Prince of Dreams (Stokehurst #2)(27)

“No,” she said, her voice shaking. “Go on.”

Although Nikolas had known what her answer would be, he was still relieved. He lifted his body over hers, fitting his knees between hers, pushing them wide. He had never been with a virgin before, and it was more difficult than he'd expected. She was swollen and small, her flesh opposing his invasion. He pushed harder, forcing himself inside the tight ring of resistance. Her choked cry of pain was smothered against his throat. Suddenly it was easy to slide deeper, and he felt her yield to his slow penetration.

As her warmth surrounded him, he buried his face against her throat, overcome by the sweetness of being inside her. “Emelia,” he murmured thickly, “I've always wanted this…always wanted you…”

Her slender hands gripped his head, guiding his mouth to hers. Driven to the edge of his control, he kissed her deeply, while his lower body sustained a steady, driving rhythm. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding him tightly, and suddenly it became too much for Nikolas to bear. He shuddered and groaned, his senses unraveling, everything consumed in a bonfire of pleasure. Emma hugged him even closer, her palms slipping on his glistening back. Nikolas moved to his side, pillowing his cheek on her hair while they both tried to regain their breath.

Emma wasn't certain how long she dozed. She awakened with her hand resting on Nikolas's shoulder, her fingertips fanning the ridge of a scar. She felt weak and defenseless, yet oddly peaceful. She tried to comprehend what had happened, that she had gone to bed with a man, with Nikolas. Although she waited for a bolt of lightning, a feeling of disaster, nothing happened. She must have no scruples or principles whatsoever, to have this lack of shame.

Sometime while she had slept, Nikolas must have pulled the bed linens up to her shoulders. Clasping the sheet over her br**sts, Emma turned to face him. Thoughts raced through her mind. She had to find her clothes, she had to return to the villa…but most importantly, she had to make certain he wouldn't tell anyone what had happened tonight. Secrecy was necessary for both their sakes. “Nikki,” she began awkwardly.

He touched a finger to her lips. “I want you to consider something, ruyshenka. I don't require an answer tonight. You need time to think about what you want. For now, just listen to me.”

“All right,” she said cautiously.

“There is no one for you now, is there? That is, no one you are hoping to marry?”

The question provoked a bitter laugh from her. “No, and there never will be.”

“Then your plan is to live with your father and Tasia for the rest of your life?”

“I don't have much of a choice.”

“Don't you?” He used his thumb to smooth away the puzzled crease in her brow. “Why not marry me, Emma?”

“She shook her head as if she hadn't heard him correctly. “What?”

“If you became my wife, all doors would be open to you. You would have ten times more wealth and influence than you have now. I would give generous support to your causes and charities. You could spend all your leisure time with your animals if you desire. I'm offering you a life without rules or limits. You'll have anything you want with one snap of your fingers. Think about it, Emma.”

Emma's heart beat violently. She stared at him in amazement. A long time passed before she could form words with her stiff lips. “Why me? You could have anyone. Anyone.”

His hand drifted over her bare chest, one knuckle dipping gently into her cle**age. “You remind me of the women I knew in Russia…fiery, blunt, completely without artifice. I respect your honesty. I enjoy your beauty. Why shouldn't it be you?”

“How long have you had this crazy idea?”

Nikolas took a long curl of her hair and coiled it around his finger. “Since you were thirteen,” he said casually.

“My God.”

“I had never seen a child with such strength of will. You were magnificent. I've watched you mature from a headstrong girl into a beautiful woman. You're the one person who's never bored me. I want you to be my wife.”

Emma shook her head in disbelieving wonder. “A real wife?”

“In every way,” he agreed, staring into her eyes.

“What if I refuse you? Will you try to punish me? Will you threaten to tell someone about…” She waved a feeble hand at the rumpled bedclothes around them. “About this?”

He looked amused. “Is your opinion of me that bad?”

“Yes,” she said promptly, making him laugh. “But even if I wanted to marry you, I couldn't. My father would never allow it.”

“I know how to handle your father,” Nikolas replied. “The decision is yours alone. If you agree to marry me, you shall.”

She frowned skeptically. “I've never met anyone who could handle my father.”

“You'll consider it, then?”

“I'll consider it, but I don't believe—”

He shushed her with his lips. “Later,” he whispered. “Give me your answer later.”

“But—”

He scattered kisses over her face and throat, ignoring her faint protest. Emma quivered and fell silent as he made love to her with astonishing gentleness. She pressed her hands against the scarred velvet surface of his back, and felt the lithe movements of muscle and sinew as he moved over her. For a while it seemed as if she no longer belonged only to herself. Her body was his to pleasure and possess, and he was a tender caretaker, patiently coaxing a response from every nerve. She had never been held so long by anyone. Nothing could have prepared her for the feeling of someone else's na**d skin against hers. There were no more thoughts or worries or pangs of conscience…only the exquisite sensations of being cradled and stroked, until passion gripped her in endless waves.