"I like the way you respond to me," he whispered. "Do you like the way I'm touching you?"
He already knew the answer. He could feel how ready she was for him. How hot. His fingers rubbed against the nub hidden between her folds until she was slick with moisture. His finger slowly eased up inside her.
Her hands had been fisted at her sides until that minute. She came apart then. She stroked his shoulders, his back.
Her nails scraped his backside. "Nathan," she whispered. "Don't do that. It hurts. Oh, God, don't stop."
She continued to contradict herself by arching up against his hand. Nathan could barely understand what she was saying to him. He shook with raw desire to have her.
He silenced her weak protest with a kiss and moved to cover her. She didn't try to lock her legs together but moved to cuddle his hardness between her thighs.
He twisted her hair in his hand to hold her steady for his kiss. The way she rubbed her pelvis against him drove him crazy. He wasn't being gentle. She wouldn't let him. Her nails stung. He liked that. She was moaning, too. He liked that even more.
He slowly eased into her but stopped when he felt the thin shield of her resistance. He lifted his head up enough so that he could look into her eyes.
"Put your legs around me," he ordered, his voice harsh with determination.
When she did as he commanded he let out a low growl. And still he hesitated.
"Look at me, Sara."
She opened her eyes and stared into his.
"You're going to belong to me. Now and forever."
Her eyes were misty with passion. She reached up to clasp the sides of his face. "I have always belonged to you, Nathan. Always."
His mouth covered hers again. He thrust deep inside her in one swift motion, thinking to get the pain he knew she'd feel over and done with as quickly as possible.
"Hush, baby," he whispered when she cried out. He was fully embedded in her. Her tight heat surrounded him, squeezed him. "God, that feels good," he said with a groan.
"No, it doesn't feel good," she cried out. She tried to shift positions to ease the throbbing pain, but he held her hips and wouldn't let her move.
"It will feel better in a minute," he told her. His breathing was labored. He sounded out of breath to her. His face rested in the hollow of her shoulder. He nipped at her skin with his teeth, tickled her at the same time with his tongue. The sweet torture made her forget some of the pain.
"Don't push against me like that, Sara," he ordered. His voice was harsh, strained. "I'm not stopping now. I can't."
His tongue rubbed her earlobe. She quit struggling and let out a sigh of pleasure.
"The pain won't last long," he whispered then. "I promise."
She reacted more to the tenderness, the caring in his voice than to the promise he'd just given her. She hoped he was right, though. She still hurt. The throbbing was insistent, but after a minute it did begin to lessen. Yet when he started to move again the pain immediately returned.
"If you don't move, it isn't so terrible," she whispered.
His groan was harsh.
"All right, Nathan?" she pleaded.
"All right," he answered, responding to the worry in her voice. It was a lie, of course, but she was too innocent to understand how much he needed to move. "I won't move."
Her hands began to stroke his hair, the back of his neck. His fever was burning out of control, and the pain of having to hold back was demanding to be appeased.
She couldn't seem to quit touching him. "Nathan, kiss me."
"The pain's gone now?"
"Almost."
He deliberately withdrew just a little when he moved to kiss her again, then just as slowly eased back inside her.
"You moved," she cried out.
Instead of agreeing with her he kissed her. When he tried to withdraw again her nails dug into his hard thighs. She was trying to keep him still against her. He ignored her protests and sought to make her burn the way he was burning. His hand slipped down between their joined bodies, and his thumb slowly stoked the fire inside her.
Her head fell back on the pillows, and her grip on his thighs relaxed.
And then she began to move. Her hips pushed up against his. Her actions were instinctive, primal, uncontrollable.
She soon became demanding, too. He responded to her by slowly pulling back and thrusting more powerfully inside.
She squeezed him tight and arched up against him just as forcefully. The mating ritual took over. The bed creaked from the rocking motion. Their bodies glistened with perspiration in the candlelight. Her sweet moans blended with his raw growls.
They were both wild to find fulfillment. He couldn't stop his own climax, nor the near shout he gave when he spilled his hot seed inside her.
His head dropped against her shoulder in complete surrender to the blazing orgasm that overtook him.
He knew she was close to finding her own release. His thrusts continued to be just as forceful, and when he felt her tense against him, he forced her orgasm by driving hard into her again.
She screamed. His name.
His ears rang from the noise. He collapsed on top of her, giving her his full weight in an attempt to stop her trembling.
Neither one of them moved for a long, long while. Nathan was too content. She was too exhausted.
She felt a trickle of moisture near her ear, reached up to touch it, and only then realized she'd been crying. Lord, she'd really lost her composure, hadn't she? She was too pleased to worry about that, though. And too satisfied. Why hadn't anyone ever told her how wonderful making love would be?
Her husband's heartbeat pounded in unison with her own. She let out a happy sigh. She was his wife now.
"You can't call me bride anymore," she whispered against his neck. On impulse she tickled his skin with the tip of her tongue. The taste of him was salty, male, wonderful.
"Am I too heavy for you?"
He sounded weary to her. She answered him, yes, he was getting heavy, and he immediately rolled onto his back.
She didn't want him to leave her just yet. She wanted him to hold her, to tell her what a fine woman she was, to give her the words of praise and love all new wives longed to hear. She wanted him to kiss her again, too.
She didn't get anything. Nathan's eyes were closed. He looked peaceful and sleepy.
She didn't have any idea of the war Nathan was waging with himself. He was desperately trying to understand what had just happened to him. He'd never lost control so completely. She'd bewitched him. Confused him, too. He was feeling vulnerable, and damn, that feeling scared the hell out of him.
Sara rolled onto her side. "Nathan?"
"What?"
"Kiss me again."
"Go to sleep."
"Kiss me goodnight."
"No."
"Why not?"
"I'll want you again if I kiss you," he finally explained. He didn't bother to look at her but stared at the ceiling. "You're too tender."
She sat up in bed, flinching over the discomfort she felt between her thighs. He was right. She was tender. It didn't seem to matter, though. She still wanted him to kiss her.
"You're the one who made me tender," she muttered. She poked him in his shoulder. "I specifically remember telling you not to move."
"You moved first, Sara. Remember that?" he drawled.
She blushed. She took heart. He wasn't sounding too surly. She cuddled up against him, wishing he'd put his arms around her. "Nathan, isn't the after as important as the during?"
He didn't know what she was talking about. "Go to sleep," he ordered for the second time. He jerked the covers up over the two of them, then closed his eyes again.
She threw her arm over him. She was exhausted. Frustrated, too. She told him so.
He laughed. "Sara, I know you found fulfillment."