Page 54 of Innocent in the Prince's Bed

He let her recover, but not rest. She’d no sooner regained a sense of equilibrium than his hand was between her thighs, coaxing her to arousal again, his mouth at her ear. ‘You’re ready for me now.’ He whispered his intentions, securing her permission. It was a kind gesture, made with those blue eyes boring into hers. ‘Are you sure, Dove? There are other ways to pleasure ourselves. We can still play.’

She tugged him to her, raising her hips to meet his, a gesture designed to show him this was beyond play. In a world of uncertainty, this was the one thing she was certain of. How dare he give her a choice now when she could barely manage speech, let alone cogent thought. ‘I want this pleasure, with you,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘And I want it now.’

He kissed her then, his body finding its space between her thighs. She lifted her legs, instinctively wrapping them around them about his waist; they seemed to belong there as much as he seemed to belong here with her. She felt the press of his phallus, the nudge of its head against her entrance. The nudge became a push, his body going taut above her in an effort of restraint. She could feel her own body, wet and tight, responding to his invasion. She gave an involuntary cry.

He covered her mouth with a kiss, his body stilling, the pushing stopped. ‘Relax, golubushka. We will go slow,’ he murmured, the husk of his voice hinting at the willpower the effort cost him. He eased from her and then returned in a slow slide that claimed her inch by steady inch until he was fully sheathed, her body stretching and flowing around him, an intruder no more but a welcome guest.

Then it began. Slowly at first, with the most infinitesimal of strokes, easing and teasing, as her body took up the rhythm. Each entrance now becoming a thrust, her body joining him, finding the mutual pleasure so that it was no longer his body pleasuring hers, but their bodies seeking pleasure together. Dove moaned, each stroke, each rocking of their bodies, taking them closer to the edge that waited beyond. But Illarion was not content to simply race towards the ledge and crash over it. He was like the tide, pushing them towards the shore and then drawing them back, only to push them forward once more; each time inching closer to the implosion point so that when he did allow their wave to crest, it was with a shattering clarity that went beyond her previous satisfaction, leaving her breathless, bodiless. She was fragments of sensations, scattered on a beach. She would eventually put all those pieces back together, but, as with anything once shattered and then reassembled, she knew in her heart she would never be quite the same again. She was changed, perhaps for the better.

Illarion was gentle with her, mindful of his weight. He moved beside her, taking her into the crook of his arm so that her head rested against the hollow of his shoulder, letting her body soak up the heat of him in the aftermath of lovemaking. As intimate as that had been, there was an intimacy to this that went beyond in its own way. To lay quiet and naked was a new luxury.

‘I was right. When I first saw you, I thought your hair would be an avalanche if freed from its pins,’ he murmured.

‘I am like snow?’ She was drowsy. Lovemaking had depleted her, or perhaps repleted was the better word. Dove felt contentedly full and complete, the way one feels after an exceptionally good meal.

‘Not snow, you’re like Snegurochka.’ Illarion ran his hand up and down her arm in a slow motion, raising gentle goose bumps in its wake. ‘In Russian folklore we have tales of a winter maiden. There are different stories about who she is, but I like the one where she’s a snow maiden. She has blue eyes, red lips and fair hair. Some say she’s the daughter of Spring and Frost and she lives in her father’s woods where it’s always winter.’

She laughed softly. ‘Two out of three isn’t bad. I haven’t the blue eyes.’

‘You are my silver-eyed Snegurochka.’ His. She liked the sound of that. In these drowsy, happy moments, it didn’t matter how impossible that was.

‘What does Snegurochka do?’

‘Well, like many things in fairy tales where people aspire to what they are not, she sees the other girls playing and she wants to be a real girl. She’s lonely. Depending on the tale, she wants to play, or to fall in love. She wants to go out into the world beyond her father’s winter forest. But when she goes out to play with the other girls, it grows dark. The girls light a fire and take turns jumping over it and shouting the names of their true loves. Snegurochka does the same but she is snow.’ Illarion’s words trailed off, letting Dove fill in the ending of the story.

---