Page 106 of The Forgotten Queen
“Did you have fun tonight?” he asked.
That was a good conversation starter, and tonight he was a conversationalist.
Sydria bit her lip, walking over to where he sat. She turned around, hoisting herself on the cement planter next to him. “Marx, I have a question.”
Questions were good. Questions led to more talking.
She turned her head to him. “Will you teach me how to kiss?”
Not that question.
His breath escaped his lungs, and he stood. Was she serious? He must not have heard her right.
He eyed her. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ve never been kissed,” she said. “I mean, itfeelslike I’ve never been kissed.” She glanced down. “I’m not even sure I know how.”
“Uh…” He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “What are you saying?” He wasn’t deaf, and he wasn’t an idiot. Marx knew what she was saying, but he had to be suresheknew because once he jumped, it would be all over. He would be past the point of no return.
“I’m asking you to kiss me.”
His lips slackened into a small smile.
“You are my husband, after all.” She shrugged, a nervous movement that told Marx how vulnerable she felt. He’d do anything to make her heart feel safe.
He cleared his throat. “Iamyour husband.” He walked forward, throwing his hands out to the side. “Who better to teach you how to kiss than your husband?”
Her smile widened as she gained confidence. “That’s exactly what I thought. If anyone is going to teach me how to kiss, it should be my husband.”
Man, she was adorable.
The logic sounded good to him. He didn’t need to be asked again.
He stepped toward where she sat on the planter and slowly placed his hands on her hips, feeling the softness of her body. Sydria’s legs widened, making room for him to get closer to her. Each of her knees rested against the side of his thighs.
Her brown eyes found his. “What do I do with my hands?”
“What do you want to do with them?
Slowly she lifted her arms, circling them around his neck. A rush of chills ran down his back, and his heart shook, beating with each second of anticipation.
“Then what?” she breathed between them.
He leaned down to her, watching the wonder of the moment unfold in her eyes. His nose skimmed the side of her cheek. “Then you close your eyes,” he whispered.
Her breathing came out in hot bursts against his lips, and her chest moved up and down with his. Her tongue swiped over the tip of her lips as she closed her eyes.
Marx watched her, balancing desire with respect.
He brought his lips softly down to hers. His movements were slow and gentle. He did all the work, moving their mouths lightly together. His body floated as if he were free-falling off the side of a cliff—the thrill of the ride sending his stomach into swirls. A slow, sizzling heat spread through his veins as if her lips had erupted a volcano inside of him. His feelings were molten lava—slow and steady—inching through his body with each simple skim.
His fingers gripped her hips, and he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers. His breath was heavy, not from exertion but from excitement.
Marx had done what she’d asked.
He’d taught her how to kiss. It wasn’t anything flashy or fancy. He’d kept things chaste, but he’d done it.
Time to end it.
