Lessons from a Scandalous Bride (Forgotten Princesses #2)(62)

Biting her lower lip, she feasted her gaze on that familiar part of him. Heat swirled through her, pooling low in her stomach and she knew this time she wouldn’t just touch and taste him there. She had to have him. All of him. Inside her.

Her belly contracted and she fidgeted restlessly in an attempt to ease the throbbing ache between her legs. Her hand reached and closed over him. A tremor rushed over him as she wrapped her fingers around the hard length of him, luxuriating in the feel of him, silk on steel in her hand. Encouraged by the sound of his rough approving growl, knowing what it meant, what he wanted, she stroked him, her fingers gliding over his length, her breath increasing, matching the harsh sound of his that filled her ears.

She watched him, relishing the sight. He swallowed visibly, his throat muscles working. Aroused beyond endurance, every nerve in her body screaming with a desperate urgency, she parted her legs, leaving herself exposed before his searing gaze. She didn’t care.

Cool air rushed over her, caressing that most vulnerable part of her. With one hand still holding his throbbing member, she urged him closer, guiding him to her entrance as her thumb rolled leisurely over the velvet tip of him.

Her eyes never strayed from the taut lines of his face, and want twisted deep inside her. She rubbed him against her opening and the ache inside her grew, increased and twisted to a painful need.

“What are you doing to me?” he groaned.

His body pressed closer, beautiful in the firelight. His hips nudged her thighs wider, splaying her open for him.

He eased his member inside her, stretching her slowly. Her breath caught on a gasp. She watched his face hungrily, his eyes dilated with desire.

His chest lifted on a ragged breath. “God,” he gasped, eyes burning gray fire. His arms fell on each side of her, caging her in. His gaze held hers, dark and dangerous, feral as a wolf cornering its prey. He pushed his hard heat just the barest amount deeper.

She whimpered and lifted her hips, angling for more. With a cry, he thrust himself deep. A sharp pain tore through her. She lurched against him, shocked at the sudden invasion that stretched her and filled her to capacity. She dug her fingers into his bare shoulder, stunned at the heat of him pulsing deep within her core.

He murmured nonsense, soothing words against her hair as he held himself motionless inside her. Gradually her body acclimated to the feel of him and that ache returned. Deeper. Hotter than before. She wiggled—adjusted to the searing pressure. A sharp gasp ripped from her lips as the lancing pleasure spiked between her legs.

Instinctively her hands smoothed down his back and she seized the tight mounds of his buttocks, urging him to move, needing more.

It was all the encouragement needed.

He began moving, thrusting and pumping inside her until she couldn’t catch her breath. She scored his back with her hands and angled her hips, meeting his every plunge, taking him deeper.

“More. Harder,” she gasped in his ear and he increased his thrusts, burying her deeper into the soft bed. She cried out, feeling herself unraveling, coming apart inside from his each and every stroke.

She writhed beneath him, desperate for more, for an end to the torment, an end to the aching emptiness . . .

“Cleo,” he gasped, biting down gently on her earlobe.

She arched beneath him, pressing her breasts into his sweat-slick chest. He followed his bite with a kiss, his tongue licking and laving.

She let go then, surrendered, muscles squeezing and tightening in a blinding flash of pleasure and pain.

Her vision grayed at the corners and she wondered if she had perhaps died, the feelings shuddering through her too great, too powerful . . . too much.

Her muscles eased, body liquefying into a puddle as he moved a last time inside her and then removed himself suddenly, spilling himself elsewhere. Her head lolled to the side as a great lethargy stole over her. Even in that moment with her thoughts muddled, she understood what he was doing . . . that he cared about what she wanted enough to take such precautions for her.

The bed eased from his weight and he was gone. Frowning, she lifted her head and searched for his shape, smiling when he soon returned. He settled back down beside her, spooning his body to hers.

She lay utterly still as her body’s pleasure ebbed. But still a lingering pleasure remained with his warm chest aligned to her back. Her husband.

It felt right. Everything about this felt right. He brushed the hair from her shoulder. His chest lifted with a deep inhalation behind her. He’d be asleep soon.

Slowly, Cleo returned to herself. It had come to pass. She’d surrendered to her passions. Although somehow this didn’t frighten her anymore. She wasn’t repeating her mother’s mistakes. She looked down at his darker hand splayed against her stomach, deciding it was a sight she could grow accustomed to seeing.





Chapter Twenty-seven

Cleo woke sprawled in the middle of an empty bed. Her cheeks warmed and she couldn’t help wondering if she’d been in this position all night, naked and tangled up with Logan.

He was missing now, but the bed beside her still radiated his warmth. He couldn’t have been gone long. She rolled onto her back. A slow smile curved her mouth as she relived the night. Pleasurable heat suffused her. There was no regret. Only an anxious eagerness to do it again.

The pale light of dawn crept through the crack in the heavy tapestry drapes. In the back of her mind, she mused that those needed updating. Perhaps a lighter color and in damask.