Chapter Fifteen #2
All her life she’d been told the marriage bed was sacred, that her body belonged to her husband, her purpose to bear his children, and yet marriage had become the bane of her existence.
A contractual agreement. A bond on paper and nothing else.
Only with Tristan could she have a true marriage.
And yet they were both being denied what they were made to be: together.
Everything she’d been taught conflicted with everything she felt, and she didn’t know what to believe.
Except . . . she did. If she ignored what she was told and listened to her heart, then it was all very simple.
Give everything of herself to Tristan. He was asking for her, all of her, to belong to him, and she wanted that more than anything.
She spread her legs, hitching her knee over his thigh like before.
His hand slid between her legs and caressed the silky folds of her body, nudging closer to her center where she burned and craved.
His movements became more urgent, his breathing ragged as she urged him on with her body, pleading for more.
Every second that passed was too long and their time together so fragile.
At any moment it could shatter, and they’d be forced apart again.
He pressed his fingers inside her, gliding through her arousal and coating his fingers as he spread the fluid around, teasing her body open.
He kissed her long and hard, then let his mouth wander everywhere he could reach.
Her chin, her neck, her shoulder, her brow.
All Felicity could do was squirm and bask in his loving touches.
He leaned over her, rolling her to her back, and he braced his weight on either side of her head.
“Open your eyes. I want you to look at me and tell me you want this.”
Felicity forced her eyes open. She was swimming in need, and to stop, to take stock of him, pushed at her patience.
“I want this. I want you.”
“You’re not scared?”
“I’m scared of losing you,” she confessed. “I’m scared of everything I’m feeling and how soon I’ll lose you.”
“You’re not scared of me?”
“No. Never.”
“I love you,” he said. “This might hurt.”
“It won’t.”
“The first time always hurts. Even when it’s wanted.”
“Tristan.” She didn’t want to have to say this wasn’t her first time.
“I know,” he said, his eyes searching hers.
Felicity parted her legs further, cradling his body. She locked her ankles around his calves. “I love you and I trust you. You won’t hurt me.”
He swallowed, and his eyes grew bright. He looked down at her body, her breasts heaving with her shallow breaths, her body nearly trembling with the anticipation coursing through her.
He adjusted himself, notching his cock at the center of her body. The blunt tip nudged her opening, and her belly tightened. Would her body remember this moment with terror? Would she be unable to stop the fear and pain that would come just from memory?
She took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts away. She focused on his face, on the tenderness, the furrowed brow of concentration as he touched her reverently, easing himself inside carefully, like he was afraid to break her. This was what love was. This was how a husband should love his wife.
She would not be able to let him go after this. Chadwick had tried to force their marriage, thinking that taking her body would somehow bind her to him. He was so wrong.
This was how two people became joined. This was how love was forged into being: the joining of two bodies, two hearts.
His gaze flicked up to hers and she smiled. He was incredibly tense. He half smiled and Flick put a hand over his heart.
“I want to belong to you forever,” she said.
His eyes darkened. “You already do.”
He pressed forward, slow, watching her, and though she did feel something, a slight burn, a stretching sting as her body accepted his entry cautiously, she wouldn’t call it pain.
He filled her until his pelvis met hers, until there was nothing left between them.
He lowered over her, settling on top of her but with his weight on his elbows.
Felicity smiled, her eyes pricking with tears.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m perfect. I feel . . . complete.”
He brushed a thumb under her cheek, and she felt the swipe of wetness left behind.
“I shouldn’t be crying.”
“If you feel the need, then you should.”
“But I’m happy.”
“Happiness is a bit tearful at times,” he said.
“We’re supposed to be making love and . . . all that entails.”
“Who says we aren’t, Flick?”
“We’re not moving.”
“I’m enjoying the moment. Aren’t you? I don’t want to rush. I want to take my time loving you.”
Felicity drew in a breath as his words penetrated the thick thoughts muddying her head. He was right. She liked the way it felt to breathe against him with his weight on top of her, her heart pounding against his. She moved her hips and zings of pleasure shot through her middle.
“Oh,” she said. “I like that.” She moved again.
He lifted his hips, withdrawing and thrusting as she squirmed again, and the pleasure doubled.
He kissed her face, his tongue merging with hers as all thoughts of talking faded and their bodies moved together, drawing out moans from both of them, sounds of love and passion. A song of desire.
Felicity wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him as their bodies grew slick, moving faster.
The surge of his hips, grinding against her with delicious friction.
Felicity threw her head back and his tongue branded a path of kisses down her neck.
The tension in her body coiled tighter. Her head was spinning, a horizon of stunning light building in her mind as pleasure sang through her center, her limbs, her blood.
She couldn’t stop the noises she made, the way she cried his name as wave after wave of pleasure swept her into the heavens and she eclipsed the sun.
She trembled with release, ecstasy pulsing through her body as he ground into her, losing himself in his own climax until the very last moment when he pulled away, and his seed spilled over her lower belly.
Felicity lay limp, catching her breath as he rolled to the side of her but pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes closed.
Felicity smiled at him even though he couldn’t see it.
He wore an expression she’d never seen before.
A completely unguarded, befuddled, and blissed blankness.
Certainly not the controlled mask he usually wore.
Or the commanding arrogance he employed when dealing with unscrupulous lords on the gaming floor.
Right now, he looked different but familiar. Like a Tristan she’d never seen before. A Tristan who was happy and at ease, for likely a very brief moment. A stillness settled over him, his face going slack as he settled beside her, his nose in her hair, his hand resting over her breast.
Felicity watched him unabashedly as he fell asleep right here in her arms. Squished against her in a narrow, lumpy bed.
She’d never been happier than she was right now. Under a scratchy blanket, the rain rattling against the windows.
He thought she needed comfort and security, but she knew she only needed him. She slipped out of the bed, the chill in the air nipping at her skin. She used the handkerchief from his jacket to wipe her stomach and then she returned to bed. She nudged closer to him and went to sleep.