Page 115 of The General's Gift
If his life had been iron and smoke, then hers was tulle, and he wanted to live wrapped in it.
Over the camisole, she wore his coat from the 13th.
He touched a brass button. “Why are you wearing the uniform now?”
Her eyes sparkled. “Because love is a battle, my lord… and I am armed for the sweetest war.”
The colorless world he’d carried since Spain dissolved under the blush in her cheeks, the glint of copper in her hair, the exact shade of her eyes—eyes that had always held a promise.
And that promise, at last, was his.
She touched his cheek. “Are you nervous, Alexander?”
His mouth curved. “Should I be?”
She went on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his cheek. “Afraid I won’t be gentle with you?”
The words sent a jolt through him, and he gripped her forearms. “Celeste, I vow to go slow—”
She smiled like she already knew he’d surrender. “And I vow that I have no intention of letting you breathe.”
Pressing her mouth hard against his, she nipped his lower lip. The sting jolted him, and his groan swallowed her laugh.
He tried to keep the kiss measured, but she twined her arms around his neck. He lost the rhythm he had planned. Heat surged as he crushed her to him.
Her tulle brushed against his trousers, reminding him of everything still between them. He wanted her stripped bare, with nothing but her skin and his.
She tugged at the shirt, laughing into the kiss. He should have been the one undressing her, but she tore at him like she meant to unmake the general and keep only the man. Brass buttons clinked to the floor as she peeled the coat from her shoulders, and the tulle beneath seemed to rise like smoke around her.
He steadied her with his hands at her waist. But she stood in nothing but that gauzy fabric, half chaos, half angel, daring him to look, daring him to touch.
He lowered her onto the bed, his mouth trailing fire from her collarbone to the hollow between her breasts. He lingered there, tongue circling, lips tugging until she arched up with a gasp. Her skin was salt and silk as he traced the curve of her waist.
She caught his wrist, guiding him past the softness of her belly to the heat waiting beneath the downy hair above her mound.
“I am your wife,” she said, voice breaking into a breathless laugh. “Not a crystal relic.”
The audacity scorched him.
He captured her wrists and pressed them into the pillows, lowering his weight until her laughter faltered into a gasp. Her thighs parted for him, soft heat cradling his hips, and every nerve in his body screamed to drive forward. He dragged his length along her slickness once, twice, torturing them both, then pushed inside with a slow, conquering thrust.
She squeezed her eyes shut, head tipping back into the pillows. Hawk froze. He hadn’t given her enough time. God, had he hurt her? Sweat burned down his temple as every muscle locked against the urge to move.
“Be brave for me, Celeste,” he rasped, lowering his mouth to hers.
He kissed her slowly and then pulled away.
Her eyes gleamed with mischief, her lips curving, though she trembled around him. “I have been reading,” she whispered, breath hitching as he began a careful pace, thrusting in and out of her. “There are some very interesting positions atThe Merchant of Venus.”
His cock twitched inside her. “Yes?”
“Indeed,” she moaned, rolling her hips against him, drawing another groan. “I saw pictures. And in them… the woman does not always stay below.”
Before he could draw breath, she planted her palms on his chest and shoved. In a fluid motion, she rolled him onto the mattress and straddled him.
Pinned beneath her, he could only watch as she took him.
Her hair tumbled in wild ribbons around her face, her chest rising, swaying, as she sank onto him in one long, merciless glide. Her heat clutched him so tight he nearly shouted.
