‘This is love-making,’ he said softly. ‘Rose, what we’re doing, it’s because of love. I should say…’
She knew what he wanted to say. This was a marriage of convenience. A marriage for a month. He wanted no commitment, and he was an honourable man.
Too honourable. When she wanted this so much.
‘We can be in love only for tonight,’ she whispered, knowing it was what he wanted to hear. It was what she wanted herself-wasn’t it? But she no longer knew and she no longer cared. Tomorrow was for tomorrow. ‘For now, yes, I’m loving you. I just want you to love me. Please, Nick. Now.’
The ‘now’ didn’t quite work. For she couldn’t quite form the word before her lips were claimed again. Her mouth was being plundered by his, his hands were tugging her close, pulling her up against him, almost lifting her in a long, triumphant, loving kiss where the night dissolved around them and doubts were swept away, and there was only Nick in her world. And there was room for nothing else.
She closed her eyes, her whole body responding with sensual pleasure as he deepened the kiss. She was holding his face in her hands, aching for him to be closer, closer. His hands were in the small of her back, pressing her against him, sending shivers of ecstasy though her whole body. Nick…Her man.
Her hands slipped under the fine fabric of his shirt, tugging him against her, moulding to him, letting him take her weight as she gloried in the strength of him. For Rose, who’d had to be strong for so long, to let go now, to let this man take her…
This was some romantic fantasy that was suddenly, gloriously real. This was happening in truth and not in dreams. She’d married this man today. This was her husband. She had every right to demand that he take her, as he could demand that she surrender. Glorious surrender. Only it worked both ways, this surrender. She was plundering him as he was plundering her. As he was surrendering to her. He groaned softly into the night and she thought, yes, he was out of control and so was she, and this was their right.
His mouth was moving now. Still he held her against him so her feet were barely on the floor, but he had total control. He kissed her as she ached to be kissed. Her neck, her lips, her eyelids. She arched her neck and let him do as he willed, her body heating as she’d never known it could heat. Her whole world centred around the pattern he was making with his tongue.
He was lowering her now, to the rug before the fire, following her down, his hands, his mouth still conjuring their magic. But he was still in his clothes. She needed him closer. She wanted his skin against hers. She wanted his body, and this man was her husband. She had the right.
She pulled back, just a little. The flickering firelight was lighting his face, shadows and contours, illuminating the strength of his bone structure, showing the passion deep in his eyes. A passion that she was sure was matched in her own.
He watched her, intent, tracking every expression as her fingers unfastened the buttons of his shirt. She was lying full-length against him, side by side, and she could feel his breathing deepening as she made her way downward. Button by button. Slow but sure. There was no rush. She had all the time in the world, and this was her man.
His shirt was gone now, and she couldn’t think how. She didn’t need to know how. She shifted downward a little and pushed him back, just slightly, so he rolled onto his back and she could lie her cheek on his chest. His fingers caressed her hair as she kissed his chest. She found his nipples, one after the other, tasted them in turn, teased them with her tongue and felt him groan again. He was at her mercy. Her man. Hers.
She pulled herself over him so her body lay full-length on his. She tugged his arms up, holding them, then lowering her mouth so she could kiss him as he needed to be kissed. Then her own arms were captured and he pulled her upward, lifting her higher. She lay motionless, gasping her pleasure as his tongue found her breasts. Slowly. Slowly. He explored each breast and kissed them in turn, taking her sensory awareness to a new plane, a place she’d never known was there…
He rolled her sideways then, so they were side by side again. Her lips cried out a protest, but this time it was needful. His mouth claimed hers again, but she felt his fingers fumble for the catch of his pants. Yes. Her fingers moved to help him and his kiss stopped, and he gave a low chuckle of pure, sensory pleasure.
‘I can undress myself, Madam Wife.’
‘Not fast enough-my husband,’ she murmured, and she chuckled and tugged the zip down in one triumphant tug. Away. He’d have to do the rest himself, for as his trousers disappeared her hands stayed where they were.
She was going nowhere. This was what she wanted most in the entire world. There was nothing except this place, this time, this man. She’d made her vows and this was her right.
How could she have wanted this to be a marriage on paper only? How could she have denied herself this joy? Yes, this was for now. Nick had no want of an everyday wife, and she wanted her freedom. Or she
‘Where did you say this condom was?’ he growled, and she came as near as a hair’s width of saying ‘no, no need’, for to lose him now, to have him move away…But somehow sense prevailed; somehow she managed to whisper directions; somehow she made herself release him and wait and hold her breath in case the magic was lost…
But then he was back, sinking down onto the wonderful thick fireside-rug, smiling down at her in the moonlight and making love to her with his eyes.
‘And now,’ he whispered softly, in a slow, sensual whisper that made her body tingle with aching need. ‘And now…’
He was above her, lowering himself with tantalising slowness. Skin against skin, not all at once but inch by glorious inch, until they lay full-length naked against each other.
Oh, the wonder of him. He was kissing her neck, her breasts, a rain of kisses, while his wonderful hands caressed her body, her navel, her belly and beyond.
He was so beautiful. He was…Nick.
The fire crackled, spitting out a tiny shower of sparks like an exclamation mark into the night. She could hear the fire, hear Nick’s breathing, and she’d never felt so alive as she did at this moment.
‘Nick,’ she whispered.
‘My love?’
‘I want you.’
‘Not half as much as I want you,’ he whispered, and he shifted, pushing himself upward, holding her firm within the strong bounds of his thighs. She gasped with pleasure, with aching need, arched upward, aching to be closer, closer, closer.
He was too slow. She held his hips and tugged him forwards but he leaned forward and kissed her, slowly, languorously, a foretaste of what was to come.
‘My Rose,’ he whispered. ‘My wife.’
‘I need you.’ Her thighs were aching with need, her body was creating a flame all of its own, but still he resisted. He smiled at her, his smile a caress, and then he kissed her. He moved dreamily downward, tasting her, loving her, moving from lips to neck to belly and beyond, until she was ready to cry with frustration and pleasure and want, and aching, throbbing need.
This was no one-sided love match, she thought as her need took over. This was her man. Her husband. The last dreary years-the fear of Max’s illness, a husband who had no strength to take her, a desolate widowhood-they had been far too long to wait a moment longer to take what she most wanted in the whole world.
Nick…
He was rising again, thinking where next his mouth should explore, but she was no longer interested in his mouth. With a fierceness that surprised him her hands moved to have, to hold, to centre him exactly where he needed to be centred.
‘My love,’ she whispered, and he was there. He was where she most needed him to be.
And he came down, deep, deep inside her, strong and gentle, plundering yet loving. She arched, wanting him deeper, deeper. She moved with him, moving sensuously on the fireside rug as he needed her to move, letting him take her where he wanted, but assuaging her own need, taking her to where she was meant to be.
