Page 76 of One Wicked Secret
Touch me.
He answered her silent plea, his dark eyes holding her captive as his hands roamed over her breasts with slow, reverent caresses.
“Can you feel what you do to me, Elsa?” He rocked his hips, though she was already aware of the solid length pulsing between her thighs.
“How can I not?”
He scooped water into his hand, washing away the soap like she was a princess of Persia and he was a lowly attendant. Except an attendant would not grip her bottom and draw her slowly back and forth over his erection. An attendant would not suck her nipples and moan like he was tasting forbidden fruit.
The pressure between her thighs became an insistent throb demanding attention. She arched her back, shamelessly rubbing herself against him, chasing relief.
He kissed her hungrily, his mouth claiming hers with a need that matched her own.
Everything that had kept them apart, every reason to doubt their loyalty to each other, vanished with each steady stroke of his lips. She felt it in the way he held her close, the pressure of his hand at her nape—how he drew her into this moment, into him.
“You’re mine, Elsa,” he whispered against her mouth, his hand moving to where her tight bud longed for his touch. “You were mine the day I let you ride my Arabian. Mine the first night you dared to meet me in the moonlight.”
Her head fell back, the pleasure so exquisite it stole her breath. She could stay like this forever, his whispered praise hot against her skin, his fingers stoking the ache that pulsed low and deep until it became unbearable.
“I need to be inside you, love,” he pleaded, sliding his fingers into her sex and driving her to the brink of insanity. “Tell me you want that, too.”
Oh, she did want that!
With a desperation that defied logic.
“I want that. I want you.”
“You want me filling you?”
“Yes.” Words were a powerful aphrodisiac. She came suddenly, bolts of pleasure shooting through her, every shudder making ripples in the musk-scented water.
“You’re certain you want to make love here?” He alluded to the possibility she might not be chaste.
She didn’t want to move to the bed. She didn’t want to think about anything but him and how it felt to be together at last.
“Yes, take me here. Take me now. Please hurry.”
“Raise yourself up on your knees, love.”
She obliged his request, gasping as the broad crown of his manhood pressed against her entrance, hard and eager.
She would never forget the moment he entered her—slow, deliberate—warm water lapping around them. Not because of the slight pressure as he stretched her. It was the tender look on his face, the heat of passion in his eyes, the feeling that her life had spun out of control yet now it was right again. It was his quiet words of reassurance, his groan of pleasure as she began to sheath him.
This wasn’t the end.
How could it be?
This was a beautiful beginning.
“One more thrust, and you’re mine completely. Tell me you want this because I swear, I’ve never wanted anything more.”
“Do it, Daniel. I’ve waited months.” For what seemed like forever. “Don’t make me wait another second.”
She braced herself, ready to take all of him but wholly unprepared for the wild tide of emotion when he buried himself to the hilt. That one breathless thrust cemented their union.
He was her husband.
They were truly bound.
