Page 96 of The Truth About Myths
"That's it, now be a good princess and take me all in." He grabbed her buttocks, bent his knees, and thrust. Bright points burst under his eyelids at having penetrated her so deeply. He rested his forehead on her neck. She was breathing heavily, her sheath pulsing against him.
"It is a measure of your eagerness that we must make love standing up," she panted, her words ruffling the scruff on his chest.
"It is a measure of how much I want you that I cannot wait."
He should be careful with her. Yesterday, she was a virgin. But when she licked his nipple, her little teeth sinking into him, her heels digging into his flanks, a mythic beast unleashed within him. He thrust savagely, like a man possessed, like an animal in heat, like a randy god. When the ripples of pleasure caught her, she arched her back, her nails sinking into his shoulders. Henrique pushed inside her one more time and exploded, a shuddering release that left him gasping for breath, holding her tightly against his chest.
His legs threatened to give out on him, and before he crumpled, he lifted her from the table. On the way to the bed, Henrique paused, entranced by their joined reflection, much like Narcissus gazing upon the pond. The Venetian mirror reflected his darkness to her fairness, her softness to his roughness. His mate in sensuality and intellect.
His hands, sun-bronzed and rough, seemed indecent against her lily-white buttocks, and the enormity of his action crashed down on him. She wasn't a lady he had stolen from a husband, but a princess he had taken from a country that loved and respected her.
As his gaze lowered to the place where his flesh met hers, a primal feeling took hold of him. She was his, damn the country. Only he could make her fly.
"Don't leave me yet," Isabel whispered, clinging to him.
His breath caught. "Are you sure you have not some peasant stock in your royal lineage? I never saw a lustier wench."
Without withdrawing from her tight sheath, he kneeled on the mattress and lowered his weight atop her.
"Look who is saying." She laughed breathlessly and brushed her fingers against his chest. "With your tanned skin and coarse pelt, you look the part of a heathen."
She lay beneath him, a contented smile on her lips, her eyelashes shadowing her cheeks. He kissed her eyelids and tasted the sweet, salty perspiration on her forehead.
His cock hardened by a sudden, savage rush of his blood.
Isabel's eyes widened. "Did you not just—"
"Indeed, quite vigorously."
Pinned under his weight, she strained her hips against him. "But you still feel quite ready."
"Not still. Again."
She gasped, her plump lips opening.
"If you are a nice peasant girl, this heathen will make you fly many times." He thrust, lodging himself to the hilt inside her sheath. Her breath broke, and she clawed at his biceps.
Henrique laughed and moved, savoring her warmth. Slowly, he retreated. When he returned, he let her feel his weight. The intense, gliding friction was heady, addictive.
"Henrique." Isabel breathed.
He doubled the pressure, filling her to bursting. If he seduced her with ecstasy, she would want to stay tonight, forever.
She quivered beneath him, her eyes heavy-lidded. Henrique drank from her lips, gliding in and retreating, the age-old rhythm of gods and beasts.
Her cries turned sharp, urgent, almost frightened.
"Sweet Isa, another flight, just one more."
"My wings are tired—can't—"
She could. He knew she could. One more time. Not enough. Forever. He placed his hand between their bodies, feeling the first shudders of pleasure course through her stomach. Her toes curled against his calves, and a keening cry escaped her lips.
He flicked her clitoris, and she ignited. "Hold on to me, Isa. This time, you will soar."
After they shared lunch, he helped her dress in her own clothes. A minor concession for her good behavior. The tiara sparkled atop the dressing table, and Isabel didn't place it atop her head. He stared at the forgotten diamonds, his eyes trapped in the light like a mesmerized feline. No. He would not consider her motives. It was too soon for her, for them. He felt her reluctance, and it wrenched his heart. Time was passing. If Pedro arrived before he convinced her to stay, then… What? He needed her to admit her feelings for him. With a sense of urgency gnawing at his insides, Henrique took her to his favorite spot, the wild garden patch behind the battlements.
He grabbed her waist and hoisted her atop the ruins of an ancient wall. She dangled her feet until her slippers fell with soft thuds on the grass, and then she leaned back on her elbows, the sun igniting golden streaks in her loose hair.
