Page 71 of Walk on the Wildsyde

He helped her up, holding her tightly, for she seemed unsteady on her feet, a fact that did nothing to hurt his masculine pride. Towelling her dry gently took a while, however, as he had to stop and kiss each beautiful part of her, especially his new favourite view of her.

Sitting on his knees behind Clara, he could do nothing but exclaim in awed tones. “Love, ye have the most perfect arse. Truly, it is close to a miracle, I reckon.”

Clara buried her face in the towel, laughing helplessly as Hamilton kissed first one cheek, then the other. “Splendid,” he said, sighing happily, stroking and squeezing the plump curves and rubbing his face against them like a cat. He reached one hand forward, stroking again the place between her thighs as her breath hitched and he touched her gently, aware she would be sensitive still. The desire to put his mouth there and lick was a fire in his blood, but he did not trust himself to do such things until she was safely in bed, and he was in no danger of taking his bride on the bathroom floor.

He took some time ensuring this part of her was quite thoroughly dried, before he could drag himself away, but he wrapped her in a heavy satin dressing gown—part of her wedding trousseau—and led her back to the bedroom.

The covers were turned down, and he watched with pleasure as she shed the robe and then turned sideways, lifting her arms to the pins in her hair.

“I think this is my favourite view,” he said, anticipation growing as her hair loosened, for he had been longing to see it undone. “I can see all the best bits at once.”

She slid him an amused glance and then his breath caught as her hair cascaded down her back, long enough to brush the curves of her splendid backside. Giving him a coquettish smile that did odd things to his heart, she slid into bed, shivering as she did so.

“I’ll be there to warm ye, lassie, in just a moment,” he promised her, heart thudding with expectancy of what was to come, undoing his kilt and casting it aside before dragging the shirt over his head. He moved towards the bed, with no thought in his mind but making love to his wife, and then paused, arrested by the look in her eyes.

Hamilton knew very well he was a handsome, well-made fellow, but never in his life had he felt so much pleasure in that fact as now. Clara’s eyes glowed with delight, growing dark as her gaze travelled over him from head to foot, lingering on his arousal with obvious fascination. She stared with unashamed interest, a fact which not only pleased him but boded well for the coming night.

“How magnificent you are,” she said, a breathless note to her voice that made his arousal leap with anticipation.

“Aye, I am,” he said, for the sheer pleasure of watching her shake her head at him. Grinning and unabashed, he went to the bed and slid beneath the covers. Hamilton reached for her, overwhelmed by his good fortune as her cool, silken skin met his.

“Goodness, and how hot you are,” she exclaimed, stroking her hand over his chest. “I shan’t be cold in the winter, at least.”

“Not if ye stay close,” he agreed, silencing any further comments by taking her mouth, kissing her deeply, pulling her close to him as his hands explored. She was pure delight in his arms and joy sank deep in his heart as she responded eagerly to his touch, pressing closer and exploring his body in turn.

He lay still as she shifted to her knees, gazing down at him with interest before reaching out a hand and toying with the hair on his chest.

“There’s a map,” he said with a wry grin. “Just follow the path to the most interesting places.”

She gave a little snort, which delighted him, but did as he suggested, trailing her fingers from the hair on his chest, along the line that arrowed down his belly to his arousal. It twitched and jerked as her hand grew near and she looked at him in surprise.

“It’s impatient for yer touch,” he told her, amused at the delight she took in this information. His amusement turned to panic as she wrapped a hand about him, holding him firmly and for a dreadful moment he feared he would not last above five minutes as sensation rocked him to his core.

“How do I touch you?” she asked curiously, staring as his erection pulsed in her grip.

“Slowly,” he croaked, hardly able to catch a breath. “Stroke,” he suggested, thinking that had been a stupid thing to say as she did just that and his mind turned to treacle. He groaned and crossed his arms over his face.

“So smooth,” she said in wonder. “Does that feel good?”

“Mmmmhmmm,” he said desperately, hardly daring to breathe. He let her explore him for a few moments more, swallowing a groan as her fingers tickled and stroked.

“My turn,” he said, moving to sit up and startled when she put a hand to his chest and pushed.

“I’m not finished yet,” she said crossly, taking hold of him with both hands now.

No, but he very nearly was.

“Enough!” he exclaimed, grabbing hold of her and pushing her down, climbing over her before she dismantled his plans for the night and his sanity.

“I’m going to kiss every inch of ye,” he told her firmly, putting the words into action at once, starting with her forehead, her nose, her lips, and working his way down. He spent a long, lingering time over her breasts, biting gently on her nipples, licking the sweet swells and filling his hands with her softness. He painted pictures across her belly with his tongue, making her laugh and shiver, and bypassed the little thatch of curls for the moment, moving down her lovely legs to kiss her toes. That made her squeal again and kick, almost doing him a mischief.

“Dinnae be doing that, or it’ll be the shortest wedding night in history,” he said, laughing at the mortification in her eyes. “Ye daft thing, I’m only teasing ye,” he said gently, kissing his way back up and this time turning his attention to the sweet place hidden in her curls with exquisite tenderness.

“If ye liked the touch of my hand, I think this will be a pleasure to ye,” he told her, giving her a wink before he ducked his head and ran his tongue over the most private part of her, revelling in the sweet, tart taste of his bride.

Clara gasped, clutching at the bedsheets and squirming beneath him.

“Stop wriggling,” he protested, laughing as he raised his head to see her gazing down at him with fiery cheeks.

“I can’t!” she exclaimed. “N-not when you’re doing… th-that!”

“Do ye want me to stop?” he asked her, all innocence.

“Certainly not,” she replied tartly, laying back with a huff.

Chuckling to himself, Hamilton reapplied himself to the delightful task of making his bride squeal and thrash about and generally lose her mind. He held her hips firmly, keeping her still as she gasped and protested and demanded more all at once. It was a rewarding exercise and when she came apart, muffling her shouts by pulling a pillow over her face, Hamilton considered it time very well spent.

Deciding he’d been quite patient enough and his bride thoroughly prepared, he found his place between her thighs, nudging into the tender cove he had dreamed of possessing for what seemed like an eternity.

“I’ll try to be careful, to—” he began, the words turning into a groan as the soft heat of her surrounded him, welcoming him inside. It was bliss of the purest kind, deeper than he’d ever known it before as they joined their bodies and their futures together.

“It’s all right,” she said, stroking his back, for all the world as if she was gentling him. “I know. I know.”

Yet she stiffened when he pressed home, pushing all the way inside and he waited there, allowing her body time to grow used to him, the most excruciating, marvellous torture he’d ever experienced. The scent and feel and knowledge of her surrounded him, his body and his mind and he lost himself in pleasure. He kissed her, using his hands to soothe her once more and letting out a sigh of relief as her body relaxed. She moved with him then, tilting her hips just so, urging him deeper with such eagerness the pleasure of it almost undid him. Her breath was hot, fluttering against his skin, the soft sounds of pleasure she made so arousing he did not know how he managed to continue, forcing himself to pause at intervals to steady his resolve and not blow apart with the sheer joy of it.

“Hamilton,” she whispered, her arms going around his neck, clinging to him and giving herself to him so sweetly and fiercely he knew he would never forget a moment of this night. “I love you.”

Her voice, giving him the words that sang through him, settling in his heart to reside there until his dying breath, rang in his ears as he loved her, giving all of himself to her as she had done for him. The climax, when it came, shattered him, a pleasure deeper and more complex than anything he had ever known overtaking him, body and soul, until he knew he had been changed by the experience, remade into a man who would love only her until the end.