Prince of Dreams (Stokehurst #2)(37)

Nikolas's voice came from the doorway. “I certainly hope you will, ruyshenka.” He wore a dressing-robe of golden-brown silk, a shade or two darker than his hair. His legs and feet were bare. Emma wondered in sudden panic if he was wearing anything beneath the robe.

She tried to camouflage her nervousness with a sunny smile, and raised her wine to him in a toast. “Would you care to join me, Nikki?”

“As long as you don't smile like that again.”

“Why not?” she asked, watching apprehensively as he approached.

“Because,” he whispered, sliding his hand around the back of her neck, “it makes me lightheaded.”

Emma's eyes fluttered closed as she felt his mouth press lightly against hers. When Nikolas ended the kiss and sat beside her, she reached awkwardly for a tidbit on the tray and offered it to him, trying to act the part of gracious hostess. “Would you care for a pirozhi?”

“Pirozhki,” he said, correcting her pronunciation, and lowered his head to take a bite of the filled tart in her hand.

A quick laugh of surprise escaped her. “You're the first man I've ever had eating out of my hand.” She waited until he had swallowed, and offered the next bite. Nikolas smiled and took the rest, nipping the end of her finger with his teeth.

Uneasy but intrigued, Emma hesitated before lifting the wine to her husband's lips. He drank from the jewel-encrusted goblet, staring at her over the glittering rim. Slowly he took the wine from her, set it aside, and dipped his fingertip into the fruity vintage. Emma watched him, transfixed. She didn't move as he touched the soft skin of her lower lip, leaving a ruby-colored droplet. Leaning forward, he licked away the bead of wine, gently sealed his mouth over hers, kissed and licked in deepening forays…until Emma trembled and reached for him. Her hands slipped on his amber silk robe, skidding over his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her steady against him.

Emma relaxed, dizzy with excitement and pleasure, while his lips moved over hers. It had been six weeks since he had kissed her like this. She had forgotten how good it felt. Suddenly she was hollow with need, wanting to be taken and filled, wanting the same magic she had felt with him before.

Nikolas took one of Emma's hands and urged it down between their bodies. Following his lead, she reached beneath the silk robe until her fingers closed around the hard, silken-skinned length of him. She gasped and pressed her whole body against his, straining to be even closer.

Nikolas buried his face in her hair, dragging the soft curls across his cheeks and forehead, winding his fingers tightly in the gleaming curtain. He didn't know why it should be like this with her, when he had known so many women. None of them had ever affected him as Emma did.

Wrapping his fingers around her wrist, he pulled her to her feet. Emma stood up and pressed her flushed face against his. “Nikki,” she whispered, “are you going to visit my bed tonight?”

“Is that an invitation?”

Emma paused in her playful kissing. “Would you like it in writing?”

“That won't be necessary.” He eased the robe from her shoulders and arms and dropped it to the floor. Lightly he slid his hand down her front. Her body was willowy and warm beneath the thin linen of her nightgown. “Emelia…my wife…” Words failed him once more, and he crushed her lips beneath his.

She went with him into the bedroom, where he shed his robe and sat na**d on the bed. Spreading his knees, Nikolas drew Emma to the edge of the mattress. She stood before him, holding onto his shoulders, while he pulled the hem of her gown up to her hips. His warm palms coasted up the sleek outline of her thighs, his fingers skimming her taut bu**ocks. He pressed his mouth to the curve of her breast. Suckling through the delicate fabric of her gown, he felt the small point of her nipple rise against his tongue. Emma moaned and leaned against him, her slender hands coming up to touch his head. Blindly she urged his mouth to her other breast, gasping as he bit the soft peak into stinging readiness.

When Emma could no longer stand, Nikolas lowered her to the bed, stripping away the gown. She put her hands on his back, finding the pattern of scars, stroking lightly as if she could heal all the long-ago wounds. He dragged his mouth over her throat, br**sts, stomach, his tongue skimming secret places that made her body tense and trembling.

He kissed the thatch of cinnamon curls, his breath stirring through them. Emma whimpered in dismay and delight, not knowing if she should allow this, not wanting it to stop. Her hands found his hair, her fingers sifting through the thick locks in a shivering caress. The world narrowed down to the flickering movement between her thighs, his expert, teasing mouth. She rose against him in awkward, ardent surges, while each small breath became a plaintive cry.

Nikolas raised his head and lifted his body over hers, spreading Emma's thighs apart. He began to enter her, and she winced at the unexpected tightness. “Careful,” she whispered in a sobbing breath. He was very gentle, pushing slowly inside her, waiting until she relaxed beneath him. They began a languorous rhythm, pressing together with increasing hunger. Emma's head fell back, and Nikolas kissed her throat and shoulder, whispering guttural phrases in Russian.

Their long bodies entwined, limbs wrapping around each other, muscles flexing and gripping as they strove for a release that hovered just out of reach. It broke upon them in the same startling moment, a sweet convulsion of sensation. Nikolas thrust deeply and held himself buried tightly within her, while Emma shuddered in aching relief. When the fierce pumping of his blood had subsided, Nikolas rolled onto his back. Emma followed, throwing an arm and a leg across him, pressing her head to his smooth, damp chest. She went completely limp, draped over him like a drowsing cat.