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"Oh, please." He smirks. "Admit it. You wanted to know how it would be to bed the beast."
I raise a shoulder. "The thought m-might have crossed my m-mind. B-but you spoiled it by nego...tiating w-with m-me about the s-safety of my f-family."
"It was the quickest way to get you to agree to my condition."
"You c-could have asked," I point out.
"Would you have consented to being my fake wife?"
I look away.
"That’s what I thought," he says with some satisfaction.
I stare into the flame. "N-now what?" The heat from the fire envelops me. But the man at my back is like a wall of warmth. My fingers and toes begin to hurt, and I moan, "Shit, I’m b-beginning to th-thaw out."
He reaches down and massages my hands, then moves over to rub my feet. The twinges shoot up my arms and legs. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to tamp down on the pins and needles sensations in my limbs. A trembling grips me, and I cuddle even closer to him.
Not lying; that dip in the icy pond scared me. My eyes begin to close, and as a doctor, I know it’s because of the shock wearing off, but as a woman I can’t refute the fact that being held in his arms brings a sense of security that blankets me. Heat from his body is like a furnace that surrounds me, driving away every last bit of cold from my bones. I yawn so widely my eyes tear.
"Guess that incident took it out of you, eh?"
He pushes the hair back from my forehead, and the gesture is so soft, so tender, that I glance at him confused.
"Christian…" I fight the waves of sleep that envelop me. "Just because you s-saved my life doesn’t mean that I have forgiven y-you for what you coerced me into d-doing."
"We’ll see." His lips curve in a smile. My eyes flutter shut. Something brushes my hair. Did he kiss my forehead?
I come awake slowly. Warmth, delicious warmth pours into my bloodstream. Every part of me feels toasty. I wriggle my toes and hit something hard. I dig down with my heel and encounter living, breathing flesh. I draw in a breath, and the scent of dark coffee laced with brandy, his scent, fills my lungs. My belly trembles, and my core clenches.
I try to turn, but something heavy around my waist stops me. I close my hand around it and encounter hair roughened skin. I drag my fingers up the length of his arm and brush against corded muscle. My limbs quiver. To say I am turned on right now would be an understatement. Somehow, being next to him, surrounded by him, with my arse pushed into his groin and his thickness stabbing into my hip, all I want to do is turn into him, lick up the demarcation of his pecs, slurp on his skin, taste the salt of his sweat as I wind my fingers around that hard, heavy part of him that I want to feel inside of me.
I try to turn again, and his grip tightens around me. Shit. He’s awake. Of course, he’s awake. As is his length, that seems to thicken and lengthen against where it is tucked between us.
I glance around us and realize I’m on a bed, which means that he moved us to the bedroom at some point. I’m facing away from him and toward another fire, in which the embers glow, keeping the room warm. A dull, bluish light streams in from the windows behind us. It must be early still. Did I sleep the night away? Did he carry me here? Of course, he must have. Clearly, I’d been out of it to not awake even then.
He pulls me closer, if that were possible, and every part of my back seems plastered to every inch of that hot, warm, hard, sculpted front. I gulp. Sweat breaks out on my brow. I dig my fingertips into his corded forearm, and a sound of agreement rumbles up his chest. My nerves seem to ignite, and all of my brain cells melt.
Oh hell, just being in the same room as him affects me, and now... When I am flush against him, with my neck supported on his bicep, I feel tiny, helpless, fragile. Prey caught in the jaws of this beast, to toy with, to break apart. To lick me up from head to toe with particular attention to the parts of me that crave his attention. An empty sensation gnaws at my core. I squeeze my thighs together to find some relief.
"Flower," he whispers, "if you wriggle any more, I’m going to come right here, and that would be very embarrassing, especially since I’d rather spill my cum inside of you."
"Oh," I squeeze my eyes shut. That was filthy—exceedingly so. My pussy throbs, like every word he spoke was addressed to that part of me.
"If I slide my fingers inside of you, will I find you wet?"
Yes.
Yes.
"No," I clear my throat, "of course, not."
"Liar." He laughs. The sound rumbles up his massive chest, sinks into my blood, arrows straight down to… You guessed it, my center.
He slides his fingers down my chest, over my belly, until his fingertips brush the strip of skin between my core and my stomach. He leaves it there, and I squirm. I try to bring my hips up, wanting, needing to feel his fingers brush against my aching pussy.
"You want me to touch you, Flower?"
Yes.
