Page 49 of One Wicked Secret
“Sometimes passion isn’t enough,” he said.
“It would have been enough for me.”
“That’s easy to say when you’ve never experienced how quickly desire fades,” he said, a faint trace of uncertainty in his voice.
That’s when the truth hit her.
Despite everything he’d said, he was afraid. Afraid the reality would fall short of the dream. Afraid one of them would realise these games were a distraction, nothing more than easing their boredom.
“We will know soon enough.” She placed a tentative hand on his chest. His skin was smooth and warm, the muscles hard beneath her palm. Heavens! He was glorious. “I intend to follow in my ancestors’ footsteps and take what I want. And I want no man but you.”
Her mouth was on his in a heartbeat.
There was no slow melding. No gentle coaxing. No fumbling or awkward clashing of teeth. No struggle to find the right angle.
Their lips met with the pull of magnets, locking together with an unstoppable force. Nothing could tear them apart.
He cupped her face, deepening the kiss as their mouths moved frantically.
She ran her fingers through the crisp hair on his chest, savouring the sensation. She would never tire of touching him. Everything about him was addictive—the earthy scent ofhis skin, the quiet rumble of his breath, the heat radiating from his body, the way his muscles tensed beneath her fingertips as if craving her touch as much as she craved his.
Then he stilled, the teasing brush of his tongue making her shiver as he entered her mouth.
Sweet mercy!
He was inside her, deep inside her, a means of showing her what it would feel like if he parted her legs and pushed into her sex. She felt every needy stroke of his tongue, across her nipples, between her thighs, hot pulses of pleasure.
A whimper escaped her when he broke contact and, with a ragged breath, drawled, “May I touch you, Elsa? May I touch you intimately?”
In this, she trusted him implicitly. No matter the distance, the doubts, or the secrets between them, the one constant in their relationship was that he made her feel safe.
“You’re my husband. You don’t need to ask.”
His breath hitched. “I’ll always ask—because I want to hear you say yes. After everything that’s occurred, I need to know you want me.”
“I do want you,” she whispered.
Passion had never been the problem.
Despite the lonely nights spent crying herself to sleep, sick with confusion, she had never stopped wanting the man who’d secretly courted her. She craved the man who’d sacrificed everything even more.
He reached under her skirt, his eyes locked on hers, his hand gliding slowly up her stocking, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
Dear Lord!
She sucked in a breath, her body tense with anticipation as he moved higher. Heat pooled between her thighs. If hetouched her intimately, he would know she was wet and that her desire for him was spiralling.
“I know where you ache,” he purred. “I could make you come like this … with your back against the door, my fingers sliding over that swollen little nub.”
His words were like arak—smooth, intoxicating, warming her from the inside out. Every inch of her skin was alive.
“But not yet,” he teased. “Kiss me, Elsa. Show me how badly you want this.”
She was on him in an instant. Her lips clashed with his, the kiss a wild inferno of need. She pushed her hands into his hair, tugging at the roots, anchoring his mouth to hers.
His wicked fingers traced the curve of her hip, softly squeezing her bare buttock, pulling her harder into his groin.
He moaned into her mouth, the sound raw as their passion soared.
