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He didn’t take her to the master bedroom, or to the bedroom that he’d once had as a child. He didn’t take her to the guest room he’d been using either; there were too many memories associated with all of them. Her room, though, the only memories he had of it were of pleasure.
It overlooked the sea and a white terrace, and best of all the bed was big and wide, covered in a thick white quilt and blue cushions.
He set her down in the middle of the room and pulled the veil from her hair, before carefully laying it out on the couch near the window. Then he took her by the shoulders and turned her around so he could undo the many tiny buttons on the back of her dress.
As the heavy fabric fell away, it revealed pale, silky skin. She wore nothing underneath her gown except a pair of lacy knickers and high-heeled sandals.
Desire gripped him, his satisfaction deepening, and he let it run through him, sharpening his hunger to a fine point. She was his wife. She was his and he’d never had anyone of his own before. He hadn’t known how deeply that would matter to him.
The male beast in him wanted to gorge itself on her as soon as possible, but he’d already decided he wasn’t going to rush it. This was her wedding night and she was his wife, and savouring her was no less than she deserved.
She had given him hope and so he would give her pleasure.
He helped her to step out of her dress and then he laid that out over the couch too, before coming back to her. She’d gone the prettiest shade of pink, the wildflowers still woven in her lovely hair.
This time it was his turn to kneel, he decided, and he did so before her, lifting his hands to run them up her thighs, stroking the warm satin of her skin, and making her tremble. Her eyes were dark and smoky as she looked down at him, and he held her gaze as he hooked his fingers into the lace of her underwear, slowly drawing it down. She swallowed, the pulse at the base of her throat beating fast, her cheeks flushed.
He helped her step out of the lacy fabric and then got rid of it, so that all she wore were her high-heeled sandals and nothing else.
She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life.
Another moment Dorian will never get to have: a wedding night.
The thought was a knife, cutting him open, but he shoved it aside. He wasn’t going to think about his brother, not now, not here. This was for him. She was for him. She was his hope and he had to believe in the future she represented. He had to.
He ran his hands up her thighs again, leaning in and pressing kisses against her stomach, stroking her softly rounded curves, filling himself with her delicious, sweet and musky scent. She was getting aroused now, he could smell it, so he explored lower, nuzzling against the soft curls between her thighs.
She shivered in his hands, a sound escaping her as he kissed down to the sweet heat that lay between her legs. He leaned in further, tasting her with his tongue, filling his hands with softness of her rear and squeezing gently as he held her still for his mouth. He pushed his tongue inside her, tasting her deeper, licking her and making her gasp. Her fingers were in his hair, twisting, gripping him tightly as he gorged himself on her flavour and the way she shivered and gasped against him.
He brought her to climax quickly and hard, and she cried his name, sagging against him as if she couldn’t hold herself upright any longer. He rose to his feet, picking her up in his arms and taking her to the bed. Then he put her down on the mattress and with slow care removed her sandals. He took his time, undoing the strap of each one, cradling her small foot as he slipped them off.
She lay back on the white sheets, her skin beautifully flushed, her hair a golden veil across the pillows with wildflowers scattered everywhere, her eyes glowing like banked coals from the pleasure he’d just given her. There was pleasure in this too, in taking her shoes off, in stroking her feet and making her giggle and squirm.
That made him smile, which surprised him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled during sex. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled at all, at least not when it hadn’t been at her.
And then her shoes were off and his clothes felt too tight. He wanted her bare skin against his, and so he clawed them off, discarding them carelessly on the floor before joining her on the bed. He moved over her, settling himself between her thighs and lowering his head to kiss her, deep and hot. Letting her taste herself on him.
She gave a soft, throaty moan, her hips lifting against his in blatant demand. But he was still taking his time, so he teased them both, rubbing the hard length of his shaft against the tender flesh of her sex, making her gasp and clutch at him. But soon he too lost patience, easing her thighs wide and pushing inside her in a long, slow, deep glide.
‘Atticus...’ Her back arched, her eyes gone liquid and dark as the night sky. She felt so good around him, tight and wet and so hot his brain momentarily blanked.
She was beneath him, taking all of him, looking up at him as if he was the best thing she’d seen all day. As if he was the best thing she’d ever seen in her entire life.
No one had ever looked at him like that. No one.
Then she lifted her arms to him the way she had all those years ago, her hands on his shoulders, gripping him as if she never wanted to let him go, and he began to move inside her, deep and slow.
Pleasure was a dark pulse inside him, so strong and getting stronger, and he could see it reflected in her eyes too. Her nails dug into him and she didn’t look away. ‘Atticus,’ she whispered as he slid his hands beneath her, lifting her hips so he could move deeper. ‘Oh, my God...’
She was electric around him, fierce ecstasy arcing through him and spitting sparks, the trail of a comet flying in a night sky.
‘Elena.’ He could taste her name. It had a flavour all its own and that was something else he wanted to savour. ‘My Elenitsa.’
She shuddered, staring up at him as he moved inside her, fast and getting faster, twisting everything tight and making it desperate. Her legs closed around his waist, her hips moving with his, falling into his rhythm as if born to it.
There was ecstasy between them, a fever that grew with every thrust of his hips, and he had one moment’s fleeting doubt that he was perhaps feeling all this a lot more strongly than he should have, when it all exploded in a wild flame, and he let them both burn until they were nothing but sparks and ash on the wind.
CHAPTER NINE
