by Shay Savage
“I do want you,” I said as blood rose to my cheeks. With his hand, he brushed under the edge of my jaw, tilting my face back up to his. His eyes were wide, and he glanced rapidly between mine, seeking confirmation that I meant what I said. I nodded and tried to hold his gaze, but his eyes were so intense, so beautiful, I found it hard to keep looking at them. My heart was still pounding in my chest, making it difficult to breathe deeply as he kept his eyes focused on mine until he nodded almost imperceptibly, perhaps satisfied with what he saw.
“Thank you, God,” Branford mumbled as his hands reached into my hair and his mouth descended on me again. I felt his tongue pressing against my lips, and I opened my mouth to him. As he touched and tasted me with his tongue, he slid his hands down my sides to my waist and pulled my body closer to his. I could feel him—hard, long, and wanting—pushed firmly against my stomach. I gasped into his mouth, and he pulled back from me. “I have wanted you so much. It has been so difficult to hold back, but I want you to want this. I need you to want me.”
“I do,” I repeated. “I want to be yours…truly yours.”
He dropped his hands from my face and slowly reached up to his neck, releasing the ties around the top of his shirt and slowly bringing it over his head. He dropped it to his feet without ceremony, and I looked upon his bare chest. My hand twitched, wanting to touch him but still unsure. He saw my hesitancy, took my hand in his, and placed it over his heart. I could feel it beating rapidly, matching the pace of my own. He released my hand, and I let myself feel his skin, running my fingers over the lines surrounding the strong muscles of his chest and shoulders. The outlines danced in the pale candlelight, and I let my finger trace the shadows I found there. His skin shuddered under my touch, and I looked up to find him smiling at me.
As my hands touched his chest and stomach, he reached over to unlace the top of my dress, leisurely pulling the laces from their holes until it was loose around me. He gripped the edge of my skirts and pulled the whole thing over my head, leaving me completely bare except for my lower undergarment. The dress joined his shirt on the floor, and he lowered himself down to the ground, looking up at me as he lifted each of my feet to remove my shoes as I held his shoulders for balance. His hands traveled up the outside of my legs, reaching the top of the undergarment and then pulling it slowly down. I stepped out of it and stood bare before him.
“So beautiful,” he whispered as his eyes moved over me. He stood again, kissed my mouth, and then loosened his trousers to let them drop around his ankles. I allowed myself the briefest of glances downward, seeing how his body was responding to my nakedness and feeling strangely proud that I could evoke such a response from him. Again I wondered how something so large could fit inside of me and felt my breath catch in my throat at the thought. He touched my jaw again before he bent down to remove his boots, and then he kicked everything off to the side. He took my hands in his and guided me backwards to the bed.
He lay me on my back, my head resting on the pile of pillows at the top of the bed, and crawled over me. He placed his mouth on my shoulder, making a trail of light kisses from there to my neck as his hands moved up my sides. I felt his thumbs brush the sides of my breasts and felt his hardness pressing against my thigh.
He cupped my breasts with both hands, lifting them higher as he looked down at them hungrily. He captured first one and then the other with his mouth. I gasped at the sensation as he sucked my nipples between his lips, running his warm tongue over them. He released them, kissed the top of both mounds before finding my lips with his. He kissed me over and over, his tongue running along mine until I was gasping for air and the strange sensation—the feeling of wanting to be touched—began to build between my legs. I shifted under him, and he smiled down at me.
“Do you want my touch?” he asked playfully. He caressed my skin, running his fingers from my breast to my stomach, then around my hip, and down the outside of my leg. He watched his hand as he ran it over the top of my knee and then slowly up the inside of my thigh, pushing my legs apart so he could reach me. I felt the brush of his long fingers over my most sensitive flesh. They slid against my folds, parting them and stroking slowly and deliberately as I groaned softly into my own hand. Branford shook his head and took my hand away from my mouth, placing it next to my head.
