by Jane Porter
And as he pressed her to him, he lifted her skirt, found her thighs encased in silk, and with a snap he unhooked the garter belt from the top of each thigh-high stocking.
With her skirt still lifted, he pulled her back against him, rubbed her hips against his so she could feel him, the hard length of him barely restrained by his thin trousers.
She gasped as her belly clenched tight and heat washed through her, filling her, making her insides feel warm and liquid.
He rubbed her against him again and her breath caught in her throat. His erection was long, hard, thick, and yet when the tip brushed against the apex of her legs, she felt little shock waves rush through her.
Felt muscles she didn’t even know she had, start to squeeze.
Felt as though she were melting inside, hot cream, and when he slid his hand beneath her panties her legs wobbled.
No one had ever touched her there, and yet his touch was better than good, his touch made her feel wild, brazen, and she wanted more, wanting him to explore her and soothe all the sensitive nerves that throbbed right now.
“You feel amazing.” His voice was deep, passion-rough. “So smooth and soft and slick.”
Overwhelmed, she buried her face against his chest, her arms around him, her hands fists in his lower back.
“Wet,” he added, his voice a velvet sandpaper on her senses. “You’re wet for me.”
He was still touching her, lightly, delicately, the curls, the lips, the wildly sensitive hardened nub, and she was wet and growing wetter. And then when he slid a finger inside her, she bucked at his touch, amazed at how much she felt, at the heady sensation of being explored by him.
Her response nearly pushed him over the edge, and he turned her around, tugged and ripped at the back of the dress until the tiny jeweled straps fell from her shoulders and the fitted bodice opened and tumbled forward, revealing her high, round breasts.
“You are beyond beautiful,” he said, hands covering her breasts, feeling her nipples stiffen, harden beneath his hands.
Self-control nearly shattered, Wolf stretched her out in front of the fire, and for a moment he just looked at her, rose-tipped breasts bare, skirts tangled around her legs and the glow of the fire warming her skin.
He unzipped his pants as he watched her face. “I want you.” His voice was hoarse and his dark eyes burned with barely leashed hunger.
She nodded once, her heart pounding too hard for her to actually answer.
His sculptured features were taut. His eyes smoldered. Again he struck her as fire and ice, ancient Celtic myth twined with a thousand years of Spanish passion.
Alexandra felt a stirring inside her, a whisper in her heart, something infinitely special and rare, something magical that not everyone might know.
She loved him.
Emotion surged through her, fierce and unexpected. She wanted this man, she wanted him completely.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she said as he moved between her legs, his erection pressing urgently between her thighs, the tip of his shaft silky against her dampness.
He’d started to enter her, but now he stopped. He’d felt the resistance inside her, too. His weight on his forearms, he looked down at her, searched her eyes. “You’ve never—”
“No,” she whispered, aware of his stomach and hips and thighs covering hers. It was so intimate and dominant she shook, her thighs quivering from tension.
“I’m the first?” he asked.
The tears weren’t far off, but they weren’t tears of fear. They were pure emotion.
It was so surreal being here like this, married to Wolf, making love for the first time as his bride. His wife. “Yes,” she answered huskily.
He kissed her deeply.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured against her mouth even as she felt the heat of his body throb inside her. He hadn’t broken her hymen yet. He was uncertain, too, she realized. He was afraid of giving her pain.
Her eyes burned hotter. His body felt like lava inside her. But it was nothing compared to the tenderness in her heart. Wolf would be her first lover, and if fate was good, hopefully her last.
He stroked the side of her face, wiping away the one tear trickling over her cheekbone. “You’re crying.”
“It’s a big night.”
“It is,” he agreed and he’d never sounded more Irish.
His dark eyes met hers and held, and there was suddenly no mask, no wall up between them, nothing but a beautiful fire in his eyes, a passion and hunger that spoke of dreams unfulfilled and hope he still cherished. Wolf might be the world’s most beloved star, but he was also a man still searching for love. And a home.
“Take me,” she said, sliding her hands down his back to his narrow hips, hard with sinewy muscle. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not.”
And then he was kissing her again, kissing her as if she were the last woman on earth and this the last kiss ever. He pressed forward as he kissed her, pressing against the resistance, and then she felt him, full and hard, filling her, deeper and deeper still.
It did hurt, but at the same time it was wondrous, new, sacred. Sacred because it felt right. Sacred because somehow she knew she’d always been waiting for him. Even that one painful night four years ago had just been a detour until they finally got to where they were supposed to go.
Here.
Right here, together, like this.
His hips rocked, thrusting into her, and she felt the hot fire start to give way to a different sensation, one of warmth and fullness and even pleasure.
As he stroked her, moving in and out, she instinctively squeezed down on him, savoring his hardness, his strength, the feel of him taking her, making her his in front of the fire while she still wore her wedding gown, the full skirts and stiff petticoat ruched around her hips, the garter belt around her waist, the white silk stockings rolled down to her knees.
When his tempo increased, the pleasure did, too. Her hands slid across his back and she whimpered at the building tension, the way everything was tightening, turning, both maddening and exciting.
