Angel in Scarlet (Bound and Determined #4)(84)
Even now she was afraid to put the word to what she saw, but it could not be denied.
“You do know this means we will wed as quickly as possible,” he stated, claiming his ownership, even as she felt one of his hands between her legs again, opening her for him.
“I do know,” she gasped, waiting, wanting, needing.
She felt the tip of his cock press against her, and both desire and fear filled her. If only she could see what was happening. His eyes were locked down, staring at that place where soon they would be joined.
—
He’d never seen anything so beautiful, so stirring. If he didn’t take her soon, he would explode, and for once in his life that did not feel like an exaggeration. His whole body strained, his cock ready to act on its own. He took it in hand, ready to guide it in. And still he hesitated.
This moment would come only once. There might be a thousand later moments, even better moments—although that was hard to believe—but this moment would never come again.
He stared down at her. Pink and white. So smooth and slick. Her breasts begging for his touch, the nipples red and heavy. He wanted to soothe them and tease them all at once, to drive her crazy with nothing but his lips and tongue.
He stroked the length of his cock, bending so his mouth could taste the sweetness of her breasts. Her back arched, pressing her toward him.
He wanted to linger, to play, to suckle, but his need drove him.
He pulled away, staring at those ripe breasts.
She moaned softly, begging for more.
He let his eyes move lower—the softness of her belly, made to cushion a man. And lower—she was so slick and wet, so ready for him; he could see her inner muscles clench, waiting for him. Still stroking himself, he used his other hand to run one finger over her clit. Her body jerked, her legs closing slightly and then opening again. He could already feel them clenched about his waist, her nails ripping his back, marking him as he had marked her.
He squeezed the base of his prick tight. He refused to embarrass himself before this had truly begun.
And finally he allowed himself to look up at the beauty of her face. She was sweaty, a few loose strands of hair fell in damp curls about her face, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glassy. Her lower lip was puffy and he could see the marks of her teeth upon it. She was a mess—and never had he thought her lovelier.
He watched her eyes move to meet his, still dazed but also filled with understanding. She knew just what was about to happen, what she wanted to happen. She lifted one hand from beside her on the bed and slowly brought it to lie on his, to move his fingers as they touched her. Her small fingers became coated in her juices. He took her hand and brought it to his lips, licking it clean.
Again he could see the rippling response in her body, see those inner muscles clench.
She pulled her hand free and then raised her other hand as well. Bringing them between her legs, she offered herself to him. He glanced down, enrapt by the sight.
His cock jerked, hungry for its home.
He looked at her face, saw the anticipation, the desire, the need—and the trust.
This offering was of more than her body.
He focused on her mouth, bent forward and kissed her gently, pressing his lips tight into the softness of her own. His eyes lifted to hers as he tried to promise so much with nothing more than a glance.
Her lips pressed back against his, giving her own promise.
Something inside his chest clenched and then released.
He lifted his head, taking her in.
He saw her lips move, saw the words they formed, felt the words deep in his heart.
She was his. His forever.
He moved forward, positioned himself, edged closer, felt the delicate barrier.
He hated to cause her this pain and yet rejoiced that it was his, that she was his and only his.
He placed a hand on each white thigh—and thrust home hard and fast.
Her body arched off the bed, a single sharp cry leaving her lips.
—
That hurt. She had known that it would and yet still was not prepared. Some women had said it was not so bad; others had said it was like being ripped apart by a sword. It was certainly not as bad as that, but, DAMNATION, it hurt.
And then it stopped, not completely, but only the dullest of aches remained.
She closed her eyes once, pulled in the deepest of breaths. Let it out.
Yes, this was nothing—well, not nothing, but less painful than a new pair of slippers.
Her eyes slid open, met Colton’s. He had not moved the barest fraction of an inch since that one endless thrust, and concern marked his gaze.
He stood above her, braced and frozen, his eyes questioning.
She attempted a smile but didn’t quite manage it. “Please continue,” she said.
“Are you sure?” he asked, although she could hear the strain in his voice. “I could withdraw. I do not want to cause you pain.”
“No. If we do not do this, I’ll probably never want to try again, and I do not believe that is what you want in a wife. I am trusting that there is more to this than—than that.”
She felt him tense, although she would not have thought his body could grow any more rigid. He leaned forward, placed a hand on either side of her, his hips still not moving. His face was scant inches from hers. He asked again, “Are you sure? I will try to be gentle.”
She nodded.
“Then I will do my best.” His face filled with caring, his cock eased forward. She stiffened, scared of more pain, but only the ache remained. It shifted with his movement but did not grow worse.