“We don’t need to…” I’d whispered, not able to raise my eyes to him, instead watching the boys as they’d collected shells from the beach. I’d wondered why I’d persisted. Niko had already made it clear this was to be a marriage in all senses, and that both worried and thrilled me. But why was I poking the bear again?
“We don’t need to…?” Amusement curled through his words.
“You know.” I’d turned my head without thinking, his burning gaze searing my heart, the heat sliding down my torso and pooling between my legs.
“You think we don’t need to consummate our marriage?” Only Niko could make something so sober sound so smutty.
“Who would know?” I forced myself not to look at him as he’d answered.
“I would, milaya.”
“This is wrong, Van. You know it is. Blurring the lines.”
“Or drawing them in the sand. You’re mine now, Isla. And we will have this night.”
And that’s why I’m nervous. As nervous as a (wanton) bride, nervous as I step from the shower and tense as I pull out the hair dryer. And annoyed with myself as I thrust it away again as I decide to let the air dry it. The towel tucked tight around me, I pull open the drawer and run my fingers over the silk of Holland’s nightgown as I try to decide if I should wear it.
It’s beautiful, but not exactly subtle, I consider.
So delicate. Like my will. Cut on the bias, the cream silk swishes around my ankles in such a tantalizing sway. The bodice is formed from lace that clings to my curves and leaves very little to the imagination from breast to navel.
Cream silk, not white, is my flag of surrender.
Pulling open a dresser drawer, I slip my hairbrush inside and jolt as a crack of thunder rattles the open French doors. I cross the room with the intention of closing them, pausing to inhale the ozone filling the air. Lightning flashes above the clouds, the sky flashing with blues and pinks fleetingly.
Maybe it’s a sign, I think, still clinging to the open door. Maybe this outfit is too much. I glance back across the room, the door open to the hallway.
Does it look too desperate? Too eager? Come inside, let’s copulate.
I give my head a quick shake, dislodging the ridiculous thoughts. I’m a mother of small children, first and foremost. The door to my room is always open.
I’m also a bride on her wedding night, nervous what the night might reveal.
Thunder rumbles in the distance, the sky continuing to flash above the clouds. I shiver, securing the doors but leaving them open, savoring my body’s reaction to the sudden cooling breeze. Silk molds to my thighs, my nipples hard as pebbles in breasts that feel full and heavy. And, of course, I’m touching my own breast as Niko arrives at my bedroom door. My breath goes short at the sight of him.
His shoulder propped against the doorframe, the light from the hallway seeming to cast him in gold. He wears nothing but an enigmatic smile and a pair of low-slung lounge pants that seem to be held up by prayer alone. His hair is damp, and his cheeks shaved smooth, and he comes bearing champagne gifts.
“May I come in?”
His gaze slides over me hotly, but it’s his question that makes me blush.
For better or for worse, this is happening.
Who am I kidding? There is no worse sex when it comes to this man.
But marriage? I realize I haven’t answered, almost coming back to myself with a jolt.
“Of course.” My voice sounds wooden, my body language jerky. Come into the parlor said the spider to the fly, only it’s the spider that’s closing the bedroom door.
“It looks like the weather took a turn for the worse,” he says, glancing at the night sky as he sets the glasses down. “Did I say something funny?” he asks, a smile playing on his lips.
“Say? No. Do?” I make an open-palmed gesture. “It’s just this. You. Me. Since when have we discussed the weather?”
“It’s a big night,” he murmurs in reply. “Lots of pressure.”
“Is there?” From the other side of the room, I lean back against a dark wood chest of drawers, ignoring the loveseat. Even just glancing at it makes me flush, which is just ridiculous given there’s a great big bed between us.
“You only get one wedding night.” He begins to tear the foil from the bottle, and I wonder if he’s waiting for me to contradict him. So I do, opting for the milder reply of the two.
“Unless you’re Sandy and Holland.”
“Do you think they were nervous both times?” The cage falls loose, and he begins to twist the bottle from the cork.
“You’re not nervous.” He certainly looks calmer than I feel by a mile.
“No?”
“I don’t know.” I give an uncomfortable gesture. “I suppose I just assumed.” Because this isn’t our first rodeo. Together, we’re explosive. Niko mastered my pleasure from our very first night. He fucks me like it’s his vocation. Makes my body feel like its communing with the divine.