She balled her fist and hit him ineffectually on the shoulder. He captured her wrist and pulled it over her head, holding it there as he cupped one of her br**sts and caressed the swell.
He stroked lazily with his fingers, tracing soft lines to her nipple. He captured the peak and pulled, gently at first and then sharper. Each tug sent a streak of pleasure straight to her core. Her womb clenched. She squeezed her thighs together and arched farther into his touch.
Then he lowered his head until his breath blew warm over the puckered bud. She moaned in anticipation, hardly recognizing the breathy, feminine sounds sliding from her throat.
Warm and rough, his tongue slid sensuously over her nipple, leaving a damp trail to the top of her breast. He released her wrist and lowered his hand to cup her other breast. He kneaded and massaged and then plumped them together.
He licked over one nipple and then pressed a tender kiss to the tip before moving to the other. She stared down at his dark head as he suckled. With each pull, her body tightened more until she was rigid beneath him.
Unable to resist, she thrust her fingers into his long, black hair. She stroked the braids at his temples, pulling when he stopped sucking. With a chuckle, he resumed and she relaxed her hold so that she threaded through the strands, enjoying the slide over her hands.
“I have a mind to taste you again, to feel your honey on my tongue,” he whispered.
She closed her eyes and let her hands fall away as he kissed a path over her belly and lower to the juncture of her thighs.
He leaned over on his side, his big hand splayed over her pelvis. He propped himself up on his other elbow and idly toyed with the curls shielding her femininity. It mortified her and fascinated her with equal measure.
Part of her wanted to squeeze her thighs shut and turn away and the other part wanted to open them to give him easier access.
Carefully he delved inward and gently parted her flesh until she was open and damp to his touch. With one finger, he stroked down and then back up again to circle the tiny sensitive nub.
“I’m fair to bursting, lass. I want to bury myself deep inside your warmth.”
Her eyes widened at the image his words provoked. She went still beneath his fingers and stared down at him. He tilted his head back so he met her gaze, and the intensity in his eyes made her mouth go dry.
His hand left her and slid up her belly to cup her breast and he leaned down to kiss the tip, forming it into a tight peak. Then he shifted his body and moved up so their lips were just a breath apart.
He touched her cheek with the back of one finger and trailed over her cheekbone to her jaw. “I won’t hurt you, lass. You were afraid our wedding night. ’Tis why I didn’t bed you. I’ll be as gentle as a man can be when he’s shaking with want for his bride.”
She opened her mouth to refute his assertion that she was afraid of anything but the protest died as she blew her breath out and closed her lips once more.
Then he kissed her, his mouth moving with infinite tenderness over her lips. All the while his hands slid over her body, stroking, caressing. Soothing.
Somehow he managed to shift over her, his body covering hers like a warm blanket. One muscled thigh wedged between hers and nudged them farther apart.
She was so senseless from his kisses that she hadn’t registered that his very large, very naked body was pressing tightly against hers, and another very hard, very large portion of his anatomy was prodding insistently at her most intimate flesh.
He found her opening and went still as she stretched around the tip of his manhood. Her startled gaze flew to his face. She tensed, unable to prevent the unease that gripped her.
“Relax, lass,” he whispered against the corner of her mouth. “ ’Twill be easier if you give over. I’ll give you pleasure. I swear it.”
“Tell me what to do,” she whispered back.
“Wrap your legs around me and hold on to my shoulders.”
She lifted her legs and twined them around his, sliding her calves up the hairy, muscled wall of his legs to lock them behind his knees.
Her hands felt small on his shoulders. Her fingers barely left dents in the hard flesh. She stared into his eyes and found gentleness there. It comforted her that he worried over frightening her. Surely she could find courage. How could she expect him to respect his “warrior princess” if she never showed her to him?
“Come to me, husband,” she said boldly.
His hardness found her again, firm against her softness. Probing and insistent.
She gave a little gasp when he slipped the barest inch inside her body. She stretched to accommodate him but the fullness unsettled her.
It was an odd combination of hesitancy and urgency. She wanted him to stop and yet she wanted him to continue.
She bit her bottom lip and lifted her hips, urging him on.
“Ah, lass, how sweetly you beckon me.”
He closed his eyes and a shudder rolled over his shoulders. Beneath her fingertips, he trembled and shook, so tense, as if he fought against his every instinct to hold back.
She ran her hands up and down his shoulders and arms, caressing as her heart softened. He truly was taking the utmost care with her.
“ ’Tis all right,” she whispered. “I know you won’t hurt me.”
His lips were thin, white lines on a face etched in concentration.
“Aye, but I must, lass. I must break through your maidenhead and ’twill pain you no matter what I do.”
He brushed a kiss across her mouth and then he wooed her gently, feeding and sipping at her lips. “ ’Tis sorry I am for it, but there is naught to do for it.”
“Then be done with it. There is no sense in both of us being in pain. I can feel the tension in your body. ’Tis uncomfortable for you to hold back as you’re doing.”