The answer hung in her mind like an apple about to drop.
She knew if she accepted, she'd be giving herself to him in every sense of the word: all she was and all she would be, till death did them part. Yes, he'd asked her to marry him, but a promise was not a deed. He could change his mind or fall tomorrow for the butcher's daughter.
And
Florence
would be left with nothing but the memory of this night.
It was enough. She wanted the risk; wanted to leap into the void. Her heart was his already. She had no wish to take it back.
She might be afraid, but she would not be a coward.
"Yes," she
said,
her answer almost steady. "I should like that very much."
His breath sighed from him. He cupped her jaw, his fingers stroking her neck beneath her hair. "I hope you like it," he said, with a tinge of wryness. "But the only promise I can make is to be careful."
Her hand moved beyond her control, sliding beneath the lapel of his robe to find the warm, hard curve
of his ribs. "I don't mind when you're a little wild."
He laughed, the sound all
breath
. "Not this time, love. I might hurt you. But perhaps you're not familiar with the logistics?"
Her smile curled into his neck. He'd forgotten how much a simple country girl could learn. "I'm familiar with them, though I doubt I've sufficient experience to conduct myself very well after
we
, er, after we ..."
"Achieve the desired union of our parts?" he said, saving her from her sudden loss of nerve. His chuckle rumbled in her ear and she knew he liked her shyness. "You needn't worry about the after. After has a way of taking care of itself and, as I said, I'll be careful."
Something in his voice caught her attention, a deeper arousal, a tension that was more anticipation than concern. Wondering what had triggered it, her hand slipped down his gaping robe, over skin and bone
and muscle. His stomach tightened as her thumb crossed his navel and then she found him, rising thick and hard from the tight black nest of curls. The base of his cock more than filled the circle her fingers made. He cradled her forearm, gently encouraging her touch.
"I'll be careful," he whispered, the words shaking. "I svon't hurt you."
She smiled where he could not see and vowed she'd never let him know she'd guessed his secret. Part
of him, the part that would have made a fine Crusader, relished the thought of deflowering her with his symbolic sword.
Marauder and protector.
Primitive beast and courtly knight.
Both were part of Edward's soul. Relaxing her grip, she trailed her fingers lightly up his shaft. The mighty column quivered at her touch. Like a puppy, she thought as she traced the net of swollen veins, wriggling for a treat.
"There is the matter of size," she said as seriously as she could. To her delight, the quiver grew violent.
"Sh." He covered her hand, molding it to his silky, pulsing skin. "I am convinced you shall take me." His second hand slipped beneath her shirt to stroke the lush curve of her hip. "You were made to take me."
"It's true, I'm not delicate, but you must admit your equipment is formidable."
His palm gripped hers, a brief, involuntary spasm. His shaft lengthened in their mutual hold. Oh, how she enjoyed this. What power people's secret wishes had! When he spoke, his voice was whiskey rough. "I know you can't truly be afraid. You aren't even shaking."
"No, but perhaps in my ignorance, I haven't fully appreciated the challenge of—"
He silenced her with a kiss that drove from her mind her intent to tease him. Abruptly urgent, he rolled her beneath him, pressing her down with his weight. The kiss stole her breath and fired her blood. He released her long enough to pant for air, then ripped the shirt she wore down her front. With a whispered curse, he tore off his robe and sank back over her, fitting his hardness to her curves, rubbing them together until every inch of her thrummed with excitement. For long minutes, her mind was filled with nothing but the feel of him under her roving hands, the rush of his breath,
the
wet, greedy tug of his mouth. She could not get close enough to him, nor he, it seemed, to her. They grappled and writhed and clutched each other's backs. His erection was a
brand against her thigh, her hip, her belly. She spread her legs to wrap them around him, and even that embrace was not enough. She wanted him: all his size, all his passion, all his hidden desires.
"You'll have to tell me," she said, gasping as his kiss moved towards her breast. "You'll have to tell me what to do."
"I'll show you," he said, and captured her nipple with lips and tongue. He pulled her into his mouth with shocking strength. Feeling speared through her, turning molten in her sex. She was melting, desire running from her like liquid gold. He turned to the other breast and drew that just as hungrily against his tongue.
Florence
groaned and arched her back. "I wish you would show me soon."
He chuckled and cupped his hand around her curls, squeezing the soft, aching cushion within his palm. She groaned again, louder than before. His fingers—so strong, so hard—pressed between her plumping lips but did nothing to ease her need. She whimpered when he let go.
"Put your hand on my cock," he said, the words a smoky rasp. "Take me up against you. Put me where you want me to be."
Now she did shake, though she did not think she shook with fear. She slid her hand down his back, around his hip, her breath coming quick and shallow. They both jumped when she touched him. His organ was heat in her hands, hard, throbbing fire. She drew it closer to her sexual heart.
"Lift your knees," he said, coaxing one leg into position with his hand. He balanced his weight on the other elbow, his hips canting forward as she guided his approach. He had to bow his back to look into
her face, and suddenly the disparity in their sizes was very real. He overshadowed her, overwhelmed
her, and yet she did not wish him any other way. She knew he would be careful with her. She knew
she would be safe.