She’d been shy before they made love, but now that they were here, like this, in this together, she wanted whatever it was he could give her. She wanted all of what this could be, all of what they could be.
As the tension built, Alexandra felt more frantic, her hips rising to meet his, pressing against him.
“You can come,” he whispered against her throat, his lips warm, his teeth nipping at the column of her neck. “Let go. Come for me.”
And then as he drove into her harder, faster, pushing her ever closer to that point of no return, she was suddenly, spectacularly there, exploding in waves of intense pleasure, the rhythmic contractions electric blue and silver shock waves that rippled through her one after another. The pleasure was unlike anything she’d known before, and her body still shuddered with exquisite sensitivity when Wolf came, too, pumping even deeper into her, and as he filled her body, he filled her heart.
I love him, she thought, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her face to his shoulder. I love this man.
CHAPTER TEN
SHE WAS STILL WRAPPED in Wolf’s arms, her body not yet cool, when he lifted his head, kissed her once and then pulled away.
Standing, he gazed down at her where she lay half-naked in her crumpled, stained bridal gown, her pale breasts bare, the white skirts hiked high around her hips. “Yet another ruined gown,” he said.
He was referring to her vintage Armani gown, and she smiled faintly. “I don’t mind this time.”
“I should have undressed you completely.”
She tucked a tendril of hair back, away from her eyes. “I’m glad you didn’t. It was more exciting this way.”
“You are a Hollywood girl after all,” he said, scooping her into his arms and carrying her into the bathroom, where he stripped her and walked her into the shower with him.
He lathered her beneath the steaming shower spray, rubbing th
e suds across her breasts, down over her stomach, her hips, her bottom and then gently between her tender thighs. “Sore?” he asked as, shivering with pleasure, she leaned against him.
If she thought about it, she was sore, but it wasn’t bad, not like the terrible violation she’d feared. In fact, making love with Wolf had made her body feel better, made her feel better. Made her feel … complete, although she wasn’t sure how that worked.
“I’m good,” she murmured as he bathed her with the handheld shower head, washing the bubbles from her now pink breasts and then lower to rinse the suds from the cleft in her bottom and her bottom itself.
She gasped as he continued to rinse her from behind, the jetted spray caressing the backs of her thighs and then between. He’d angled the showerhead so that the tingling spray struck her sensitive folds and the small peaked nub at the top of her inner lips.
She clutched at his arm, torn between pleasure and shame.
“Does this hurt?” he asked, his voice passion-rough.
“No.” She blushed. “I’m just … shy.”
“Close your eyes then.”
She was beginning to pant at the erotic beating of water on her tender skin. “Is this right?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me giving you pleasure,” he said, gently widening her legs with his knee and bringing the showerhead closer to her. “You’re mine now and I want you to feel good.”
Her legs quivered beneath her, and she clung to Wolf’s arm, her hand wrapped around his tight bicep as the warm water teased her, tormented her, bringing her closer to another orgasm.
“Wolf,” she choked out, the heat inside her building, rising. “I don’t want … I can’t … come—”
“Don’t worry, love. You can come. You won’t be alone.”
And, opening her eyes, she looked down. While he was pleasuring her with the showerhead in his right hand, he was stroking himself with his left.
Pulse racing, senses enflamed, she felt the warm water caress her even as she watched Wolf stroke his erection.
His shaft was huge, hard, the head a perfect smooth cap tinged with pink, and as his hand rode the length, she felt overcome not by shyness but wonder. He was beautiful, the way he was made was beautiful, and as he stroked himself, the muscles in his abdomen knotted and his bicep clenched.
She heard him groan, a deep, guttural groan, and it was primitive and raw and the sexiest thing she’d ever heard.
He was close to coming, and that’s when Alexandra stopped fighting her orgasm, opening her legs just a little wider, rocking forward on her toes so the water pressure was right where she wanted it most. And then she was there, a gasp, a muffled cry, and then with a louder cry she climaxed with him.
A few minutes later, dry and wrapped in the hotel’s plush robe, a rosy-cheeked Alexandra joined Wolf in raiding the cottage’s stocked refrigerator.
Famished, they sampled the platter of cheese and crackers, then Wolf fed Alexandra bites of chocolate-covered strawberries between fizzy sips of delicate gold champagne.
Finally they found their way into the bedroom and, with robes discarded, lay close together beneath the fluffiest feather duvet Alexandra had ever encountered.
The wedding had been terrifying. The reception overwhelming. And the lovemaking mind-blowing.
She smiled into the crook of her arm and blushed remembering everything she and Wolf had just done.
My God, he did it for her. In every way. And finally, finally all the questions about sex had been answered and her curiosity put to rest.
Making love with Wolf was better than anything she’d ever imagined, and waiting to make love with him was worth all the sleepless nights, the impossible fantasies, the sharp, relentless craving she’d felt when he touched her, kissed her, aroused the dormant fire in her.
Snuggling close to him, she felt his arm wrap more snugly around her and pull her back until her bottom rested against his hips and his hand covered her breast. Even though she was exhausted, she felt a flare of heat all over again, desire licking at her, through her, tightening her nipples until they pebbled beneath Wolf’s hand.
