“Aye, ye did.” He leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers. He kissed her and breathed her. He caressed her as if she were adored. His mouth molded to hers as he turned her in his arms and held her, chest to chest. He sank down on his back, taking her along while his lips whispered how bonny she was to him.
Sprawled atop him, she almost finally wept at the freedom he brought her.
He held her face in his hands and leaned his head up to keep kissing her. Soon, she grew bold enough to pull her legs over his waist and straddle him.
She immediately felt him grow harder, bigger between her legs. Her head told her she should jump off him. Instinct told her to rub herself against him.
She moved herself over him. He groaned and told her how wonderful she was.
Oh, but he was large and his hardness felt so utterly delightful at her crux, she thought she might have smiled.
Elias seemed to think so, too, because he pulled her down to kiss her and cup one of her breasts in his hand.
She shuddered above him as her nipples grew into taut little buds at the work of his deft fingers. She didn’t protest when he swept her over and lay on top of her. She trusted him.
He looked down, dominant, sheltering. “Ye tempt me beyond my limits, Lily. If ye knew l the things I want to do to ye…”
He pulled himself up, off her, and ran a hand down her hip, down to her knee. He gathered some linen of her chemise and pulled it up slowly over her thighs.
When he exposed her, he caressed her with his hand. He kissed her neck and slid his tongue south to her breasts.
What was he doing to her that felt so scandalous yet gave her such pleasure?
Sucking her breasts and fondling a small nub that pulsed with what felt like a life of its own between her thighs.
Instinctually, she wanted more of him and tugged at his breeches.
He was out of them in an instant, boots flung to the floor nearby.
She marveled at his legs; his thighs, dusted with dark hair and thick with muscle. Her gaze was drawn to the large mound beneath his léine.
He ran his broad hand over himself and lifted his léine when he returned to the bed. She had her first look at it dangling over a silken pouch.
She’d seen others beside Bertram and Walter’s, when he suffered from that terrible rash, or Osbert, last summer when a bee flew down his breeches and stung him. But none of those was so thick and springing with life as Elias’.
He climbed onto the bed and kneeled to peel away his léine.
Lily’s breath grew short and she tugged on her chemise, pulling it up higher.
She knew she was mad not to be more afraid, but the beauty of his masterfully sculpted body, his contoured face, mesmerized her. He wouldn’t hurt her. His hands were as tender as his words.
He came down, covering her. He rested his lengthening rod between her legs and stared into her eyes. “Dinna be afraid.”
“I am not afraid,” she declared. She wasn’t. She would not let Bertram ruin her life.
She relaxed her body and enjoyed the feel of him on her. He was her husband now. She could do what she wanted with him.
She reached out boldly and ran her fingers over his muscles. She bent her knees and cradled him, moving under him to music that was both feral and silent.
He had to stop before he poured himself forth prematurely.
They laughed at how many times he asked her to cease moving. She teased him about his control, or lack of it. They kissed and whispered to each other and, slowly, he claimed her with a sweep of his hips. He broke through with patience and concentration.
She loved the power she wielded over him. She loved him for giving it to her. He rose up on his palms and she held his trembling arms, fighting to take him fully. Though she didn’t have to fight for long. He stretched her and filled her. But still, he couldn’t get enough of her, so he slipped his hands behind her and held her by her arse, pulling her closer, pushing himself deeper.
She muffled her cries in his shoulder. He slowed, apologizing for hurting her.
“No,” she whispered through hollow breaths, “’twill hurt no matter which way you do it. I can do it.”