“I want to hear you,” he whispered into my ear as he moved my hand above my head. “The sounds you make are so beautiful, and they make me hunger for you.”
I was glad I wasn’t looking into his eyes when I thought about what he meant and felt his stiffened flesh rub against my thigh again. He found my opening with his fingers, teasing it briefly before pushing inside just a little ways. He found the swollen nub at the top with his thumb and began to slowly push against it. With his other hand, he pushed against the inside of my thigh, effectively placing me on display for him as he looked down. He looked for only a moment before turning his gaze to focus on my face. He examined me briefly until he seemed to be distracted by the sight of my breasts and turned his attention toward them—first with his free hand and then with his mouth. I grasped his shoulder and he looked up, his eyes sparkling.
He ran his tongue first over one nipple, then the other, while his thumb and fingers continued touching between my legs and making my hips rise up of their own accord. Branford’s fingers dipped farther inside of me, and I felt them curl up as I stiffened and cried out in short, panting breaths. His fingers retreated quickly, leaving me suddenly empty and somewhat confused.
At the same time, he released my breast from his lips and made a light trail down the center of my body, stopping at my navel. My fingers moved from his shoulder to his hair, and I let the wonderfully soft strands glide between my fingers. Branford’s gaze tilted upwards, looking at me, smiling his half smile, and making my stomach clench inside. While his eyes were still locked with mine, he reached out with his tongue and ran the edge of it around my navel, and I shivered. Branford grinned, kissed the skin just below the little indentation, then started moving farther down. Much farther down.
“What are you doing?” I breathed, my eyes wide.
“Kissing you,” he responded with an arch of his brow. He tilted his head and kissed first one hipbone, then the other. He slid his hand down my side, over my hip, down my leg, and then curled around my knee. He lifted my leg, laying it over his shoulder while he continued to watch my face. As his intent became clearer to me, my breath caught in my throat, and I whimpered.
“Branford…”
“Shh…”
I felt his lips brush softly over the skin of my inner thigh, and he slowly continued a line of kisses up the inside of my leg while I lay back, horrified at what he was doing. I remembered the feeling of his fingers between my legs, stroking and fondling me until I was screaming out for him in the middle of the forest, and I remembered the feeling of his tongue across my bare nipples.
My breath escaped me in gasps as his tongue reached out and took a long lick from my opening to the tiny, intense spot at the top of my folds. His darkened eyes stayed trained to mine as he swirled the tip of his tongue in a small circle around the little nub. I whimpered, panted, and grasped at the blanket below me as his lips joined his tongue, wrapping around my flesh—licking and sucking as he had done to my breasts only moments before. An instant later, his fingers joined his mouth, and I felt him slide them slowly back into me—moving in and out leisurely as his tongue circled and pressed against me.
It was no more than a second later when I was screaming out for him.
“Branford! Branford!”
My body shuddered and clamped down on his fingers. I heard his own gasp as I wrapped my fingers into his hair and held his mouth against me as his tongue continued its fervent motions. My head thrashed from side to side as he kept up his steady rhythm until I forced my entire body still—suddenly horrified at what I had just done. I glanced down as I released Branford’s hair quickly, only to find his dark eyes and half smile shining up at
me with his eyebrows raised. I felt my blush cover my skin, which only seemed to make him smile more. He placed a final kiss between my legs before he raised himself up and began to crawl over the top of me.
I felt his kisses make a line from my hipbone to my stomach, then up between my breasts, to the side up my neck, up over my chin, and finally to my mouth. While he kissed me slowly, my own taste still clinging to his lips, I felt warm, wet pressure between my legs as Branford brought our hips together, and his hard length pressed against that most sensitive spot. Light, tickling sensations traveled down my side as his fingers brushed along my skin. When he reached my knee, he pulled my leg up and held it against his hip, opening my legs more for him.
This was it. He was going to take me now. Without warning, Shelly’s bruised and battered face, the blood, and the sound of her crying entered my head.
