Chapter Twenty-Seven
Matthew was half-certain he was hallucinating.
What other reason could explain the sweetness of Jasmine’s voice as she told him she loved him and asked him to make love to her? He must be dreaming, if not for her soft skin under his hands and her mouth over his.
Time stood still, and his first answer was yes—God, yes—he wanted to make love to her.
But he couldn’t rush this.
Even sore to his bones from carrying her all night, he was half up for the task already, but Jasmine was vulnerable. Her first time shouldn’t be like this. Not with linen bedcovers in an ancient bed. She deserved silk sheets and a better man, but she wanted him.
He needed her to be sure.
“We don’t have to go further than this.” He kissed her with the barest hint of a touch. “I’m satisfied with holding you. I can wait.”
She climbed into his lap and faced him with an adorably stern pinch to her brows.
“I’m not satisfied with waiting. All we ever do is wait,” she said. “I know you’re worried about me, but I’m clear-minded and stronger than you think.”
He placed a kiss on her cheekbone. “You’re precisely as strong as I think you are.”
She smiled at him.
“Trust me to decide what to do with my body. Let’s decide as partners what we do together.” With no hesitation in her voice, she asked, “In this moment—right now—do you want to make love to me?”
“Yes,” he said, sure to his soul, but his conscience wavered. “You’ve been through so much tonight. I don’t want you to regret this.” He held her chin with his fingertip and met her eyes. “It’ll hurt the first time. And I’ll try to prevent it, but there’s always a chance for a baby.”
“I trust you. I’m going to marry you, and if there’s a baby—” she paused and blushed. “It wouldn’t be a bad thing, would it?”
He smiled at the thought. “Not at all.”
“We’ll go slow, and you can teach me.” She entwined her arms around his neck.
“It’ll only hurt the first time, right? That means on our wedding night”—she lowered her voice—“you’ll be able to teach me much more.
” Leaning back, she raised a brow in challenge.
“You’ve already ruined me, Matthew. Do it right this time. ”
He smirked. “With an offer like that, how could I refuse?”
“Do we have enough time?”
“I’ll make time,” he promised. “And I’ll take my time.”
For once, he didn’t care about the clock or someone else’s rules. No one would come through that door without permission. He was the master of this house, and its future mistress needed satisfying.
He would satisfy her for as long as she wished.
Kissing him, she worked at the buttons on his shirt until it lay open. He shrugged out of it and helped her raise the nightgown over her head. Bare before him, she was all legs and glorious curves. Full breasts, a rounded bottom, and hips he could sink his fingers into.
Soon, his fingers would be everywhere.
First, he let her explore. She hadn’t touched him properly last time.
Afraid of losing control, he had robbed her of true intimacy with him.
Tentatively, she touched him—trailing fire from her fingertips.
He labored to keep his breathing even as her hands slid down his sides to the dip in his hips.
She unfastened the drawstring of his trousers, and eased the garment over his hips.
“How should I touch you?” she asked.
“Do this,” he whispered. Taking himself in hand, he stroked. Up, then down. Tension eased in his abdomen, and he sighed with relief. Guiding her hand, he encouraged her to wrap her fingers around him. She gripped him delicately, as if afraid of hurting him.
“Harder,” he urged, pressing her hand firmly down. His vision blurred at the edges, heat filled his core, and he almost spent on the spot. Her touch glided over him, and he sucked in a breath. “Yes, like that.”
Growing bolder, she touched and teased until he thought he would go mad. He halted her movements and brought her in for a kiss.
“My turn. Lie on your back.”
As soon as she did, he settled between her legs. Unable to help himself, he ground his hips right over her sex, sliding deliciously. She gasped, and he growled—already wet for him, and he hadn’t even touched her. Instinct called him to take—to claim—and he reminded himself to go slow.
He kissed his way down her body, leaving no spot untouched.
Lingering at her breasts, he sucked one hardened bud in his mouth, and then the other.
Continuing his descent, he trailed his tongue from her navel to the inside of her thighs.
He closed his mouth over her sex, and she spread her legs wider, welcoming his touch.
He rewarded her by pressing one finger into her body, then another.
She gripped his hair. Pin-pricks of pain tugged at his scalp—and he loved it.
Loved the rise and fall of her hips under his tongue, how easily she unraveled for him.
Responsive and perfect. He worshiped her at a torturously slow pace.
Steady circles timed with the slide of his fingers inside her.
He kept her on the cusp of climax—until her spine arched and she cried out, “Matthew, please.”
And he relented, driving her hard over that peak.
She covered her mouth to stifle her cries, and he eased her hand away from her face.
“No one’s here,” he whispered. “Don’t hold yourself back. I want to hear you.”
He always loved hearing her talk. He loved it more when English and Spanish merged, pitched with desire in her voice.
Using both languages, she told him how she felt powerless under him, loved him—needed him—and begged for more, please, Matthew, more.
So he gave her one more. And then another—guided by every moan, breath, and sob he wrenched from her—until he lost count and she couldn’t speak.
He pressed two fingers deep into her body, stretching her, hoping it would be enough because he couldn’t wait any longer.
“Are you ready?” he asked, knowing damn well she was, but needing to hear it.
“Yes.”
“Get on top of me.”
Her eyes widened. “How?”
