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I’m notone for impulse. I like to plot my actions out, review them, rewrite them, then review them all over again. But sometimes my desire trumps all logic.
It’s what led me to Emily, and now, it’s responsible forthis.
I’ve kissed her countless times before now. Each time has been different but amazing.
This is beyond any of them.
She whimpers down my throat. Her soft hands grab at my shoulders, forcing me closer, demanding more of me. I’m eager to give her everything I can. I bury my fingers deeper into her hair until I’ve undone her French twist. The long pins holding it together topple to the floor, forever lost among the stable hay.
She fumbles for my black jacket, pushing it down my arms. I help her get it off and toss it carelessly to the floor. Emily ends our kiss long enough to gulp some air before diving in with new energy. With feverish excitement I explore the length of herneck, and then my mouth moves to her shoulders, one after the other, kissing them lightly.
She moans each time, and my cock stirs to life, throbbing in anticipation.
Shifting until I’m behind her, I begin to undo each clasp. It’s agonizingly slow work. Every sliver of her skin I reveal makes my cock harder and harder.
Slowly, the dress loses its rigid shape like a cocoon coming undone. Emily breathes heavily, her shoulders shaking as she endures my touch.
“What’s taking so long?” she asks.
“I’m giving you the reverence you deserve,” I reply breathily. “After all, it is our wedding night.”
She shoots a look at me. Her chestnut hair covers most of her face as the wild look returns in her dazzling sapphire eyes.
“What happens ifyoudestroy this dress?”
Catching her chin, I force her to look at me. “Then you can do whatever you want to me.”
Her pink lips twist into a million shapes before she presses her lips feverishly against mine. Her soft fingers start tugging at my pants, stroking the length of my rock-hard cock.
Clutching her dress in turn, I pull it down over her hips to free her from it. Underneath, she wears a simple pair of white lace panties and a matching demi-bra. Freckles dot her chest and ribs. They make a path down to the dimples in her hip, like a galaxy full of stars.
“You’re beautiful, Kitty Cat.”
“Stop it,” she says bashfully.
“Never.” Taking her wrists, I kiss the insides of them before I tug apart my own tie.
Emily’s hands soon join the work, attacking my buttons with less control than I did with her dress. When she exposes my collarbone, she tears the shirt from my chest
“Oh!”
She gasps at my exposed chest, dotted with the tattoos that tell the story of my criminal life. Everything from the stars above my chest to the skulls and crosses beneath them.
But her eyes aren’t focused on those.
I know what she’sreallystaring at.
Taking her right hand, I place it on my left pec. “Knife scars,” I explain.
“From Domenico?”
I answer her with a nod and nothing more. I have no intention of reliving that memory and its awful consequences. Not now, not when those consequences have nearly taken her away from me.
To her credit, she doesn’t press any further. Instead, she closes the distance between us and kisses me with a renewed urgency.
My tongue traces the roof of her mouth, and she moans deliciously in response.
Holding her by her middle, I push her against the nearest wooden beam. Her cry of surprise makes the horses shuffle uneasily. “Konstantin, what are you doing?”
