Chapter Nineteen
Flaherty had known he’d have his work cut out for him the first time he made love to his wife, but had not counted on her innocence and lush curves driving him half mad.
His control had fractured the moment he helped her remove her chemise.
The vision of her satin-smooth skin, the color of fresh-churned cream, had his bollocks tightening and his cock twitching in anticipation.
When he released her hair, it fell in a riot of midnight-colored curls over her shoulders to her waist. He could not hold back his moan of pleasure. “Ye’re a beauty, wife of mine.”
Her eyes held a mix of emotions: uncertainty, desire, and wonder—though whether the wonder was because she questioned his claim that she could accommodate him, or because of his impressive size, he didn’t know. At the moment, he didn’t care. He had a wife to seduce.
He positioned himself so his shaft was brushing against her passage.
Her scent was a combination of roses and a soft, musky scent—her siren’s call, whispering of the wet warmth waiting for him to test…
to taste. The need to answer immediately, burying himself deep, had him grappling with his control.
He wrestled it into submission and bent to kiss her lips, pressing the tip of him inside of her.
Her moan of pleasure was music to his ears.
“Ye feel it, too.” Her garbled reply had him swallowing his chuckle.
Kissing a path along her jaw to beneath her ear, he whispered kisses down her throat to her collarbone.
Nibbling and kissing along it as if it were a roadway on a map, he was rewarded by the frantic flutter of her pulse in the hollow at the base of her throat.
“Ye’re craving more of me kisses, aren’t ye? ”
“Yes… Please don’t stop.”
Emboldened, he changed course and kissed a path between her breasts to beneath one, and then the other.
She writhed beneath him, and he asked, “Do ye like that, lass?” Her hands slid from his shoulders to grab hold of his arse—answer enough for him.
“I need to kiss yer breasts.” He brushed a palm over one and then the other. “Suckle them. Will ye let me?”
“Mrs. Doyle didn’t mention that part.”
“Part?” he teased, knowing exactly what she meant. “Are ye afraid of how it will feel?”
Her hands stilled, flattened against his arse. He couldn’t keep from adding a slight pressure to where he was seated at her entrance. She didn’t tell him to stop, brave lass.
“I’m not afraid.”
Just what he’d hoped to hear. He swirled his tongue over her nipple, kissed her gently, and when she cried out in ecstasy, he drew her breast into his mouth and feasted.
She lifted her hips off the mattress, pressing him farther inside of her.
She tensed, and he knew it was time to put his hands to work.
He explained how he would manipulate her, stretch her, all the while caressing her breast with lips, teeth, and tongue.
He slowly slipped a finger inside of her, then another, and closed his mouth over her other breast, rewarded with her deep moans of pleasure, and her passage, soft and moist.
“Am I ready yet, Fenton?”
He groaned as he replaced his fingers with his cock and slowly, carefully entered her. Her breath hitched and she tensed, but then immediately relaxed. “Brave lass. Ye won’t feel pain for long.”
“I know. Please don’t stop. I couldn’t bear it.”
With one swift thrust, he was embedded to the hilt inside of her.
She gripped his arse cheeks until he was sure she’d left her mark, then lifted her hips up in invitation.
He began a rhythm as old as time and was soon lost in the way her body moved against his, coaxing him to let go of his control each time.
He eased out of her and thrust again. He felt her inner walls clenching him, while he whispered how good she felt, how brave she was, and of the seeds he hoped would take hold… the babe they’d make.
She erupted around him as his resolve shredded.
He growled, plunged deep, and emptied himself inside her life-giving warmth.
He held her close as she shuddered with the aftereffects of their lovemaking.
Stroking her hair, kissing her face, he asked if she was all right.
Her soft sighs and even breathing were all the answer he needed.
He rolled until she lay on top of him, pulled the covers over her shoulders, and wrapped her in his arms. With a prayer of thanks in his heart for the woman he hadn’t known he needed, the wife he would treasure till he breathed his last, he closed his eyes and whispered, “Mo chroí, mo ghrá.”