Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(125)

Damp, messy, and dazed beyond measure by the sensations he’d induced in her, Justine slowly collapsed onto Griffin’s chest.

“Oh, my goodness,” she panted. She sprawled on him in a clumsy heap of limbs, but didn’t have the energy to do anything more than that.


Griffin shifted her a bit, turning her head sideways and easing her legs down to ride low around his hips.

“I’ll take that comment as a sign of approval,” he murmured, stroking his hand down her perspiring back.

“I’ve never felt anything like it, I can assure you,” she managed, trying to make light of the entirely earth-shattering experience. “If I’d known things would be like that, I would have been a great deal more receptive to your advances on our wedding night.”

His laugh vibrated through her body, making her shiver with pleasure. She sighed and snuggled closer, relishing the feel of his arms and legs enveloping her, all hot skin and hard muscle, with his rampant erection still nudging between her legs. Never had she felt so relaxed, so physically replete, or so . . . safe.

Justine drowsed like that for a few minutes until she became aware of two things. The first was that her back and legs, exposed to the air, were rapidly cooling. The second was that Griffin’s body felt as hard as iron, tensed beneath her even though his hands were still gently stroking her skin.

She lifted her head. His eyes smoldered and his handsome features seemed stretched tight, almost as if he was annoyed or in pain.

“What’s wrong?” Anxiety gave her a sudden jab. “Are you sorry we did this? Do you want to stop?”

His expression lightened and he laughed. “Of course not. We’re just getting started, love. I was simply letting you catch your breath before . . .” He trailed off on a meaningful note.

“Before we consummate our marriage?” she whispered.

Griffin nodded, his gaze so intent, her mouth went dry. There was no denying the next few minutes had the power to change the course of her life forever.

“Are you cold?” he asked, suddenly looking concerned. She loved that about him. Griffin was the most rampantly masculine and proud man she’d ever met, but he always seemed to be thinking about her comfort.

“A little,” she admitted. “I think the stove has gone quite cold.”

“Let’s take care of that, shall we?”

Thinking he meant to build up the fire, Justine started to shimmy off him. But she let out a gasp when he quickly shifted, rolling her over and coming down on top of her. The cot swayed alarmingly and she held her breath, expecting them to go tumbling down at any moment.

Griffin shifted again, carefully placing his forearms on either side of her shoulders to steady the cot.

“It will be a miracle if we don’t end up on the floor,” Justine muttered.

He smiled down at her, the expression on his face tender and yet hot with arousal. “I won’t let you get hurt.”

He lowered his head until their lips met in a slow, damp kiss that made her head reel. It seemed so natural now to open to him. Their tongues played, tangled, and tasted each other in slow, sensual glides. Justine wound her arms around his neck, sighing with pleasure, drinking up the slow passion he so expertly fed her.

Then he pulled back a few inches. Her lips tingled from the warm pressure of his, a pressure she was eager to feel again.

“Are you ready?” His quiet voice was at odds with the gleam in his hawklike gaze and the hectic flush across his sharp cheekbones.

Justine stared back at him, unsure how to answer. She didn’t know if she truly was ready for this—to bind herself to Griffin in so profound a way. But she also knew she couldn’t say no. She wanted this—wanted him—more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life.