Page 66 of The Soldier
“Emmie, no.” He resisted, but the feel of her smooth belly against the head of his cock was making thought a struggle. “Look at me.” But she wasn’t in the mood to be told what to do.
“St. Just.” She arched against him again. “Devlin,please.” When he still hesitated, she searched across the sheet and found his hand, then brought it to her breast. “Please.”
“Oh, Emmie.” He buried his face against her shoulder and palmed her breast in a gentle, gliding caress that had her turning her face to his chest and arching against him again.
She fused her mouth to his, even as those little begging, sighing sounds began in her throat. Her hands traveled up and down his back—kneading, coaxing, and putting his best intentions to flight.
“Emmie, I don’t want you to… Emmie.” He drew back, and his movement allowed her to trail her fingers over his nipples. “For the love of God, woman…”
He gave up trying to reason, to argue, to make sure she knew what they were doing and what the ramifications were. Joining his body to hers had become an inevitable, unstoppable certainty, and God bless the woman, sooner suited her better than later.
“Emmie.” He caught both her hands in his and levered up over her. “Hold still, love. Look at me.” Unable to touch him, caged by his strength, Emmie opened slumberous eyes and met his gaze.
“Let me do this next part.” He released her hands and brushed her hair back from her forehead. “You can scream down the house, claw my back bloody, or burst out in song in five minutes, but for right now, you have to relax and let me give the orders.”
She nodded once, a smile of pained sweetness creasing her lips.
“All right.” He closed his eyes in relief and anticipation. Carefully, he probed at her sex with his cock, and immediately Emmie was rocking her hips up to him, trying to glove him in her tight heat.
Fall back and regroup, he ordered himself, as Emmie was having difficulties with his initial strategy.
“Take me in your hand, Emmie. Show me where you want me.” When her fingers curled softly around him, he thought he might explode on the spot, but by watching the wonder and concentration in her eyes, he held off.
She took her jolly time, stroking along his length, exploring the velvety glans and the turgid length of him, but still he remained poised above her. When she cupped his stones with deft, curious fingers, he groaned in desperation, and she looked up at him with concern.
“When you’re ready,” he gritted out. And please God, let it be bloody damnednow.
She had the presence of mind enough to stroke him along the damp crease of her sex, wetting him thoroughly, reassuring him she was ready. When she finally snugged his cock to the vaginal orifice itself, St. Just expelled a pent-up breath of rejoicing.
“Now,” he said sternly, “you let me manage this.”
If he could, he thought desperately. Emmie was hot and wet and sweet and moving in the smallest, most arousing undulations of her hips. He pushed against her gently and gained the first glorious increment of penetration, then paused. She was blessedly—wickedly—tight, and he was loathe to move more forcefully lest he hurt her. This provoked a more determined rocking from Emmie, so he understood that giving her time to adjust to him wasn’t her plan.
“Let me take it easy,” he whispered, hoping to distract her with kisses. He moved his mouth as languorously as he could on hers, and thank the gods, some of her urgency subsided. He pushed a little farther into her body and set up a slow rocking rhythm of his own. She moved easily in counterpoint to him, sighing her pleasure into his mouth.
By careful, relentless degrees, he joined their bodies, using his mouth and hands and voice to distract, soothe, and pleasure her. She was still tight, her body enveloping him in heat and desire, but she seemed content to let him set the pace and make the decisions, as long as he kept moving in her.
And he never wanted to stop. His own pleasure was gathering, but still he took his time, kept his thrusts deliberate, his kisses languid, until he felt fire rising from the woman in his arms.
“St. Just.” She lunged up to bury her face against his throat. “I need…”
“I know.” He increased his tempo minutely. “And you shall have, soon.”
But of all the maneuvers to pull out of her arsenal, Emmie latched her mouth onto his nipple and suckled. Her hands sank into his buttocks, pulling him down to her with more strength than he’d thought she possessed. Then she bit him just hard enough to send fire shooting to his groin.
“Oh, JesusandalltheSaints,Emmie…” Restraint evaporated, and his own passion ascended. He thrust harder, faster, and deeper, and knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.
But then—glorious, generous, lovely woman—she was keening and arching up, digging her fingers into his flesh even as her sheath convulsed around him in pounding spasms. Into the maelstrom of her pleasure, he spent himself, his climax wracking him for long, silent moments while he surrendered to drenching, mindless joy.
He tried to raise himself off her even as aftershocks coursed through them both, but Emmie shook her head and held him to her.
“Not yet,” she whispered, eyes closed. He laid his cheek against hers and agreed, as movement away from her was yet beyond him.Two damned years, he thought dazedly. Two damned years since he’d even been able to enjoy a woman’s body, but he’d go through every day of it again if he could know this was waiting for him at the end.
Emmie was stroking the hair at his nape, her breathing still labored. He could feel himself softening and knew he’d soon slip from her body.
“Push me off you,” he whispered. “I can’t move, and we’re about to get messy.”
Nothing, not a giggle, a sigh, or a helpful little shove. He pushed up to his elbows then used one hand to carefully extricate himself from her, shifting up to avoid the clean sheets. He maneuvered off the bed and navigated his way, largely by feel, to the wash water. He wrung out a flannel and made it back to the bed without barking his shins.
