Page 124 of Marrying the Savage

I know the difference.

I angle my hips and do it again. Her eyes widen.

There.

The pleasure returns slowly, like a flame catching at the edge of wet paper. I keep the pace controlled, each thrust deep but careful, grinding against her clit when I’m fully inside. Her body begins to soften under mine. Her nails loosen. Her thighs part wider. The sounds she makes change from startled little breaths to something lower, warmer, more helpless.

I lower my hand between us and find her clit with my thumb.

She jerks beneath me. “Oh.”

That sound. I will hear it in my sleep if I ever sleep again.

I move inside her and circle her clit at the same time, watching pleasure take over her face. The fear doesn’t vanish completely. Neither does the tenderness. But want rises above both, fierce and stunned.

“You feel that?” I ask.

She nods quickly, then seems annoyed at herself for obeying. “Yes.”

“Good.”

I thrust deeper. Her back arches, and my control thins. She is wet around me now, no longer resisting each stroke, her body gripping my cock with heat that makes my vision darken at the edges. I kiss her breast, then take one nipple into my mouth as I fuck her slowly, sucking and rolling her clit under my thumb until her breath turns frantic again.

“Damir,” she gasps. “I think⁠—”

“I know.”

“No, I⁠—”

“I know, wife.”

The word breaks something in her. Her cunt clenches around me hard. I groan against her breast.

“Again,” I say, and circle her clit faster.

She falls apart beneath me.

This orgasm is different. Her whole body curls into mine, arms locking around my shoulders, thighs tightening at my hips as she comes around my cock for the first time. She cries out into my neck, muffling the sound against my skin, and the tight, wet pulses of her body drag me to the edge so fast I nearly lose all discipline.

I fuck her through it. Slow, deep strokes until she’s trembling and boneless beneath me, whispering my name like she hates that it’s the only word left.

Then I let go. I bury my face in her neck, thrust once, twice, and come hard inside her, my body locking over hers as release burns through me with brutal force. For a few seconds, I can’t think. Can’t move. Can’t do anything but feel her beneath me, around me, holding me as if she has forgotten she’s supposed to be angry.

The room is silent except for the sea and our breathing. I stay inside her. Her fingers drift slowly over my back, touching scars, then skin, then the bandage on my arm.

“You’re heavy,” she whispers.

I lift some of my weight off her.

“I didn’t say move,” she mutters.

Something in my chest goes still. Then I lower myself carefully beside her and pull her with me, keeping one arm around her waist. She winces slightly when I slip out of her, and I feel the small movement like a strike against my ribs.

“Sore?” I ask.

She opens one eye. “Are you asking as my husband or as a smug man seeking praise?”

“Yes.”