“Shh, my wife,” he whispered against my ear. “I will make you feel it again—I will make you feel that pleasure again, Alexandra. Do you want that?”
“You already did,” I told him, my voice shaking. I was trying to keep the worry out of my tone but was quite sure I was failing. He rested his hand against the side of my face and his lips brushed softly against mine.
“I’m not done making you feel good,” he said with confidence. He stared into my eyes again. “I want you to feel like that every time I join with you, starting with tonight.”
I nodded quickly, trying to tell myself to stop this nonsense—I was being ridiculous. He had made me feel wonderful, and he had not hurt me at all. It had been as he said it would be—gentle and slow—but I could not stop my mind from recalling the hurt Shelly had described to me and Branford’s own admission that there would be some pain.
“Look at me,” Branford said. His voice was so quiet, I could barely hear him over my own panicked breathing. The backs of his fingers ran down my cheek as I tried to comply and look up at him. He kept his gaze on me, whispering soft words until my breathing slowed to match the unhurried pace of the kisses he left on my skin. “Wrap your arms around my shoulders. Hold on as tight as you wish.”
I placed my hands on his shoulders, gripping the hard muscles under his skin. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm my body and remember how many times he had told me he would be gentle—that he wouldn’t hurt me unnecessarily. Branford stilled a moment, and when I looked up, his eyes were closed and his expression intense behind the closed lids. He opened his eyes as his lips parted, and I thought I heard him whisper “Amen” before he kissed me once more.
With his body poised above me and one hand still cupping my cheek, Branford leaned forward. He used his hand to guide himself directly to his goal and pushed slowly. I could feel myself spreading open—allowing his body to enter mine—as the end of him was engulfed by my body. The pressure was strange—more so than the feeling of his fingers inside of me—but it didn’t hurt. He pulled back, and I felt him leave me for the briefest of moments before he was inside of me again, this time pushing just a little more, and another inch of him was encompassed by my flesh.
His eyes closed a moment and his lips touched mine. Again, he pulled back, but not as far as he had the last time, and leaned forward once more. I could feel my body stretching to accommodate him. When I looked up, I saw his sparkling green eyes fixed on my face, watching me intently as he repeated the movement over and over—each time entering me just a fraction more—until he stopped abruptly, and I felt a strange increase in pressure deep inside of me. He was only halfway in, and the feeling had turned briefly into a strange pinching sensation, and I gasped.
“Just for a moment, Alexandra—I swear to you.” Branford’s look was intense, and I could only nod in response. I tried to make my body relax again, but it was difficult. Branford rocked back and forth slowly, his breathing no longer as fixed and steady as it had been. “Hold on to me.”
I complied, wrapping my arms under his and tightening my grip around his shoulders. He leaned in close, his lips against my neck and shoulder as he continued his short, gentle moves inside of me. He dropped his hand from my face, over my shoulder, and back to my breast. He captured it in his hand and ran his thumb over the nipple, and I heard a moan escape my mouth as the combined sensations of his hand and his penetration overwhelmed me. My fingers tightened on his shoulders for a moment as he pinched the sensitive flesh of my nipple, and I gasped. It didn’t hurt exactly—but it was unexpected. He released it almost immediately, and as I felt warmth cover where his fingers had been, my grip on him relaxed, and I let out a short breath.
Branford moved—faster than before. He thrust upwards and hard against me, and his hips became flush with mine. I felt my body give way to him completely as a strange twinge of unfamiliar pain rippled inside of me before quickly fading away.
I cried out—more in surprise than pain—and Branford’s hands were on my face, his mouth kissing me and whispering to me.
“It is all right, my wife…”
“Are you…are you…?”
“I am all the way inside of you.” Branford smiled and nodded.
I couldn’t identify the emotions that swept through me. It was as if something that had been tightly bound inside of me was suddenly released, finally allowing me to truly breathe deeply for the first time since I took his hand and agreed to become his wife. We were joined—really, truly joined as man and wife.
“Am I yours?” I could barely whisper the words.
