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“You are a marvel, Bridget Sedgwick,” he said. “And I cannot wait to make you my wife.”
She slipped off the robe and stood in her translucent chemise, her curves clearly revealed to him in the lamplight.
“I am already yours, Graham Barnet,” she said. “I always have been.”
His gaze faltered for a moment, his desire mounting. He licked his lips, and she could see that he, too, was nervous, though he must be far more experienced than she.
“You don’t have to,” he breathed.
“I want to,” she replied, moving her leg now to drape it across his lap. She knew it was bold of her, but she had been through too much to be hesitant when it came to obeying her desires.
And she loved Graham.
She knew it.
“Then let me help you,” he murmured.
His deft fingers moved over her soft flesh, moving the neck of her chemise aside, to continue trailing hot kisses down her neck and over her chest. He looked up at her as he pulled the garment down off her shoulders, seeking her permission before he went any further.
“Please,” she said.
His lips wrapped around the peak of her breast, and the fire in her belly soared to radiant heights. Bridget clutched his head to her chest, tangling her fingers in his dark-blond hair as he moved over her, bracing himself on either side of her in the plush window seat. When Graham settled between her legs, she felt the press of his manhood against her, and she gasped at the sensation.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked immediately, drawing away from her. The fire in her belly raged at his absence, and she resisted the urge to claw at him and pull him back to her.
“No, it feels good,” she said. “I just… felt you, then. I’ve never…”
Graham seemed to doubt himself, his eyes cast into shadow. “My dear Bridget, this should wait for the marriage bed.”
“I want it to be here,” Bridget said, cutting him off. “Now. In the place where I first fell in love with you.”
A smile graced his lips, and he kissed her again. Then, he kneeled between her legs, and began to unbutton his own shirt.
Bridget had never really seen a man undressed, and Graham was a fine specimen indeed. His movements revealed a thatch of curly, soft-looking chest hair, then a hard abdomen. When he shrugged out of his shirtsleeves, his shoulders were sculpted, all rolling muscle and sharp angles. He joined her again, and she felt the heat of him against her more powerfully now, as his hands fell to her knees and parted her legs with a gentleness she would not have imagined such a strong man capable of.
“It did not seem fair,” he murmured, “that you should be so exposed while I was not in the same condition.”
“I shall never complain about seeing you in all your glory,” Bridget started to say—but she tripped over her words when those deft fingers of his found the juncture of her thighs. He was careful and slow, moving delicately, and she arched her back to him at the slightest touch while he brushed his lips again to her breast.
“You do not realize your own glory,” he said against her skin. His finger found her sensitive bud and moved up and down, driving her mad with need. Bridget felt her body would turn to flame. “So brave, so bold, so beautiful… I do not know how I have gone so long without having you.”
The movement of his fingers increased against her. She moved her hips in time, Graham playing her like an instrument. Bridget felt the eruption of her inner fire close at hand—and then it burst, exploded, burned over her. She cried out, but his mouth covered hers in a heated kiss, his tongue silencing her pleasured moans.
And still, Bridget was not sated.
For she needed the man she loved.
The man who would be her husband.
He pulled his hand from between her thighs, and she propped herself on her elbows, preparing to beg him for more. Yet she did not need to do so, for Graham was scrambling to unfasten his trousers before covering her again with his body. He kissed her hard, and she felt him, then, under her nightgown, her skirt hitched around her thighs.
It was wanton of her to do this, entirely improper.
So why did it feel so right?
Graham moved his hips, and she felt him press against her with his manhood. She had not gotten a good look at it, but she knew there would be more than enough time to do so once they were married. For now, she needed him to keep her from burning alive, to take him into the deepest embrace possible.
“Tell me if it hurts,” he whispered in her ear, bracing himself with one arm while he took himself in hand. “If I need to slow… I shall never hurt you, my love.”
