"Coral," he whispered, his hot breath brushing over her wet, throbbing flesh. "Coral."
"What?" Dear God, he'd inserted his tongue into her and just as leisurely withdrawn it.
"Stop thinking."
How did he know? Her eyes were squeezed shut, her breath coming in pants and her hips were moving in quick little jerks that she couldn't seem to control.
He took her in his mouth and sucked, flicking his tongue over and over until she arched and cried out her ecstasy. Her world exploded, shimmering heat spreading from her center, her breath caught in her throat, her nails digging into his shoulders. He didn't stop. He kept licking and sucking until she was near begging for mercy. Then suddenly he was crawling up her, big and feral, his erection brushing over her legs and thighs.
She opened her eyes, alarmed to find herself digging her nails into his shoulders. "Oh! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to--"
He silenced her with a hard kiss, open-mouthed and possessive. "Never apologize for the pleasure you feel with me."
She looked up at him in wonder, this good strong man who wanted to make love to her. Who wanted to give her pleasure without any of her apologies. She didn't deserve him, she'd always known that, but for now she'd lay aside that knowledge and take what he gave so freely.
So she wrapped her arms about his neck and pulled him closer. "Please make love to me, Isaac."
"Together." He bent and kissed the corner of her mouth softly. "Together we make love."
He reached between them and positioned himself. Then he raised his head and gazed into her eyes as he slowly--oh, so slowly!--entered her.
"Like this," he whispered as his warm flesh parted hers, entered hers.
He was hard she was soft and they united as sweetly as if they'd been created to do this. Make love together. He settled on her, his hips fitted to the cradle of her thighs, his belly pressed flat to hers. It was an age-old position, a position that was impossibly intimate. She felt him inside of her and on top of her, dominant but not fearfully so.
"Is that it?" she whispered, daring to tease.
"Oh, no," he replied. "There's more, I assure you."
He withdrew and thrust into her, his rhythm sure and strong. She lifted her hips to meet his. It wasn't as elegant as merely laying and receiving him, but he said they'd do this together and she meant to fulfill their bargain. So she moved with him, their slippery flesh sliding. His penis rubbed against her and into her with each stroke. Her breath came faster.
"Wrap your legs about me," he panted.
She lifted them high, crossing her ankles above his buttocks, locking them together. They could hardly move apart to thrust together again, but somehow that made it even better. She felt a drop of his sweat splash on her shoulder. She heard the wet, squishing sounds they made. She smelled the rising mist of their bodies.
It was all so beautiful that she began to sob.
She was afraid he'd misunderstand, that he'd grow alarmed and stop, but instead he leaned down and nuzzled against her cheek. "Don't hold it in. Let yourself feel it."
She did. It was like a glorious sun, rising, bright and hot, between them. She arched back her head and shouted, crying and laughing at the same time, her emotions, her body, free and out of control.
He watched her, she knew, still rocking against her, still softly kissing her, until his own body jerked and stiffened and his own crest combusted with hers.
Until they both went up in flames together.
Chapter 10
A slight frown marred the Ice Princess' perfectly cold face, but she continued. "Next I will need the wisdom of the oldest man alive."
"Easily done," the soldier replied. "For whilst on my journey I stayed the night with the oldest man alive. He was a jolly fellow and after I'd mended his smoking pipe he gave me a book in which he'd written down everything he'd learned in all his long life. I have it here."
And the soldier withdrew an old and battered book from his sack and gave it to the Ice Princess. . . .
--from The Ice Princess
Isaac opened his eyes with the realization that he held a soft warm weight against himself. Coral still slept, her pale fingers threaded through the hair on his chest, her golden-red hair spread over his shoulder and against his cheek. He listened to her exhaled breaths and felt a peace such as he'd never imagined before. And in that moment he made his decision: he would marry this woman, no matter their differences and her past. He would care for her and live with her and love her until she let down her defenses and loved him back. Until they were both happy and at peace.
She opened her green eyes at that moment and blinked sleepily, yawning delicately like a cat. Her eyes focused on his face and narrowed in sudden suspicion. "What is that look on your face? What are you thinking?"
He leaned over to kiss her nose and then grinned. "I'm thinking that I could eat an entire joint of beef for breakfast."
She wrinkled her nose as if the kiss had tickled her. "I don't know about a joint of beef, but I'm sure we can find a gammon steak and some eggs for you."
"And coffee and toast?" he asked hopefully.
"Of course." Her voice was cool, but her lips curved in a shy smile. "I'll ring for breakfast."
To his disappointment she rose immediately from the bed, modestly pulling on her worn green silk wrap. He'd rather hoped to make love to her again. But as he watched her quickly yank the bell-pull and then nervously straighten the little mirror and portrait on her dresser he understood. She needed time. He must school himself to patience, win her over bit by slow bit.
So he rose as well and donned his breeches and shirt, moving slowly, feeling as if he trod delicately about a wild animal who might be frightened by sudden movement.
The maid came to the door and Coral went to consult with her before returning to the middle of the room. She stood twisting her pale hands together.
Isaac smiled. "Come sit with me at the table."
She nodded and sank into a chair.
He took a seat opposite her. "When I was a boy my mother would make me runny eggs for my breakfast."
She wrinkled her nose. "Runny eggs?"
"With the yolk still liquid." He stretched his legs under the table. "She'd toast me slices of bread, butter them well, and cut them into sticks and I'd dip them into the yolks."
She seemed to relax a little. "Where did you grow up?"
"On the coast of Cornwall."
"Really? I would've thought London or nearby."
He shook his head. "I grew up near the wild windy cliffs. My father was a mining foreman and my brothers still work managing mines. But I always loved the sea. My mother's father was the captain of a ship and he bought me my first commission."