“Sit in my lap, and face me.” He sat up against the headboard and eased her to straddle him. “Ride me.”
She bit her bottom lip, and he took it into his mouth, soothing her with his tongue.
“You control the pace this way.” He aligned himself with the entrance to her body. “When you’re ready, ease yourself down—gently. I’ll help you.”
With his hands on her hips, he guided her down.
He breathed through his teeth as hot, tight pressure closed over him.
Tighter than anything he had ever experienced.
Maybe Jasmine was right—maybe he wouldn’t fit.
But he was. They fit marvelously together.
Sparks formed behind his eyelids. Pleasure radiated through every nerve.
Straining with the effort not to drive into her, he remained taut as she took him into her body—inch by glorious inch.
He leaned back on the headboard, closed his eyes…
And she stopped.
He groaned and glared at her.
She smirked.
“Watch me,” she said. “You need to tell me if I’m doing this right.”
“You are,” he said through gritted teeth. “Go slow.”
But she didn’t. She rolled her hips, and with one forceful movement—she took him to the hilt. He choked on his inhale. She felt heavenly. She gasped and dug her nails into his shoulders, closing her eyes.
“Does it hurt?” He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her clenched jaw. “Talk to me, love.”
“It feels… strange.” Experimentally, she rolled her hips. “But good.” She tipped her head back and gasped. “Esto es... qué rico.”
She rocked over him, finding a rhythm—dancing with him. He laced his fingers through her hair and licked a line up her throat. “Te quiero, mi amor.”
A helpless sound escaped her, and she came down hard, lifted, and did it again.
It was his turn to cry out helplessly, and he thrust deep into her.
She moaned his name. The heat of her breath sent shivers down his spine, and dear lord—he wouldn’t last. He rubbed his fingertip between them, and she tightened around him.
She was close. A little more, and he would send her over the edge.
He rolled them over, hooked her leg high on his side and drove into her.
Three thrusts in just the right spot, and she cried out, quivering around him.
His release slammed into him, and he withdrew with hardly a second to spare, spilling onto the bedcovers with blinding bliss.
With every muscle sore and shaking, he lay down on his side and pulled her close.
She trembled, as exhausted from their lovemaking as he was.
He nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck and softly kissed her throat—right over her hammering pulse.
For a long moment, he held her in silence, broken only by the sound of their harsh breathing.
Eventually, her tremors subsided, her breathing evened, and she relaxed in his arms.
Early morning light filtered into the room, and Matthew absentmindedly wondered what time it was.
The gentlemanly thing to do would be to rise and get something to clean them up, but he was so bloody tired, and she lay directly on his right arm.
Numbness tingled at his fingertips, but he ignored it.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Sore. Exhausted.” She gave a weak laugh. “But also relieved.” She turned to face him and kissed him sweetly. “I don’t regret it—I’m proud to call you mine.”
Matthew hadn’t felt this light in… ever. As if he could float out of the room. He grinned. “I suppose you have to marry me now.”
She batted at his chest. “I thought that was already decided.”
“Yes, but I still have to ask.” He rolled her off his arm and onto her back. He leaned over her, supporting himself on his elbows. “I’m going to officially propose to you today.”
The corner of her mouth lifted. “You’d better.”
Her smile warmed his heart, and he didn’t want to wait for later when the moment was perfect now. His pulse beat erratically, terrified to place his heart into her hands, even knowing it was safe.
“Truth be told, I’m nervous.” He gave a half laugh. “I’ve practiced it in front of the mirror a dozen times, but I think I’m ready. Would you like to hear how I’ll do it?”
Her eyes met his, shimmering with love.
“Please.”
He spoke as if imparting a secret.
“First, I’ll arrive with roses, for you and your mother,” he said matter-of-factly. “I have your father’s blessing, so at least that is out of the way.”
“Thank goodness,” she teased. “What will you do next?”
“Next, I’ll get down on one knee, and I’ll offer you my mother’s ring.” He brushed her hair behind her ear. “And I’ll propose using my limited knowledge of Spanish.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and she gave a watery laugh. “You’ll propose in Spanish?”
“I’ll propose in both Spanish and English. I’ll say something truly romantic like…” He made a show of clearing his throat, then whispered, “My heart belongs to you. Mi corazón te pertenece.”
Her eyes widened and tears spilled from her, but he kept speaking, unable to stop himself now or he would fumble it.
“You’re my everything. Eres mi todo. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Quiero pasar el resto de mi vida contigo. Will you grant me the honor of being my wife? ?Me concederá usted el honor de ser mi esposa?”
“Matthew,” Jasmine cried.
He pressed a fingertip to her lips.
“Shh. I know it’s long, I’m almost done.” He laughed. “After I say that, you’ll obviously be impressed. So, I’ll ease the tension by saying, ‘te amo”—he flicked her nose—“mi canalla.”
She blushed scarlet, pulled him in, and kissed him. He deepened their kiss, enjoying the moment with her. When she parted from him, she opened her mouth to reply, but he spoke first.
“Don’t give me an answer yet,” he urged. “I want to hear you say yes when I place the ring on your finger.”
Through her tears, she asked, “How are you so certain I’ll say yes?”
He smiled down at her and gave her another long, lingering kiss. “Because you love me.”