Page 63 of A Daring Desire

She made a smothered sound of pain that tore at his heart, and he stopped at once, though the pleasure coiling through him as the heat and warmth of her silken body surrounded him was like a siren’s call, urging him on. He kissed and petted her, caressing and kissing until the tension left her slender frame and her body relaxed, accepting him.

“Forgive me,” he said quietly. He gazed down at her, anxious lest he see accusation in her eyes.

She laughed at that, twining her legs about him and raising her hips in a way that made his mind go black as she brought him deeper inside her. “Only if you don’t stop,” she murmured, stroking her hands down his back.

He did not need asking twice and lost himself in the decadent delight of his wife’s embrace. She was everything he had not known he needed or wanted. Her enthusiasm in finding her own pleasure, as well as his, was frank and unembarrassed, yet sweetly guileless. She was such a world away from any lover he had known before, an act he had performed countless times with nothing in his mind but physical gratification, became something entirely different. As he had suspected, and feared, the combination of such intimacy and a depth of emotion that was entirely new to him was overwhelming, transforming him, leaving him feeling vulnerable and unsure of this new version of himself as the climax stripped away his self-control.

He lost himself in her body, in her embrace, a harsh cry leaving him as he spent helplessly, pleasure wracking his frame until he was utterly consumed, and collapsed, boneless, on top of her.

Cat stared up at the ceiling in a daze. Her husband’s big body covered hers, his breathing harsh and unsteady in her ear. Little pleasurable aftershocks were still rippling through her, her body clenching around the place where he joined her, and the strange, wonderful intimacy of it was so astonishing she wondered if she might cry. She blinked hard, doing her best to stop the tears, but they rolled down her face all the same. Well, and why not? Listening to beautiful music could make one cry after all, or the joy of seeing one’s family together and happy after a long absence, why not this astonishing moment too?

She swallowed hard, trying to control herself, for she was not, as a rule, prone to crying, but to no avail. Ciarán’s head came up, his hair an unruly mess of black curls that framed his face and made him look like something between the devil himself and a Botticelli cherub.

“Catherine?” he said, the look of appalled concern in his eyes making her aware he had completely misjudged the situation. “What…? Did I…?”

Too overwrought to explain, she simply tugged him back down and kissed him until he could be in no doubt of her feelings. The tension that had sung through his powerful frame eased a little and she released him. His expression remained grave as he regarded her.

“I didn’t hurt you? You don’t… regret it?”

She shook her head, now laughing and crying at once. “Heavens,” she said, sniffing in a most unromantic fashion. “Don’t be so absurd, you ridiculous man. How can you think for a moment after making me feel so… so splendid, that these are anything but tears of joy?”

His lips quirked into a wry smile. “Well, I did think you ought to have been well satisfied, but tears of joy are not exactly something I have much experience of.”

She gave him a doubtful look. “I cannot believe you have ever left any of your lovers anything less than well satisfied in your arms.”

Cat knew at once she had said the wrong thing. He rolled away from her, which she regretted, and lay back against the pillows, his expression forbidding.

“Don’t speak of them,” he said, sounding almost angry with her.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” she offered, perplexed. “But why not?”

He shot her a reproachful glance and reached for the sheets, tugging them up over them. “You think I want reminders of such times, here, with you?”

Cat hesitated, uncertain of how to proceed but needing to speak. “You cannot pretend the past away, and I don’t wish you to do so. It’s what has made you the man I love. It does not trouble me to hear of your past, and I would far rather know the truth about you than make-believe it never happened.”

“Well, I wouldn’t,” he snapped, folding his arms.

She jumped a little. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, watching him with dismay.

He let out an uneven breath and rubbed a hand over his face before darting a glance at her. His angry expression fell, turning to one of regret. He shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I’m the one who ought to beg your forgiveness. I’m sorry.”

He held his arm out to her, and she went to him at once, snuggling into his embrace. Ciarán shifted, turning onto his side so her head rested on his arm and their faces were level.

“I don’t want there to be anyone but us, here, in this bed,” he said, and she felt the rather brittle words were hard for him to say, that he was unused to explaining himself. It would have been easy to just agree with him, to give him what he wanted, but that did not seem right to her.

“I understand that,” she said. “And I will do just as you please, but don’t be afraid to speak to me of your past. I would so much rather you tell me of the things you have done, because you know my love for you is strong and what came before is a life I had no part in. I have no right to feel jealousy for the life you lived before you cared for me, and indeed I do not. I only wish to know you and understand you, and I do not think I can do that if you hide parts of yourself from me for fear of judgement which I will never offer.”

There was a stubborn set to his jaw, and she knew he would not relent, so she let it go, for now.

“As you wish, Ciarán.”

He relaxed then and kissed her until she was breathless and eager to learn more of the sensual arts of which he was clearly such a master. Regarding her with a glittering look in his eyes that made her stomach leap, he trailed his hand down her body to rest over the soft triangle of curls between her thighs.

“Sore?” he asked, studying her face.

Cat bit her lip and shook her head.