Shaking my head, I looked to his eyes, and then glanced down between us. I couldn’t really see where we were connected—the candlelight was too dim. I felt oddly full, stretched and hot, but it no longer hurt. My husband was on top of me, inside of me, and the heat from his body felt wonderful against my skin. His hips rose up, and the glorious pressure was abruptly gone. I looked to Branford’s eyes, worried something was wrong, for I was sure he had not felt his pleasure yet. Much to my relief, he paused with half his length still inside of me. With his hands on either side of my head, he braced himself and slowly pushed back into me, filling me completely as I gasped and moaned beneath him.
Holding himself against me, Branford shifted his weight to one arm, leaving his other hand free to roam over the skin of my shoulder, arm, and breasts. He cupped and lifted my nipple up to his mouth and sucked at it greedily. His moans caused my skin to vibrate, and he started moving inside of me slowly as his tongue ran over my pebbled nipple.
I moved my hands from his shoulders to his hair. I held him to my breast and whispered his name between breaths as he sucked and licked and touched me. When he released my breast, his darkened gaze bore into me for a second before his lips crashed to mine. His hand slid across my stomach and gripped my hip, pulling me against him as he continued his short, gentle thrusts inside of me. He moved his mouth to my neck, sucking on my skin from the bottom of my ear down to where my neck met my shoulder. He pushed hard against me with his hips, rotating them in a small half circle and hitting that magical spot near where his body entered mine. Instinctively, my hips rose up to meet his, and as they did, Branford’s hand moved from my hip to the place right above where we joined. He began a slow, relentless circling with his thumb, and my back arched against the pressure.
“Do you like that?” He panted into my ear as his thumb circled again.
“Yes,” I moaned back, barely able to find enough air to speak.
“It feels so good inside of you,” he whispered. He moved slowly, steadily—setting up a deep, wondrous rhythm that matched the movement of his thumb. “Three days have never taken so long, but you are so warm…so worth waiting for this night…”
I dug my fingertips into the skin over his shoulder blades as he pulled back and entered me again. I pressed my forehead against his shoulder and muffled my cries against his flesh. He found the edge of my jaw with his mouth and kissed his way up to my temple. I felt his warm breath in my hair.
“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he murmured into my ear. I complied, locking my ankles together at the base of his back. As soon as I did, the pressure changed and intensified as Branford moved deeper inside of me, groaning his pleasure. “Oh, yes…”
“Branford!” I cried out, and his mouth covered mine as he moved his thumb faster against me. The muscles in my legs constricted, and delicious warmth traveled from my stomach down, out, and through my legs. I cried out again, the sound muffled against my husband’s lips as my body tensed, screamed in ecstasy, and released.
“Oh, Alexandra.” Branford pulled back from my mouth and turned his head to the side. His body tensed as well, but only for a moment before he let out a long breath and opened his eyes again. “Hold on to me.”
I tightened my grip using both my legs around his waist and my arms around his shoulders. He pulled back and then thrust into me, causing my body to push against the mattress as it shifted underneath him. I felt him slide almost out of me again before he thrust forward with more intensity, and I cried out.
“Does it hurt?” he asked into my ear. He reached into the hair at the back of my neck and he turned me toward him. I shook my head quickly—not wanting him to pause even for a moment. He moved again—long, drawn-out strokes as he pulled out of me, then quick thrusts as he sheathed himself in me completely. Gradually, the pace increased along with the beating of his heart, which I could feel against my breasts when he pressed his chest against them. My fingers became slick with the sweat on his back as he moved more and more rapidly and with more and more intensity. Branford’s breath was hot and covered the skin of my neck in short, quick bursts. Under his breath, I could hear his grunts and moans in between actual words.
“So good…ugh…ugh…he was right…oh, he was right! Ugh…ugh…so, so much better…my wife…my wife…so good…”
He twisted his fingers tighter into my hair, pulling a little. Though it didn’t exactly hurt, it was surprising as he pulled my head backwards, arching my neck and grinding my head into the mattress. With his other hand, he gripped my hip, holding me tight against him as he thrust inside of me over and over again. He moaned—loud and long—and his own neck arched and his closed eyes pointed toward the ceiling. He stilled, deep inside of me, and I felt warmth spread throughout my womb.
Branford collapsed on top of me, his forehead tucked against the space between my neck and my shoulder, and panted into my skin. He brushed my neck with his lips, kissing me between his labored breaths. My whole body was shaking, and I couldn’t make it stop. I held on tightly to my husband—my real, true, consummated husband—as my breath escaped in gasps and tears poured from the corners of my eyes, dripped down across my face, and into the pillow below my head.
Branford raised his head and clasped the sides of my head with his hands. With his thumbs, he brushed the moisture from my eyes.
“Are you all right?” he asked in a breathless whisper.
“Yes,” I half-sobbed as I tightened my grip on him and pulled my head to his shoulder, hiding my eyes against his neck. Branford shifted, pulling out of me and leaving me with a sudden feeling of cold emptiness. He grasped the sides of my head tighter, pulling me away from his shoulder and back against the bed. Branford hovered over me, his eyes full of concern and confusion.
“I hurt you,” he said, his tone matter of fact. “God, Alexandra, I am sorry—I was trying to go slow…”
“It did not hurt,” I whimpered. “It is just…”
“Just what?”
“We are really married now,” I whispered as I looked up into his eyes. I reached out and brushed the edge of my husband’s jaw with my fingertips. “I am really your wife.”
“This makes you sad?” His voice rose in pitch, sounding desperate.
“No.” I shook my head and took a deep breath, trying to control myself again. Resting my head against the pillow, I continued to look up at him, my finger slowly tracing the shadowy patterns the candlelight made on his chin.
“Why are you crying?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. I closed my eyes and sighed. When I glanced back up at him, his brows were knitted together as he looked down at me. “It didn’t hurt, not very much, anyway. Just for a moment when you…when you went all the way in.”
“It could not be helped,” he said with his voice quiet and full of remorse. The pads of his fingers wiped more tears away from my eyes, and he leaned over to kiss my closed lids.
“It is all right,” I whispered as I kept touching the side of his face, feeling the rough stubble of his cheek.
“Then why are you sad?” he asked, his voice nearly begging for an answer.
“I am not sad,” I told him. “I am just…relieved.”