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She was on her hands and knees, like an animal about to be taken, but she found herself growing wetter at the thought that this wild man wanted her this way. All of this was so new, but Bronson was making sure she was pleasured too. She could have been married to a man who didn’t care for her or if she felt pleasure. She felt him place the tip of his shaft at her entrance once more, and then he was sliding into her in one smooth, fluid motion.
“Oh, lass, I should go slow,” Bronson gritted out, but she was too breathless to respond. “I need tae go slow, but it is so fooking hard.” He moved in and out of her slowly, but just like before, he started picking up speed until the sound of their skin slapping together filled her ears. “Gods, Genevieve,” he growled out and held onto her hips in a bruising grip. “I’m so fooking hard for ye.”
She lowered her head and looked down the length of her body. She could see the heavy weight of his bollocks swinging as they slapped against her body from his pumping hips. That tightening in her body started to increase once more, and then brightness covered her vision, and she opened her mouth to cry out in pleasure.
“Aye, lass, give it tae me. Give all of yerself tae me.” It was like he was speaking to himself, groaning and grunting out the words in that deep voice of his. And then he was holding her hips so tight that the pain had her gasping out. He buried himself deep inside her, and she swore she felt the hard jets of his seed fill her. He was murmuring these incoherent things, harsh and guttural words that if she really tried to listen and discern, she knew they would have been coarse and harsh in nature.
He filled her with his seed, bathing her in it until all she could feel, smell, and hear was Bronson. He covered her back with his sweaty chest, and his hard pants of breath covered the nape of her neck. Her arms shook as she held herself up, and when he pulled out of her, she allowed herself to fall forward. A bed had never felt as welcoming as it did right then, and it wasn’t because it was draped in lavish bedding and ornamental objects. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of the fabric beneath her, and tried to calm her frantic heart.
Bronson lay down beside her, but before she could even take another breath, his thick arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her in close to him. Both their bodies were so very sweaty from what they had just done, and she could even feel the product of his completion slip from her. Genevieve was far too exhausted to even open her eyes and contemplate what she had just done with her husband, let alone move off the bed to get cleaned up.
“Get some sleep, lovely.”
This warmth filled her when he leaned down and kissed the crown of her head. And then when he pulled the hide over them, one that felt butter-soft and instantly heated her and filled her with this sense of calm and protection, she felt herself drift to sleep.
Chapter Ten
Genevieve slowly opened her eyes and stared at the fireplace that was lit and crackling with life. Had there been a fire going when they entered the room? She had been so nervous and scared of what was about to happen that she hadn’t thought about anything besides Bronson. She could see out the window that it was still dark, and the heavy weight of his arm was still on her waist. She lifted her head and turned it so she could look at him.
He was on his stomach with his head turned the other way. She could tell he was asleep, given how easy and even his breathing was. His back was a work of masculine power, but also of scarred perfection. It was strange to see the beauty in the wounds he had gotten from killing men.
She shifted as slowly and as softly as she could manage without waking him and slipped from the bed. Naked, she walked over to the basin and pitcher of water, grabbed one of the cloths beside them, and dipped it in the room-temperature liquid. She was sore between her legs and winced as she cleaned herself. But then again, Bronson had been so very big and in the end had been a wild man as he plowed in and out of her.
Just thinking about what she had done, and what he had done to her, had her cheeks feeling warm. She grabbed a new cloth and dipped it in the water before turning and staring at her husband, who was still on the bed sleeping. The warmth from the fire felt good on her back, but she moved away from it and more toward Bronson. The warmth that came from him was far more welcome. She wanted to tend to her husband, because that was what a good wife did, but she also liked watching him sleep. His body was big, and staring at him lying there sleeping and not seeming so intimidating made him appear almost vulnerable.
