Page 95 of The Moonstone Marquess
He moved her away from the windows and their billowing drapes. Tonight, his gaze would be on Phoebe’s beautiful body, the cream of her skin and the dusky-pink tips of her breasts. They puckered and then hardened at his touch when he gave them a light stroke with the pad of his thumb. He took one between his lips and suckled the exquisite pink pearl.
She gasped and took hold of his head, winding her fingers through his hair and clutching him as her body began to respond to his touch. He moved to the other breast and stroked his tongue across it in a light, flicking stroke, pleased when he felt her shudder.
“Cormac,” she said in a shattered whisper. “My body…”
“I know, love.” He removed his robe so they were now as nature had made them.
Her hair was down and curling about her hips in waves of dark silk. She had big, beautiful eyes the color of the ocean. Her breasts were firm and round, big enough to fill the cup of his hand.
This girl stole his breath.
He was glad they stood in the light of sundown, because it was particularly soft and bright, and he wanted her to see all of him as much as he drank in all of her. It was important to have nothing between them, to hide nothing and share everything of who they were.
He wanted to see her response when he entered her and made them truly man and wife. As they fell onto the bed, both of them quickly aroused and craving satisfaction, he forgot to think about his arm, or worry about propping his weight on one elbow so as not to rest too heavily atop her.
He sometimes crushed her and fumbled to position himself, but she only seemed more aroused by it, not minding that their lovemaking was not pretty. She was hungry for him and responded however and wherever he touched her, kissed her. Suckled her.
His heart soared as they coupled for the first time, her body so perfectly fitted to his, and both of them hungry and grasping, unable to get enough of each other. When she opened her arms to him, he realized she was not even aware of his missing limb. How could she overlook it? But she did, and her eyes held so much love for him.
Perhaps this was the answer.
He did not need to be perfect.
He just needed to be his imperfect self.
“I love you, Phoebe,” he whispered as they shattered together, her tightly clinging to his neck and kissing his face as they spun out of control after reaching the stars.
“I love you too. I had no idea it could be like this. Did it feel wonderful for you, too?”
“Yes, love. Spectacular.” How could she not tell? He was a grunting, panting, sweaty lump atop her. He shifted their positions so that she now lay atop him. He ran his hand through her silken mane, loving the feel of it through his fingers. It tumbled over his arm in a soft, dark wave.
Her breasts were pillowed against his chest, and he could feel their hearts still pounding wildly for each other.
For all the imperfection of their lovemaking, the one perfect thing was how they felt about each other. Everything she did made him love her more. Was it possible for a heart to feel so full without bursting?
He made love to her twice more in the night. Despite his best intentions to take his time and pleasure her slowly, their coupling both times turned quick and fiery. They ignited each other, each sparking fireworks in the other and going off explosively.
This was what they were—fireworks, brilliant and beautiful.
He laughed as he rolled onto his back and caught his breath, drawing her to nestle against his side after their third time. “You make me burn, Phoebe. I think it will be months before I’ll be able to properly take the time to pleasure you as you deserve.”
“Have we not been doing it right?”
“We have. There is no right or wrong way to go about it so long as we both enjoy it. But…” He shook his head and groaned. “I cannot…prolong myself. I spill myself into you as soon as I know you are pleasured.”
“Oh, but it sounds to me as though I am the one who ought to slow down.”
“No, you are perfect.” She responded to him like a little firecracker, going off as soon as she was lit. Of course, her response immediately set him off too.
She hugged him. “Then what are you complaining about?”
He kissed her on the forehead and chuckled. “Nothing, love. It is just my wanting so much of you.”
They drifted off to sleep, Phoebe nestled against his body.
*
He awoke atsunrise, that early-morning light warming his face and the soft breeze carrying in the scent of the sea. They had never closed the windows or drawn the drapes, which were sheer anyway and would not have kept out the sun.
