Page 104 of The Language of Love

She jerked as his hot, hard length slid over her lower belly.

“Sh, love,” he whispered, holding himself up on one arm while he cupped her breast.

Annis moaned and her back arched as his hot palm rubbed over her nipple. She made a series of mortifying noises as he pinched the pebbled tip between two fingers while the blunt head of his penis stroked against the soft flesh of her belly, his mouth hot and wet on her throat, sucking and biting until her skin was on fire.

But inside her body, she felt achingly empty.

“Please,” she begged.

When his hand disappeared from her breast, she whimpered at the loss of him.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he soothed in between kisses. He snaked a hand down over her belly and then long, thick fingers penetrated her private curls.

Annis cried out when he brushed that part of her that was engorged with need.

He flicked the exquisite spot again, far too briefly, and she bucked up, chasing his touch. Annis tossed her head in frustration as he stroked her but kept missing the place that begged for him. Didn’t he know? Couldn’t he tell? Why didn’t—

“Ah!” she cried as he brushed against the source of her desire. She dug her fingers into his hips and tried to pull him lower.

But he just chuckled, as unmovable as a boulder, while his thumb circled her with teasing, taunting touches.

Without pausing his torment, another finger pressed at the opening to her body.

“Henry,” she groaned, as he caressed her there, her thighs spreading wider as she opened herself—begging him with her body.

This time he gave her what she demanded and pushed a thick finger into her, sliding through her wetness, stretching her.

He grunted as he pushed all the way inside, his thumb stroking her harder now, the way she needed.

Annis thrust her hips higher, straining to take him deeper.

He chuckled, the sound low and oddly filthy. “So eager for me—so wet and tight.”

Embarrassment and desire battled inside her at his smug confidence. Annis was stunned and aroused by the effect his words had on her, his praise ratcheting the taut, quivering muscles in her body even tighter.

He fell into a smooth rhythm of stroking and pumping, meeting her thrust for thrust, easing a second finger into her, the stretch bordering on pain but the pleasure building and building until—

Annis’s back arched off the bed. “Henry!”

“Yes, come for me darling,” he murmured, his fingers buried to the knuckles, the fullness intensifying the pleasure each time her inner muscles convulsed around him. Bliss consumed her, wave after wave of intense sensation pummeled her. She floated on pleasure, only vaguely aware of him shifting, until something thick and hard pressed against her entrance and Annis came back to herself.

“Are you ready to take me?”

She grabbed his hips, digging her fingers into the impossible hardness of his muscles. “Now,” she begged, “do it now.”

He filled her with a long, hard thrust that made her cry out.

“Shh, love,” he murmured.

Annis squirmed as he held her stretched and full; this felt nothing like his finger—not even like two. And nothing like Richard.

He supported his weight on his elbows, but his pelvis was snug against hers, pinning her to the bed like a butterfly on a board.

“Are you in pain?”

She shook her head, even though it had hurt and was still uncomfortable. But already the pain was changing to something else—something unspeakably erotic.

Annis hissed out a breath as he withdrew and then reentered her with exquisite slowness, making her feel every inch. And there seemed to be a lot of them.