A Match Made in Bed (Spinster Heiresses #2)(40)

She inhaled as if there was a bit of pain. He held himself still, waiting for her to signal whether he could go on.

Dear God, she was so tight, he prayed he wouldn’t embarrass himself. His primal urge was to drive on, to take what he wanted. He employed every bit of control he had—

“Is that it? Are we done?”

Her questions broke his concentration.

Soren looked down at her. She had the most puzzled expression on her face. “How are you?” he countered. “Have I hurt you?”

“There was a needle’s prick of uncomfortableness.” She ran her hand along his shoulder as if admiring the play of muscles that were doing everything in their power to hold him back from pillaging her. Her lashes lifted up to him. “But if this is all there is, why do poets go on about it?”

Soren laughed. He couldn’t help himself.

A smile came to her lips. “I felt that. You laughed and I felt it all the way through.” Her brows came together. “We aren’t done, are we?”

“We are just starting,” he promised. He began moving to show her what he meant.

“That is very nice,” she managed as if it was a complete understatement. “Very nice.”

And then she took him to new places by raising her hips herself. He went deeper, and now Soren knew he had no control over himself. If she’d cried stop, he didn’t know what he could have done.

Nothing had ever felt as good as being inside his wife. She’d been made for him. Her summer scent. Her passion. She met him thrust for thrust and kiss for kiss.

Her hold tightened. She cried his name as if lost and he was the only one who could find her. He understood. She was coming close. He was almost past reason himself but he knew she needed his guidance.

“Let it go, Cass. Trust me. Let it happen—”

Her muscles constricted with such force he called her name.

Her release came in waves. She surprised him with the power of it. He could no longer let her be. He pushed forward, burying himself to the hilt, her arms and legs around him. He gathered her as if he could take her inside himself and found his own blessed completion.

The blinding force of it felt as if he touched eternity, and he lost himself in her.

Had he ever experienced this before?

Not with such magnitude. It was as if he and Cass had joined souls.

Her face was buried in his neck. He’d keep her there forever . . . and then he felt tears.

They confused him. He’d not harmed her. Or had he?

He also knew he was incapable of consoling her at this moment. He couldn’t even move.

Ever so slowly, life came back into focus.

Cool air on his heated skin roused him to awareness. Then it was her skin, her scent, her warmth . . .

Soren shifted his weight. She grasped him tighter, both arms around his neck, holding him as if she was hiding. “Cass, are you crying?”

She shook her head. She was lying.

“Did I hurt you?”

Another shake of the head.

He rolled onto his back, carrying her with him. Taking care, he lifted her chin so that he could look into her eyes. She tried to avoid him but he shushed her not to argue.

She let him see. The tears had not stopped. Her eyes shimmered with them. A shudder went through her as if she was trying to control herself.

Wrapping his arms around her, he begged, “What is it? What have I done to you? Was the pain that great?”

Her belly against his, her breasts on his chest, she looked down at him and said, “That was the most wonderful experience of my life. No one had warned me. My friend Leonie acted as if it was nothing. But it is something. Truly something.”

Relief released the tension inside him along with an accompanying swell of pride. “It was, wasn’t it?”

“It was better than I imagined the ‘passion flower of ecstasy’ could ever be.”

“The what?”

“The ‘passion flower of ecstasy’ was in a poem I once heard to describe what happens between a man and a woman. I now understand why everyone wants to make love, why they go in search of it. Was it special for you as well?”

He brushed a stray lock of her hair away from her face. “Aye. Very special. A passion flower full of ecstasy.”

She laughed. Her laughter had its own music, and it gave Soren great pleasure. This was the way a marriage should be between a man and his wife. There should be laughter and excellent sex.

Soren reached for the edge of the counterpane beneath them and pulled as much as he could over their nakedness. Their bodies were warm together but he wanted to protect her from the night air. In doing so, he gathered the diamond-tipped pins and roses strewn over the sheets. He set them on the table and snuggled her close.

“Can it be better?” she wondered, her breath against his neck.

He grinned. Was there ever a man so fortunate? He liked her ambition, especially in this area. “Yes,” he assured her. “That was just our first try. If we practice enough, who knows how good we will become. There is a whole garden of ecstasy to discover.”

She curled into him, rubbing her legs against his. Her stockings had been kicked off in their lovemaking. He ran his toes over hers, enjoying the feeling of her bare feet. “I’d like to become very, very good. How often should we practice?” Her hand slid lower down his abdomen.