil starting again, and a moan escapes me. My husband whispers my name and begins to move faster, and as he does, the pleasure grows.

I raise my hips to meet his, and it only adds to the friction between us. Each stroke becomes more forceful, deeper, stronger, and far more pleasurable. The blankets are bunching up underneath my back with the force of his thrusts, but I don’t want to stop. I want him to keep going and going. The spiral low in my belly grows, but then he stops, pressing his forehead to mine.

“Oh, no,” I whimper frantically, my hands plucking at him. “Keep going. I’m so close.”

“You are?” He lifts his head and then groans at the expression on my face, taking my mouth in a fierce kiss. His hand cups my breast, kneading it even as he thrusts, and I moan again. It’s good, but I’m not there yet.

“Faster,” I urge him. “More.”

With a low, feral growl, he does just that. He’s thrusting so hard into me that our bodies have skimmed over the surface of the bed and my shoulder is anchored next to the wooden headboard. I press against it, trying to brace myself even as I surge my hips up against his. I need more. More. More. It’s so good, but I’m still not quite there.

“Please,” I whisper, the urgent feeling washing over me. I bite down on my lip and arch up against him. “Mathior!”

He rocks into me hard, and when I make a noise of frustration, his hand slips between us. “Come for me,” he demands, and a second later, I feel his thumb slide over my clit. “Need you to come first, Halla.”

The next time he thrusts, it moves his thumb against my clit, rubbing, and that’s all I need. With a wild cry, I lock one arm around his neck and bury my face against it, biting and kissing and licking as I quake in a fierce climax. He pumps into me again, and I’m barely aware of the breath hissing from his throat as his body stiffens over mine. He keeps rubbing my clit, though, his hand jerking and twitching against my sensitive spots as he shudders over me.

Eventually, the climax slides away and I moan when he rubs his thumb against my clit again. I realize absently that he’s collapsed on top of me, his weight pressing me down into the bed. I like the feel of it, of his sweaty skin against mine, our bodies joined. I do feel slippery, though, especially between my thighs where our juices have mingled.

Mathior lifts his head, his long hair spilling over both of us. He gives me a dazed kiss. “Halla. That was…better than I anticipated. And I have anticipated a lot in the last sixteen years.”

I chuckle, because I know how he feels. I am without words…just happy. Blissfully, wonderfully happy.

And when he leans in to kiss me again, I wonder how long it’ll be before we can do that again.





Epilogue





MATHIOR



“He has your eyes,” I tell Halla, watching with fascination as my son grips my finger with a tiny hand. “And my sword-arm, I think.”

“Better your sword-arm than mine,” my lovely wife says. She doesn’t lift her head from the pillow but gives me a blissfully happy look. “Are you glad it’s a son?”

I gaze down at the baby in my arms. Am I? A son is fine, but I would be happy with a daughter that looked like her mother, too. That will be next, I decide. Halla thinks she is old, but we still have many good years between us, and she’s as eager for bedplay as I am. Perhaps more so. My innocent, sheltered wife loves to torture me with her mouth in all the best ways. Just thinking about it makes my cock harden, and I push such thoughts aside. It will be weeks or months before Halla is ready to join me in bed again, and I will wait.

I will always wait for her.

“I am glad our child is happy and healthy,” I tell her, tucking our son into the crook of my arm and moving closer to the bed so I can kiss her brow. She’s tired and disheveled after the birth but smiling. “I want nothing more than that.”

Halla’s sleepy chuckle is beautiful to hear.

“You feel well enough?” I rock the baby in my arms and watch her closely. I am very aware of the fact that her mother died in childbirth. It is a worry that has consumed me for weeks on end. But Halla has been inspected by every healer and clerist I can find and determined to be very healthy after the birth of our child a few short hours ago.

She waves a hand at me and yawns. “Merely sleepy. Quit worrying. You try having a baby and see how energetic you are.”

“I shall have the next one,” I promise her, and I’m delighted when she giggles. I live for her laughter. “Have you decided on a name, then?”

“Alistair,” my lovely wife tells me with an adoring smile.

My heart clenches and I’m filled with a rush of love. I look down at the boy in my arms, with his small, perfect face. He’s reddish from the birth and wrinkly, but to me he’s as wondrous as his mother. She knows how much I loved my father, even if we didn’t agree on many things. “Alistair, then,” I say softly.