Page 63 of Winter's Waltz
She made a throaty sound of acquiescence and tore at his cravat and the short line of buttons on his shirt. Together, they pulled it over his head. Words fell away as they worked on the remnants of each other’s attire. His need for her was so acute, so intense, and so, too, his love.
Naked, they slipped into her bed as one.
* * *
Finally.
That was all Gen could think as she lay on her bed and Max kissed her everywhere. Her body was singing, on fire, need pooling heavy and hot between her thighs. His mouth left flames and shivers in his wake, bringing her to life in places she had never imagined would desire to be kissed. Her shoulder, her inner elbow, her hip bone.
And then, his wicked hands were parting her thighs, and he had insinuated himself there, where the longing was making her wet and desperate for him. His head dipped. He tongued the bud of her sex. Her body jerked as if she were his marionette, being expertly played.
He was teasing her. Torturing her, really. Those light, swift licks making her press herself into his face with shameless abandon. His hands spread her wider, and then his thumb grazed her core, dipping into the place where she felt so empty. Where she wanted to be filled and taken.
By him.
Only him.
He raked her with his teeth, his thumb swirling, opening her, readying her. She was drenched and aching. He suckled her as if he wanted to consume every drop of her desire, and it was too much. The violence of her release took her by surprise. It was sudden and fast, quaking through her, sending the most exquisite pleasure blossoming from her center and radiating.
He kissed her inner thighs and then dragged his mouth upward, worshiping more of her body. Landing on her nipples. He made her feel…beautiful. Revered. It was, she thought, intoxicating. Already, she wanted more.
She never wanted this night to end.
“Gen,” he whispered her name against her skin. “God, you are lovely.” And then he kissed her scar, ugly and puckered. “So lovely.”
She had no sensation where his lips grazed, but she felt those slow, tender kisses in her heart as he made his way along the length of that hideous reminder of what her mother had done.
Her fingertips dug into his shoulders. “I need you, Max.”
There was no shame in the admission when she said it to him. Everything about them was different. She knew it.
He kissed over her breasts, taking his time, making her wild. His lips coasted along her neck as he settled between her thighs. The thick maleness of him had her moving, seeking more connection.
“Impatient.” He kissed her ear, her jaw. “I am trying to take my time. I do not want to hurt you.”
“I hurt now.” She reached between them, her fingers closing around his length. He was hard and warm and soft. She stroked from root to tip, swirled her thumb over the round head, finding moisture there. “I ache for you.”
He groaned and nuzzled her cheek, thrusting into her touch. “As do I, my love.”
My love.
The endearment should have been unwelcome, and yet, it was not. She had always known the Marquess of Sundenbury was trouble. Here was more proof.
But she was helpless to resist that trouble. Or him.
“Please,” she begged, all her pride gone.
He kissed her, slowly, languorously. The taste of her was on his tongue, foreign and musky. Strangely, she did not mind. There was an honesty in the carnality they shared. Everything about it, about him, feltright.
His fingers closed over hers, and together, they aligned themselves. He was at her entrance, and she was on fire. “Take me, empress. Take what you want.”
She had a rudimentary knowledge of the way a man and woman fit together. Instinct prompted what that knowledge lacked. She guided him into her. They kissed again as he shifted, pumping his hips. And she was stretched and full, so gloriously full. There was a slight burning of discomfort as her body adjusted to the newness of his invasion.
She released her grasp on his shaft so he could thrust deeper. All the way inside. His fingers found the bud he had already tortured so deliciously, and he worked the sensitive flesh. Their tongues tangled as they kissed, and he withdrew, then pushed forward.
The rhythm was maddening. So too his touch on that part of her he had just pleasured. Each glide of his cock through her wetness was impossibly wondrous. She felt as if she were made of stars. As if she were sparkling and magnificent. As if she had been made solely for this pleasure, this moment.
This man.
