Page 92 of Desire's Ransom
He leaned down to murmur in her ear. “I’ll take care. But it may hurt the first time.”
She knew that. The woodkerns could be quite forthcoming with the details of their sexual exploits.
“I’ll take revenge later,” she vowed.
Her humor took him by surprise. “I believe you will.”
Then he moved above her until their bodies were mere inches apart. She could feel the heat between them as if it were a living thing. Supporting himself on one brawny arm, he nudged her knees apart until she opened to him like a flower.
When he lowered his body, and their skin made contact, the sensation was so divine that she let out a drawn-out sigh of bliss. It felt as if they melted together like candle wax. His body was warm and vital, firm yet yielding. She arched up against him, delighting in how the muscles of his chest compressed her breasts.
He kissed her then, and this time it was a slow, deep, intense kiss that seemed to draw her soul from her body. When his hand moved betwixt her thighs, it was with a leisure that belied the raging lust he displayed.
Simultaneously possessed of both the need to pursue and the desire to surrender, she floated in a curious enthrallment, captive and captivated by her own emotions.
Again, he intruded upon her most secret spaces, coaxing her with his fingers to yield. Again, she soared upward to a heavenly realm until she was gasping against his mouth and liquid need filled every vein.
Then, just as she thought she could fly no higher, he surged forward with a groan, embedding himself inside her like a dagger.
She rasped in a gasp of shock.
He froze, but didn’t withdraw.
“Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice laced with a strange mixture of regret and ecstasy. “I didn’t mean to injure you.”
Injure her? He hadn’t injured her. Not really. She had known far worse pain, growing up. This was but a sting.
He clasped her head between his hands. “’Twill get better, I promise. Try to relax.”
She nodded.
It did get better. Much better.
Soon, as he glided smoothly within her, she began to ascend again. His beastly grunts and the sweat of restraint that glistened on his brow excited her almost as much as the seductive friction of their movement.
Together, they rode a wave of increasing passion until, breathless with yearning, they crested the wave to explode into a thousand droplets that scattered across a shimmering sea of release.
Ryland grimaced, fighting the need to bellow in rapturous relief.
But Temair cried out, and he had to quickly clap a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound.
As they struggled to catch their breath, he thought he’d never felt such a union before, such a perfect blending of body and spirit. She’d entrusted him with a precious gift, and he felt honored and completed and more in love with her than before.
He hoped he hadn’t hurt her too much, for that was the last thing he wished to do. As he uncovered her mouth to press a worshipful kiss to her lips, he thought he must be the luckiest man alive.
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
“Nay,” she croaked.
“Nay?” He furrowed his brow.
“Ye’ve won the battle,” she said, gasping. “I’ve been soundly defeated.”
“Indeed?”
“At least if I die from my wounds, Sir Ryland de Ware, I shall die content.”
He grinned. She’d made him unimaginably happy. Exhausted with pleasure, as he gently rolled off of her onto his back, he admitted, “Then we shall both die content, for you’ve defeated me as well. I fear I shall ne’er rise again.”
