Bound by Bliss (Bound and Determined #2)(115)

His fingers began a similar pattern of thrust and withdrawal. Tight desire, endless wanting. Slight release. Want. Relax. Want. Want.

Her body was moving with his now, her hips rising and falling in balance with his fingers.

It took only seconds for her body to reach that point again, she felt the strain grow, knew the urge to press her thighs tight against his, to push his fingers tighter. Her tongue met his urging it on. Now, her body cried. Now.

And then she felt him, felt the push, felt the pressure.

It would never fit. It would never work.

And then it did.

There was a brief tear, a sudden spike of pain, and she felt him move forward, pushing into her, a thousand flickers of sensation.

He pushed farther. She felt herself stretch and give. It stung, but not with any great level of discomfort.

And farther. Her hips lifted and fell, her pelvis tilted back, striving to accommodate him, to accommodate Stephan, her husband.

He gave one more thrust and she felt him fill her completely, his balls slapping against her thigh, her muscles shuddering about him. He stilled, giving her time to adjust.



It was odd, not unpleasant, but odd. She tensed her inner muscles, saw his eyes start. That was interesting. She did it again. His whole body jerked. Very interesting.

“You are trying to kill me,” Stephan growled. “We’ll never get to enjoy our old age together if you keep doing that. I thought you wanted me alive.”

She smiled. Suddenly the world was a very wonderful place.

Sensing her ease, he withdrew, his length sliding easily over her flesh, sending those thousand flickers running throughout her body. He sank back in. Oh, that was good. That was very good.

He repeated the motion, slowly and with care. She began to understand why people wanted to do this. Very, very nice.

She let her head relax into the pillows.

He increased the pace. She felt the tension rise within her again, felt desire flood her.

He pushed harder, thrust stronger.

His hand came down between them again, fingered her.

Oh.

Oh, indeed.

The flickers became flames, the flames became fires, the fires an inferno.

She was all need.

All want.

All desire.

Higher and higher she swept with each thrust within her.



His hand pinched, holding her tight. A burn of pain. A fire of desire. The inferno raged.

Her eyes opened wide, met his, held his. She could see the strain upon his face, see his effort to hold back, to keep control.

She tightened those inner muscles again, clenched him tight, felt his body spasm.

His fingers pinched tighter between her legs. Pain. Pleasure. It was all one. All the same.

Tighter.

Higher.

Tighter.

It was coming. There was no escape.

She was panting, her heart pounding. She stared into his soul.

He thrust deep, filling her as she had never dreamed of being filled. He pinched tight, held her there. Her whole body strained—and it broke.

Feelings cascaded, her whole being lifted and came apart, a thousand pieces. Rainbows swirled. Stars burst.

And through it all she held his gaze, saw his pleasure, felt him break as she convulsed about him, and felt the last deep thrust, felt the spurt and spasm filling her. His back arched, his hips pushing deeper.

Her name filled the room, one long syllable of Blissss.

Another wave broke within her, her hips rose again, a scream left her lips—and then she fell, boneless, finished. Her eyes met his, complete.

—

He sagged upon her, knowing he was too heavy, but without the muscles to move. She’d drained him. He’d never felt anything like that, never felt himself come apart and yet live. He drew a deep breath into empty lungs and with supreme effort rolled off her and to the side. She mumbled a protest, but made no move.



Sweat coated him from head to toe. The cool air of the room brushed over heated flesh. He should say something. He knew these moments demanded words. He knew how to use words. Only none came.

He lifted an arm and reached above Bliss’s head, freeing her hands from the tangle of pearls. He grasped her fingers and brought an arm down with his, the fingers of their hands tangled together. He held her there for a moment, the simple meeting of palms enough, a soothing balm upon his soul.

“Wife.” There, that was a word, a word that said all that burned within him.

Her head turned slowly, her eyes focused on their clasped hands. “Husband,” she answered.

Her fingers tightened upon his.

Silence.

They lay there for a moment or perhaps ten. He could not be sure. It did not matter.

“You are my love,” he said as words returned to his mind.

Silence.

A moment of disappointment. No, he knew she could not say the words, could not admit them even to herself. He understood her wound and could only hope that someday time and the constant reassurance of his love would help heal the crack within her.



“You still don’t believe that it will last, do you?” He asked the question he most feared the answer to.

She was silent again for a moment and then spoke with care. “I believe it more than I did yesterday and I think tomorrow I will believe it more. Give me time and perhaps I will fully believe it. That is all I can ask for, time.”