His eyes squeezed shut for a moment when the crown of him slipped between her lips. He was big and eager, dripping with it as he tried to find his place. She wasn't quite sure how to manage, but his fingers soon joined hers, adjusting, easing, with an intimacy that made her blush. A second later, the hot round tip was pressed inside her, the sensation of pulsing, stretching heat making her sigh and fight a squirm. When he opened his eyes, his pupils had nearly swallowed up the blue.
"There," he whispered. "How does that feel?"
It felt like her soul was tearing down the middle, not with pain but gladness.
With this act, her whole
being made room for him.
"Silky," she said, afraid to push but wanting to immensely.
"And hot.
And very, very good."
His cock bucked at the words. She could not quell her body's reaction. Her longing flowed out against him.
"Oh, Edward, I'm all awash."
He growled against her neck and nipped her lightly with his teeth. "I like you all awash. It tells me
you're ready to take me."
But he did not move, not even when she locked her arms behind his waist and urged him in. Instead, he stroked her hair from her brow and kissed it. His lips were hot, his breath harried. She didn't understand his inaction. Didn't he want to take her? Didn't he want to make them one? A niggle of worry began to rise.
"You came this far before," she said, "that first time at the ruins."
"Yes." His face tightened as if the memory hurt. "I did."
"You're not going to pull back this time, are you?"
He shuddered and his hips moved, pressing a tormenting fraction deeper. "You're the only person who could make me."
"I don't want to make you. I want you to—" She bit her lip.
"Tell me," he said and ran his tongue across the place her teeth had sunk.
She let go with a gasp. "I want you to push. I want you all the way inside me."
"Even if it hurts?"
"I don't care." She squeezed his hips with her thighs. "It hurts too much to wait."
"Oh,
Florence
," he said, her name a moan.
"Brave, sweet
Florence
."
He kissed her, deeply, and began to press gently forward and back against her barrier, nudge and release, nudge and release, until her fingers curled into claws behind his shoulders. What he was doing felt terribly good, but not quite
good
enough.
"Please, Edward," she breathed, unable to bear it. "Please, please take me now."
She felt him gather; felt a sting of pressure. Then, with a quick forward thrust and a helpless grunt of pleasure, he rent the obstacle between them. He pushed once more, sighed, and forced himself to stop. His shoulders were suddenly slick beneath her hands, his head bowed on his neck. Already, the pain of his entry was fading; was melting into need. She knew she had not taken much of him, not even half. A distance remained between their hips.
"I'm all right," she said, kissing the ball of his shoulder, stroking the clenched and quivering muscle of his rear. "I want the rest."
"
Florence
." He raised his head, his voice so deep it was nearly hollow. "I want to watch your face when
I make you mine."
Their eyes locked. She'd never seen such vulnerability—or such love. He slid one big warm hand beneath her hips, his fingers spread from the small of her back to the lowest swell of her bottom. At last he pushed, slowly, firmly, forcing the walls of her sheath to part for his penetration. Nothing stopped him. She experienced no pain, no fear,
no
limitation of flesh that would not ease. She
was
made for him. Her body gave before his slow, sleek drive, oiling his way, hugging his pounding length. She sighed when his hips pressed hers, filled to satiation, joined to him by that hot tensile shaft and by the luxuriant pleasure
of a close and perfect fit.
He moaned her name, dropping kisses across her face. "Oh, Lord," he breathed. "That's good."
Now that he was seated, he drew her hands from his waist and pressed them above her head, twining their fingers in a tight, sweaty grip. She didn't mind. If she was captured, so was he. Both of them were trembling, both smiling into each other's eyes.
"Love," he said, and began to draw and thrust. Nothing moved except his hips and his expression: like
a man seeing a vision he did not want to end. Straight in
he
stroked. Straight out
he
pulled.
Thick and strong and simple.
The way it made her feel, however, was anything but simple. She was conquered
and powerful, needy and generous, a pauper and queen of the world. He was making her a woman in
the most primitive sense of the word.
He whispered of his pleasure: hot, forbidden words that made her tighten deep inside. He was on fire,
he said.
Ablaze to feel her spend.
He murmured praise to her breasts, to her small, white feet, to the damp, dimpled backs of her knees. He told her how hard he was, how badly he ached. He urged her
to rock with him,
then
swore when she obeyed. It seemed a blessing when he slid like satin inside her, strong as a bull, gentle as a lamb.
Each thrust drove him to his limit, hard but slow, so slow she could scarcely bear his long withdrawals. He seemed to be entering her anew each time, ravishing her anew, as if his cock adored that claiming stroke.
"Don't rush," he pleaded when her body grew impatient. "We'll only have one first time."
He released her hands and curled his thumb between their hips. She shattered at his touch, her body clenching uncontrollably, her throat burning with a helpless cry.
He laughed when she apologized. "Again," he demanded. "Quick, love, do it again."
She couldn't have resisted if she'd tried. He seemed to know what her body wanted before she did;
when it needed a pinch, or a stroke, or a greedy, grinding push. She came until her body was limp with joy. At last, though, his own needs rode him too hard to be denied.