Some distant part of her mind knew what he was doing-was even aware enough to be grateful; if he was-as she knew he was-going to thrust his engorged phallus into her, she wanted to be as ready as humanly possible.
But…she was already sopping wet-and desperate. Frantically desperate to feel and experience all the rest. She wanted him atop her, wanted to feel him join with her.
Finally comprehended what drove otherwise sane women to crave a lover like him.
Her body writhed under his hands. She could barely find air enough to gasp, “Royce…” A half sob, half moan carried the rest of her wordless plea.
One he understood; one she had a sudden comprehension he’d been waiting for. Leaving his fingers buried within her sheath, he rose up, his long body sliding over hers as, bracing on one elbow, he fitted his hips between her widespread thighs.
He withdrew his fingers from her slick sheath, set the broad head of his erection within her folds, literally at her entrance, then he settled over her, looking down into her face.
From beneath her lashes, she looked into his dark eyes.
“Do you want me inside you?” His voice was so gravelly, she could barely make out the words.
Releasing the sheets her hands had fisted in, she reached up, sank her fingers into his upper arms, and pulled him down to her-or tried to. “Yes,” she hissed. “Now!”
His features, locked in passion, didn’t shift, but she sensed his immense satisfaction. Then-to her immense satisfaction-he obliged her in both her requests.
He let his body down on hers, and her senses sang in delirious delight-all that heat, all that solid muscle, all that heavy body pinning her to the bed. But then he lowered his head, and took her mouth again, filled it again-something she hadn’t been expecting that momentarily distracted her.
Then he flexed his hips, and nothing could distract her from the pressure as he entered her-slowly, inexorably-then he paused.
She almost screamed; she did moan, the sound muffled by their locked lips. Suddenly more desperate than she’d thought she could be, she sank her nails into his arms, writhed and lifted against him, tipped her hips, trying to lure him deeper, needing, begging-
He thrust heavily, powerfully, into her. Filled her completely with that single forceful thrust.
And she couldn’t absorb it all at once. The brief flash of pain, the overwhelming shock of the sensation of him so solid and heavy within her, the realization that this had really happened…like an overwound skein, her senses started to unravel.
He held still for a long moment, then withdrew, almost to her entrance, then thrust powerfully into her again, even more deeply-and her senses fractured. She screamed as they shattered; he drank in the sound.
And she was swept high on a spiral of infinite ecstasy, senses expanding and expanding, bright, sharp, crystalline clear as waves of sensation, increasingly intense, rolled through her-as he filled her mouth and claimed her there, as his body moved heavily upon hers, and hers responded and danced under his, instinctively responding to the deep, driving rhythm as he possessed her utterly-ravished her thoroughly-and everything within her sang.
Then ecstasy sharpened, gripped her anew, and pushed her even higher-he growled in his throat, caught her tongue with his, stroked, then thrust deep into her mouth just as he thrust even more forcefully into her body.
And she came apart again.
All her senses, every particle of her awareness, imploded. Fragmented. Shards of pleasure so intense they felt like light speared down her veins, then melted and made her glow, made her soften beneath him, around him, made her clutch him and hold him as he thrust one last time, even more deeply, then he stiffened, groaned, shuddered as his release swept him, as deep and intense as hers, leaving him wracked, helpless in her arms.
All tension released, fell away, and they were floating in some blissful, bliss-filled void, surrounded by a golden glory she couldn’t name.
It caught them, buoyed them, cushioned them as they spiraled slowly back to earth.
That golden rapture seeped into her, spread through her veins, through her body, sank deep into her heart, softly, slowly, infused her soul.
He’d lost himself in her.
That had never happened to him before; it left him wary.
Something had changed. He didn’t know what, but she’d opened some door, led him down a new path, and his view of an activity he’d taken for granted for years had altered.
His experience of that activity had been rewritten, rescripted.
He was very familiar with sexual satiation, but this was much more. The release he’d found in her, with her, was infinitely more sating; the satisfaction he’d found with her had reached his soul.
Or so it felt.
Royce stood at the uncurtained window of his bedroom and looked out at the moonlit night. Raising the glass of water he held, he sipped, and wished it could cool the still smoldering heat inside him.
But only one thing could do that.
He glanced back at his bed, where Minerva lay sleeping. Her hair was a golden wave breaking over his pillows, her face madonna-peaceful, one white arm gracefully draped atop the crimson-and-gold covers he’d pulled up so she wouldn’t get cold.
He’d memorized the sight of her lying naked and sated, sprawled on his crimson sheets, before he’d covered her. She’d bled hardly at all, just a few streaks on the inside of her thighs, enough to confirm her previous untouched state, but not, he hoped, enough to make her hesitate over taking him inside her again.
His primitive side had gloated; he’d wanted her then, wanted to wake her again, but had decided to play civilized and give her a little time to recover. He hadn’t been inside her all that long; her sheath had been so incredibly tight her release had brought on his. Control in abeyance, he hadn’t held back, but that also meant he hadn’t pounded into her for long; with luck she wouldn’t be too sore to let him inside her again.
At least she was where she was supposed to be.
Keeping her there, ensuring she remained, was his next step. One he’d never attempted-wished to take-with any other woman.
But she was his. He intended to point that out-to propose and be accepted-once she stirred.
In considering that proposal, and how best to phrase it, his mind circled back to the surprise she’d had for him-the little secret she’d been hiding so amazingly well.
She’d never had any previous lover. Despite being so focused on her, despite his expertise, he hadn’t detected her inexperience; instead, he’d assumed, and been wrong.
Sunk in her mouth, as physically linked with her as it was possible to be, he hadn’t missed that instant of pain as he’d thrust deeply inside her for the first time; he was too experienced not to recognize when a woman beneath him tensed in pain, rather than from pleasure.
But even as he’d registered the stunning fact that she’d been a virgin, she’d started to climax. Just as he’d intended.
The unexpected surge of primitive feelings knowing he’d taken her virginity had evoked, combining with the intense satisfaction of knowing he’d succeeded to the last detail with his plan, had detached him from all control. From that point on, he’d had none; he’d operated on instinct alone-that same powerful, primitive instinct that was even now prowling just beneath his skin, satisfied to a point, yet still hungry for her.
He tore his eyes from the bed, tried to focus on the night-shrouded landscape instead. If he’d known she’d been a virgin…not that he’d had much experience bedding virgins-only two, both when he’d been sixteen-but he would at least have tried to be less forceful, less vigorous. God knew he wasn’t the easiest man for even experienced women to accommodate, yet…He glanced again at the bed, then took another sip of water.