She arched up in shock, crying out. He stroked her, slowly, spreading the wetness around, and then he moved between her legs, and she tensed, knowing what was coming, knowing it was going to be miserable.
The touch of him against her silenced her, stilled her. She was trembling, trying to hide it, but lying naked beneath a man made subterfuge almost impossible. “I’ll stop if it hurts you,” he said, pushing against her. “We’ll go slow. Just tell me how it feels. ”
She trusted him. She’d forgotten that salient point—she trusted him. She nodded, unable to speak, bracing herself, and his smile was so sweet it almost shattered her. “No, my love. This isn’t a torture chamber. Relax. ”
“I c-c-can’t,” she stammered, shivering
despite the warm of the air.
“I’ll help. ” And leaning forward, he bit the top of her breast, just hard enough to shock her into loosening her muscles. At that he pushed into her, so hard, so big, and she should tell him to stop, tell him that it hurt.
And it did hurt. Just a little bit. So little that the pain was almost a kind of pleasure, and she shifted, lifting her hips, needing more of him.
“Am I hurting you?” His mouth was against her ear.
“More,” she said, her voice ragged. “Please. More. ”
He held himself still for a moment, and then he pushed, slid deep, filling her, and she cried out, arching against him, taking him.
He began to thrust, slowly at first, watching her, and she knew he was afraid of hurting her. She wanted to scream at him, to demand, to beg. Did she want him to leave her body? Did she want him to slam into her? She needed something, so desperately, and she didn’t know how to reach it.
His hands cupped her hips, angling them. He continued to thrust, ignoring her efforts to speed him, slow and hard and deep, each push one more claim on her body, and she felt the darkness began to bubble beneath her skin, felt the need blossom and grow and spread through her body, reaching every inch of her skin, tiny pinpricks of reaction. It wasn’t too late, she thought desperately. She could make him stop. She didn’t have to go to this terrifying place he was taking her, where nothing existed but the man inside her, their bodies joined, sweating, slapping together. There was no escape, she didn’t want to escape, but she kept fighting, pushing it away.
“Stop it, Melisande,” he growled in her ear. “Take it. Claim it. ”
“No,” she sobbed.
“Take it,” he said again, hard inside her, slamming into her so that the bed shook and her body trembled and she knew she would break apart, and she couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop…
She froze, as an endless, keening delight stiffened her body and tore away the last of her defenses. She felt him cry out, spill inside her, and she welcomed it all, the wet heat of his seed, the shaking of his body, the crazy-mad delight that caught her in its grip, so tightly she thought she would never unravel.
Author: Anne Stuart
And then it loosened its hold, and she fell back on the bed, panting, weeping, taken and destroyed. He collapsed on top of her, his chest heaving, and she could still feel him inside her; she still shivered around him in her fading response.
He released her then, rolling to his side, and she was suddenly so cold. Covered in ice, she thought dizzily, knowing she had to get away. She’d been wrong, he’d been right. This was a terrible idea. Because she’d needed him too much, and the having, and the letting go, were too painful.
She wondered if her legs would support her if she tried to get out of bed. Men fell asleep afterward, didn’t they? How long could she safely wait?
And then, to her surprise, he pulled her into his arms, tucking her close against him. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said sleepily. “We’ve only just begun. ”
She didn’t question him. She would stay there as long as he’d have her. Lie in his arms to the break of day and beyond. Anything he wanted.
And while she waited for him to fall asleep, she drifted off herself, lost in exhausted oblivion.
26
Benedick lay on his back in the slowly gathering dawn. His body felt so richly sated that any move on his part would require superhuman effort, and he had no intention of attempting it. He felt…he could think of no adequate word for it. Confused was inadequate, shattered too emotional when he was a man who eschewed emotions. He lay in his own bed, the bed he’d never shared with anyone, and listened to her breathe, deep in sleep. He’d worn her out, as he’d planned to. He’d taken her to places she had no idea existed, again and again. He’d taken her hard, he’d taken her fast. He’d made love to her with heartbreaking tenderness. She was the one who was supposed to be shattered.
Instead she slept, and he lay beside her, his mind in turmoil.
Damn her. He should have simply shagged her the first chance he had, and those occasions had been numerous. He’d recognized the sensuous nature beneath her practical exterior, and it would have taken very little effort to have her and then dismiss her. He had no interest in a long-term mistress, and there was no reason why he should be hard again after last night, wanting her, unaccountably furious with her for sleeping so soundly.
He forced himself to move, slipping from the bed and heading into his dressing room. The dim light from the early dawn gave just enough light for him to see her discarded clothes on the slipper chair, and he gathered them up once he’d pulled on his thick wool banyan. He came back into the now-chilly bedroom and looked down at her.
She looked like a child, an innocent, sweetly sleeping, though he knew for a fact that she had to be at least thirty years of age. Even if he were insane enough to consider marrying she would be the last person he would choose. She was too old to be of prime childbearing age, and since she’d spent ten years of married life without conceiving she was most likely barren. His only reason for considering marriage was to provide an heir, and Melisande Carstairs wasn’t the way to do it.
He was better off with her as far away as possible. There was no earthly reason for the sex to have been as disturbing as it was. She had no skills, no experience; he’d had to coax her and please her when he was used to being the one who needed to be pleased. She was simply wrong; he’d always known it, and the impossible hours they’d just passed simply proved it.