Page 19 of A Baby to Make Her His Bride

“What did I just tell you I was going to do?” He dragged the hem of her shirt up and slid down to kiss her stomach, then he warmed her mound with a hot breath.

She groaned and tried to bring her legs together, but he was having none of that. He set his teeth against her inner thigh in warning and shifted so he could hug her legs while he knelt on a lower tread.

“Jasper.” It was darned close to the pirate fantasy and—“Oh...” she gasped, as his tongue took a long taste of her, leaving a damp stripe of yearning in its wake.

She suffered a flash ofI don’t deserve this. She was supposed to absorb pain, not accept selfish pleasure, but his palm slid up, capturing her breast again while he painted those licks of acute sensation into her center.

Maybe she would have pushed him away if he hadn’t made such a noise of gratification, but he acted as though she was offering him something, instead of selfishly enjoying it. Her hands didn’t know where to settle. She wound up grasping through the stairs above her to find the back edge of a step. Now she was secure and able to arch her back off the corner of the stair so there was nothing but pleasure as she offered herself, his to consume.

He feasted on her with unhurried purpose, as though savoring her. As though the press of his finger into her was as much for his own pleasure as hers, despite the fact it made her flesh clench and quiver.

All her orgasms were self-induced. She had never been given one so generously, and suddenly she felt very vulnerable. Her thighs tried to close again, but one finger became two. The rhythm of his movement was slow and slick and drew her even closer to the edge of climax.

Her body moved of its own accord, hips lifting as she twisted in the agony of wanting him to keep pleasuring her this way while trying to maintain some semblance of herself. A bleak sense rose in her, warning that if she let herself go completely, he could break her.

The cracks and fissures were chasing her anyway, crumbling her ability to resist that final surrender. Her shivers became shudders. Her flesh clamped onto his intruding fingers and her orgasm accosted her with the force of a hurricane.

She rolled her hips as she rode out the buffeting waves, aware that the noises of abandon echoing off the rafters were coming from her, but she couldn’t bite them back. This was too powerful to withstand. Too intense to bear.

Yet so very satisfying.

With her breaths still rattling her chest, she slowly relaxed.

He swept his tongue up to her still trembling abdomen, then pushed her bra cup out of the way and caught her nipple in his mouth. He lingered to draw on it, pulling forth fresh threads of need before he released it with a wet pop. Then he kissed her jaw and somehow gathered up her boneless body.

He carried her up the final stairs and into his bedroom. She was still dazed when he set her on the bed. In some belated reflex, she tugged the veil of her shirt down across the apex of her thighs.

His brow went up. The lazy heat in his expression banked. “Changing your mind?”

“No.” She made herself release her shirt. “Shy.”

She expected him to laugh at her. It was too late for bashfulness after that performance, but he only sent his gaze in a proprietary wander down her legs and back up to where her breasts lifted the front of her shirt.

“You have nothing to be shy about. I will happily relive that memory every time I use those stairs.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Why?” He slipped into the bathroom and came back with a box. He pulled a condom from it and left both on the nightstand, then popped the button on his jeans.

He was dismantling her defenses with no effort whatsoever. A kiss, a caress, a heavy-lidded look and a rumble of approval in his voice.

She had always been very good at keeping a wall between herself and other people. She offered tiny pieces of her thoughts and ambitions, her emotions and her deepest insecurities, but always on her own terms.

She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to hold herself back from giving everything to him. Actually, she had just let go of far more inhibitions than she had expected to. He was shaking her to her very foundations.

Sheshouldchange her mind, but he was stripping off his shirt and pushing his jeans down and off, taking his underwear at the same time. He straightened in all his masterfully formed glory.

A very primitive part of her admired him as he tore open the condom and rolled it on. He was the epitome of a powerful, appealing mate, the kind who struck a sharp pang in her angry womb because it would never carry his baby. He would make beautiful babies and stick around to keep them fed while protecting them from lions and crocodiles, she just knew it.

As he came down over her, he seemed carved from golden heartwood, lovingly polished and hard, but deliciously alive.

“Still shy?” he asked as he nuzzled her temple. “Or can we lose this shirt?”

She touched his shoulder and he rolled away. She sat up and threw off her shirt, then unfastened her bra and dropped it off the edge of the bed, too.

When she sprawled herself over him, he drank in a long breath, chest lifting her while he ran his hands over her back, making her arch into him. Her legs fell open across his and she moved on him as they kissed, wanting the friction of his chest hair against her breasts.

“Bring those up to me.” He cupped her bottom, urging her to rise and offer her nipples to his questing mouth.

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