Page 33 of Bride Under Contract

She clung on to his neck, kissing his face, his mouth, his neck, feeling the passion she hadn’t known she was capable of, or had simply not allowed to emerge.

Carter loathed coming here.

Past the photos...up the stairs.

The bombardment of memories felt too much at times, but tonight all he had to deal with was her body, coiled around him, and the kisses she rained on his face. Transported by desire, he opened the door to his wing and kissed her hard against the wall. His hand reached down. He was desperate to have her...the bedroom was by far too far away...

‘Bed,’ she insisted.

He kissed her all the way there then dropped her onto the bed, put the condoms aside, wanting first to taste her, and for her to put her mouth on him. He looked at her glittering eyes, her pale body, and then to her lips, wet from his kisses. He slid a hand between her thighs and felt her, warm and slick. He touched her tender spot and watched her bite her lip. He stroked her with light beats of pressure, watching her twitch, her knees lifting and her hand coming over his.

‘Oh, God...’ she gasped, and he forgot about mouths...forgot everything... For even though he wanted so badly to watch her come, he needed her more.

His kiss was fierce and consuming as he settled his thighs between her own, and he lifted and held himself, guided himself to her entrance.

He could feel her, slick and warm, and he heard her soft moans. She was so oiled he was tempted to simply slip in, to lose himself, but he hauled himself back from the edge and reached to the bedside.

Grace breathed in relief. The slight nudge of him had hurt and she wanted to regroup, to tell herself that it was done, he’d broken her, and he never had to know.

Her hand slid from his shoulder as he moved to get protection, and then she felt the waxy skin, the pitted cool flesh, and the thought of her own imminent pain receded.

She felt him still...felt as if she was touching something forbidden—as if beneath her fingers was a secret. She felt a crevice, felt the thick scar tissue beneath. She almost expected him to object by moving away, but he was still. She would never know him after this night, and she wanted to know what she could. So she continued to touch him, to feel the cool, tough flesh and the dints. She knew from his breathing that he was more than aware of her perusal, more intimate than her touch in the ballroom.

He was so aware. He felt her exploration. The skin on his back was usually dull to sensation, but always he was aware of a lover’s recoil—as if they could not stand the imperfection, the truth that their polished lover was flawed.

Yet Grace’s fingers felt like a gentle enquiry, and he closed his eyes at the tenderness of her touch, grateful for her lack of questions, her quiet acceptance.

Protection forgotten, he moved to enter her.

His kiss was deep and wet—a hungry kiss, a devouring kiss. His hand was on her cheek and there was an unvoiced concurrence as still she explored his naked back, moving down past his shoulders, low on his ribcage.

This was no accidental graze of her fingers. They stroked the damaged flesh and he did not know why he allowed it—just knew that here, in this hellhole he’d returned to, it helped.

He guided himself to ease inside her, and there was that resistance again—not her...he could feel her wanting and her softly parted thighs, the ache of desire cording them.

Then he met her eyes, like that very first time, and they were as clear and as perfect as they’d been when they’d first looked into his.

She confirmed what he’d just found out.

‘I’ve never made love...’

‘I don’t do love,’ he responded.

‘I’ve never had sex.’

He stared down at her, wondering why a beautiful twenty-five-year-old might avoid such a vital pleasure?

They both had scars, Carter realised, and neither of them was denying them tonight.

‘Do you want...?’

His voice was a low burr. He was trying to get his head around what he was being told, trying to claw for his usual logic, but she was almost sobbing, pleading...

‘You know that I do.’

He had never made love to a virgin. There was no place in his bed for tender hearts. And yet those rules seemed to have vanished, and raw desire, older than the land that surrounded them, was calling. More than that, he wanted her untutored, untouched body, and as she closed her eyes he held his unsheathed, thick length and watched the grit of her teeth as he nudged in. He heard her moan and watched a tear squeeze from her closed eyes, and then he felt the tightness, and had to stop himself from sinking too fast into her exquisite pleasure.

‘Look at me...’ he told her.

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