"May I remove this very pretty dress?" he whispered. "I've been imagining removing it all evening."
Her laugh was unsteady. "You may."
He unzipped the dress with reverent fingers, letting it pool around her ankles before gently lifting her out of it. Her bra and underwear followed, and then she was standing before him, entirely naked in the candlelight.
He stared. Just looked, his eyes traveling over every inch of her with such open appreciation that she should have been embarrassed. Instead, she felt powerful.
"You are…" He shook his head, words failing him. "I don't have words."
"Your turn."
His shirt and belt were gone almost before she finished speaking. She took a step closer, running her hands over those broad shoulders and down over his stacked abdominals to the soft fur covering his lower half.
"How… How does this work?"
He guided her hand down to the thick sheath between his legs and showed her where to press to release his cock. It sprang free, hot and hard and just a little intimidating, the thick shaft already glistening with moisture. He was… proportionate. More than proportionate. Her mouth went dry as she extended her hand, her fingers trembling.
"Like that," he murmured. "Just touch me. However you want to touch me."
She explored with hesitant curiosity, learning the shape of him, the feel of him, the way he responded when she curled her fingers around his shaft. He groaned, his eyes closing, and she felt a rush of feminine power.
"Gods, Marigold?—"
He pulled her to the bed then, gentle but insistent, laying her back against the soft petal-covered sheets. The mattress dipped as he joined her, settling between her legs, his body covering hers with delicious weight.
"I want to touch you, little flower," he said. "Will you let me?"
"Yes."
He started at her mouth, kissing her deeply while his hands traced her collarbones, her breasts, the curve of her waist. When his fingers found her nipples, pinching and rolling gently, she arched against him.
"Sensitive?"
"God, yes."
His lips followed his hands, moving down to take first one nipple, then the other, into the hot suction of his mouth. She gasped, her fingers clasping his horns to hold him close.
When his hand moved lower, finding the wet heat between her thighs, her gasp turned into a moan. He explored her slowly, thoroughly, until she was writhing against him, desperate for more.
"Thallos, please?—"
He looked up, eyes dark with desire. "What do you need?"
"You. Inside me. I need you inside me."
The words sounded foreign coming from her mouth—she'd never spoken so frankly about sex in her life—but she meant them with every fiber of her being.
He shifted, positioning himself at her entrance. "Like this?"
"Yes. Please."
He entered her slowly, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. As ready as she was, her body resisted at first, struggling to accommodate his size, but he was gentle and persistent, pausing to kiss her and murmur soft words until he was fully seated. She wrapped her legs around his waist, holding him close, and felt him shudder.
"You feel…" He closed his eyes. "Perfect."
She moved experimentally, and they both gasped.
After that, there was nothing gentle about it.
