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And as he pressed her to him, he lifted her skirt, found her thighs encased in silk, and with a snap he unhooked the garter belt from the top of each thigh-high stocking.
With her skirt still lifted, he pulled her back against him, rubbed her hips against his so she could feel him, the hard length of him barely restrained by his thin trousers.
She gasped as her belly clenched tight and heat washed through her, filling her, making her insides feel warm and liquid.
He rubbed her against him again and her breath caught in her throat. His erection was long, hard, thick, and yet when the tip brushed against the apex of her legs, she felt little shock waves rush through her.
Felt muscles she didn’t even know she had, start to squeeze.
Felt as though she were melting inside, hot cream, and when he slid his hand beneath her panties her legs wobbled.
No one had ever touched her there, and yet his touch was better than good, his touch made her feel wild, brazen, and she wanted more, wanting him to explore her and soothe all the sensitive nerves that throbbed right now.
“You feel amazing.” His voice was deep, passion-rough. “So smooth and soft and slick.”
Overwhelmed, she buried her face against his chest, her arms around him, her hands fists in his lower back.
“Wet,” he added, his voice a velvet sandpaper on her senses. “You’re wet for me.”
He was still touching her, lightly, delicately, the curls, the lips, the wildly sensitive hardened nub, and she was wet and growing wetter. And then when he slid a finger inside her, she bucked at his touch, amazed at how much she felt, at the heady sensation of being explored by him.
Her response nearly pushed him over the edge, and he turned her around, tugged and ripped at the back of the dress until the tiny jeweled straps fell from her shoulders and the fitted bodice opened and tumbled forward, revealing her high, round breasts.
“You are beyond beautiful,” he said, hands covering her breasts, feeling her nipples stiffen, harden beneath his hands.
Self-control nearly shattered, Wolf stretched her out in front of the fire, and for a moment he just looked at her, rose-tipped breasts bare, skirts tangled around her legs and the glow of the fire warming her skin.
He unzipped his pants as he watched her face. “I want you.” His voice was hoarse and his dark eyes burned with barely leashed hunger.
She nodded once, her heart pounding too hard for her to actually answer.
His sculptured features were taut. His eyes smoldered. Again he struck her as fire and ice, ancient Celtic myth twined with a thousand years of Spanish passion.
Alexandra felt a stirring inside her, a whisper in her heart, something infinitely special and rare, something magical that not everyone might know.
She loved him.
Emotion surged through her, fierce and unexpected. She wanted this man, she wanted him completely.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she said as he moved between her legs, his erection pressing urgently between her thighs, the tip of his shaft silky against her dampness.
He’d started to enter her, but now he stopped. He’d felt the resistance inside her, too. His weight on his forearms, he looked down at her, searched her eyes. “You’ve never—”
“No,” she whispered, aware of his stomach and hips and thighs covering hers. It was so intimate and dominant she shook, her thighs quivering from tension.
“I’m the first?” he asked.
The tears weren’t far off, but they weren’t tears of fear. They were pure emotion.
It was so surreal being here like this, married to Wolf, making love for the first time as his bride. His wife. “Yes,” she answered huskily.
He kissed her deeply.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured against her mouth even as she felt the heat of his body throb inside her. He hadn’t broken her hymen yet. He was uncertain, too, she realized. He was afraid of giving her pain.
Her eyes burned hotter. His body felt like lava inside her. But it was nothing compared to the tenderness in her heart. Wolf would be her first lover, and if fate was good, hopefully her last.
He stroked the side of her face, wiping away the one tear trickling over her cheekbone. “You’re crying.”
“It’s a big night.”
“It is,” he agreed and he’d never sounded more Irish.
His dark eyes met hers and held, and there was suddenly no mask, no wall up between them, nothing but a beautiful fire in his eyes, a passion and hunger that spoke of dreams unfulfilled and hope he still cherished. Wolf might be the world’s most beloved star, but he was also a man still searching for love. And a home.
“Take me,” she said, sliding her hands down his back to his narrow hips, hard with sinewy muscle. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not.”
And then he was kissing her again, kissing her as if she were the last woman on earth and this the last kiss ever. He pressed forward as he kissed her, pressing against the resistance, and then she felt him, full and hard, filling her, deeper and deeper still.
It did hurt, but at the same time it was wondrous, new, sacred. Sacred because it felt right. Sacred because somehow she knew she’d always been waiting for him. Even that one painful night four years ago had just been a detour until they finally got to where they were supposed to go.
Here.
Right here, together, like this.
His hips rocked, thrusting into her, and she felt the hot fire start to give way to a different sensation, one of warmth and fullness and even pleasure.
As he stroked her, moving in and out, she instinctively squeezed down on him, savoring his hardness, his strength, the feel of him taking her, making her his in front of the fire while she still wore her wedding gown, the full skirts and stiff petticoat ruched around her hips, the garter belt around her waist, the white silk stockings rolled down to her knees.
When his tempo increased, the pleasure did, too. Her hands slid across his back and she whimpered at the building tension, the way everything was tightening, turning, both maddening and exciting.
She’d been shy before they made love, but now that they were here, like this, in this together, she wanted whatever it was he could give her. She wanted all of what this could be, all of what they could be.
As the tension built, Alexandra felt more frantic, her hips rising to meet his, pressing against him.
“You can come,” he whispered against her throat, his lips warm, his teeth nipping at the column of her neck. “Let go. Come for me.”
And then as he drove into her harder, faster, pushing her ever closer to that point of no return, she was suddenly, spectacularly there, exploding in waves of intense pleasure, the rhythmic contractions electric blue and silver shock waves that rippled through her one after another. The pleasure was unlike anything she’d known before, and her body still shuddered with exquisite sensitivity when Wolf came, too, pumping even deeper into her, and as he filled her body, he filled her heart.
I love him, she thought, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her face to his shoulder. I love this man.
CHAPTER TEN
SHE WAS STILL WRAPPED in Wolf’s arms, her body not yet cool, when he lifted his head, kissed her once and then pulled away.
Standing, he gazed down at her where she lay half-naked in her crumpled, stained bridal gown, her pale breasts bare, the white skirts hiked high around her hips. “Yet another ruined gown,” he said.
He was referring to her vintage Armani gown, and she smiled faintly. “I don’t mind this time.”
“I should have undressed you completely.”
She tucked a tendril of hair back, away from her eyes. “I’m glad you didn’t. It was more exciting this way.”
“You are a Hollywood girl after all,” he said, scooping her into his arms and carrying her into the bathroom, where he stripped her and walked her into the shower with him.
He lathered her beneath the steaming shower spray, rubbing th
e suds across her breasts, down over her stomach, her hips, her bottom and then gently between her tender thighs. “Sore?” he asked as, shivering with pleasure, she leaned against him.
If she thought about it, she was sore, but it wasn’t bad, not like the terrible violation she’d feared. In fact, making love with Wolf had made her body feel better, made her feel better. Made her feel … complete, although she wasn’t sure how that worked.
“I’m good,” she murmured as he bathed her with the handheld shower head, washing the bubbles from her now pink breasts and then lower to rinse the suds from the cleft in her bottom and her bottom itself.