“You are mine,” he said, his confirmation reassuring me. “Always.”
I looked up at him and felt myself smile. He kissed the corners of my mouth, one at a time, and then raised himself up to look down on me.
“Are you well?” he asked. “Does it still hurt?”
Shaking my head, I looked to his eyes, and then glanced down between us. I couldn’t really see where we were connected—the candlelight was too dim. I felt oddly full, stretched and hot, but it no longer hurt. My husband was on top of me, inside of me, and the heat from his body felt wonderful against my skin. His hips rose up, and the glorious pressure was abruptly gone. I looked to Branford’s eyes, worried something was wrong, for I was sure he had not felt his pleasure yet. Much to my relief, he paused with half his length still inside of me. With his hands on either side of my head, he braced himself and slowly pushed back into me, filling me completely as I gasped and moaned beneath him.
Holding himself against me, Branford shifted his weight to one arm, leaving his other hand free to roam over the skin of my shoulder, arm, and breasts. He cupped and lifted my nipple up to his mouth and sucked at it greedily. His moans caused my skin to vibrate, and he started moving inside of me slowly as his tongue ran over my pebbled nipple.
I moved my hands from his shoulders to his hair. I held him to my breast and whispered his name between breaths as he sucked and licked and touched me. When he released my breast, his darkened gaze bore into me for a second before his lips crashed to mine. His hand slid across my stomach and gripped my hip, pulling me against him as he continued his short, gentle thrusts inside of me. He moved his mouth to my neck, sucking on my skin from the bottom of my ear down to where my neck met my shoulder. He pushed hard against me with his hips, rotating them in a small half circle and hitting that magical spot near where his body entered mine. Instinctively, my hips rose up to meet his, and as they did, Branford’s hand moved from my hip to the place right above where we joined. He began a slow, relentless circling with his thumb, and my back arched against the pressure.
“Do you like that?” He panted into my ear as his thumb circled again.
“Yes,” I moaned back, barely able to find enough air to speak.
“It feels so good inside of you,” he whispered. He moved slowly, steadily—setting up a deep, wondrous rhythm that matched the movement of his thumb. “Three days have never taken so long, but you are so warm…so worth waiting for this night…”
I dug my fingertips into the skin over his shoulder blades as he pulled
back and entered me again. I pressed my forehead against his shoulder and muffled my cries against his flesh. He found the edge of my jaw with his mouth and kissed his way up to my temple. I felt his warm breath in my hair.
“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he murmured into my ear. I complied, locking my ankles together at the base of his back. As soon as I did, the pressure changed and intensified as Branford moved deeper inside of me, groaning his pleasure. “Oh, yes…”
“Branford!” I cried out, and his mouth covered mine as he moved his thumb faster against me. The muscles in my legs constricted, and delicious warmth traveled from my stomach down, out, and through my legs. I cried out again, the sound muffled against my husband’s lips as my body tensed, screamed in ecstasy, and released.
“Oh, Alexandra.” Branford pulled back from my mouth and turned his head to the side. His body tensed as well, but only for a moment before he let out a long breath and opened his eyes again. “Hold on to me.”
I tightened my grip using both my legs around his waist and my arms around his shoulders. He pulled back and then thrust into me, causing my body to push against the mattress as it shifted underneath him. I felt him slide almost out of me again before he thrust forward with more intensity, and I cried out.
“Does it hurt?” he asked into my ear. He reached into the hair at the back of my neck and he turned me toward him. I shook my head quickly—not wanting him to pause even for a moment. He moved again—long, drawn-out strokes as he pulled out of me, then quick thrusts as he sheathed himself in me completely. Gradually, the pace increased along with the beating of his heart, which I could feel against my breasts when he pressed his chest against them. My fingers became slick with the sweat on his back as he moved more and more rapidly and with more and more intensity. Branford’s breath was hot and covered the skin of my neck in short, quick bursts. Under his breath, I could hear his grunts and moans in between actual words.