He laughed softly behind her, his breath tickling the back of her neck. “Go to sleep,” he said, his voice vibrating through her, low, husky, sexy. Amused. “Or you’ll be too sore to enjoy it again tomorrow.”
They did make love again in the morning, a slow, sensual coming together that made Alexandra feel utterly fulfilled and extremely lazy. But the warm, languid mood evaporated as soon as Wolf told her the plans for the rest of the day.
“We’re leaving for Africa this afternoon?” She rolled away and sat up, clutching the duvet to her chest. “On the first day of our honeymoon?”
“You knew we were going—”
“I knew you were going.” She sat back, wrapped the covers around her, leaving Wolf naked. But that was fine—he didn’t have a modest bone in his body. “And I didn’t think you were going until tomorrow.”
He shrugged and left the bed. “There must have been some miscommunication.”
She sat there watching as he headed for the shower. “Wolf.”
He reached into the glass shower, turned the handles, adjusted the water’s temperature. “You’ve known all along I’m going on location,” he said before climbing in.
That was one way of ending a discussion, she thought irritably, waiting for him to finish. And when she heard the water turn off, she was at the shower door, waiting for him to step out.
“Yes, I know you need to go away,” she said, resuming the discussion where they’d left off, “but we never discussed me going with you.”
He rubbed the white towel over his wet hair and face before mopping his chest and wrapping the towel snugly around his lean hips. “If you weren’t joining me, Alexandra, why did we have you apply for a passport?” When she didn’t answer, he shrugged and reached for his shave cream and razor. “Hop into the shower. It’s a British Airways flight this afternoon. We can’t be late.”
One second they were still on the runway in Los Angeles and the next they were off.
Zambia. Africa.
Alex curled her fingers into her palm, hiding the sudden tremor in her veins. She knew Wolf’s next picture—an adaptation of the novel The Burning Shore—was to be filmed there, but she’d never been to Africa, had never been to Europe. And except for trips into neighboring Canada with her family when she was a little girl, she’d never been out of the United States.
It was a long flight but comfortable, as they were flying first class on British Airways and everyone on board, from the captain to the purser to the newest wide-eyed flight attendant, personally welcomed Wolf on board.
After the five-course dinner, the wide leather seats actually turned into flat, surprisingly comfortable beds.
Alexandra woke to breakfast, coffee and news that they’d be landing in a little over two hours.
But by the time they arrived in Lusaka, Zambia’s biggest city as well as airport, Alexandra was ready to stretch her legs and move around.
Unfortunately their journey wasn’t over yet, as the plane that had been chartered to ferry Wolf and Alexandra to the set wasn’t at the airport. Wolf made a few calls and put the alternatives before Alexandra: they could either overnight in Lusaka and hope the plane would be available tomorrow or hire one of the safari services to drive them to the lodge in Kafue National Park.
Alexandra opted for hiring a driver. It was only a four hour drive and she’d had enough flying for one day.
She’d seen plenty of Land Rovers in Los Angeles—the celebrity crowd liked driving them—but as their cases were transferred into the roofless four-by-four vehicle, she realized that Land Rovers in Africa were actually utilitarian jeeps.
The driver, a safari guide who’d once been a poacher before serving time behind bars, was now an ardent conservationist and eager to share his love for Zambia’s country and culture.
Kafue, he told them, was Zambia’s oldest park and the
largest. Established in 1950, it was the second largest national park in the world and about the size of Wales.
Their lodge and encampment was situated on the banks of the Kafue River in the Namwala West area.
The farther they traveled from Lusaka and the highway, the more primitive conditions got, with the road sometimes disappearing for miles at a time. Alexandra clung to a handrail on the side of the Land Rover as the blue-gray vehicle bumped and shuddered over the grassy, rocky and pothole-scarred terrain.
Some of the bumps were small and others were bone-jarring. As a small airplane flew overhead, Alexandra glanced up, wishing now they’d maybe waited for the charter flight. That had to be easier on the joints than this.
By late afternoon they were traveling through the brachystegia woodland broken by fantastically shaped kopjes. The scenery was spectacular, the colors of the landscape every shade of green and gold. They passed enormous herds of impala and hartebeest and then later a herd of puku grazing with zebra while a lone puku buck stood off to the side, head up, alert, on guard to protect the others.
“Are there big game animals here?” Alexandra asked as flocks of colorful birds lifted from a nearby tree.
“Lions, leopards, cheetahs, elephants,” he counted on his fingers. “Hippo at the river, and where you’re staying there are quite a few.”
Alexandra glanced excitedly at Wolf. “We’re on the river?”
“Your lodge has a deck overhanging the riverbanks. At twilight you’ll see many of the animals come to drink.”
And then suddenly they were there, on the banks of the deep blue Kafue River. The lodge stood two stories tall, dominating the camp with its steep thatched roof and pale-yellow-pigmented mud-and-plaster walls.
A dozen smaller thatched bungalows bordered the wide river. Those, Alexandra discovered, were reserved for the principal actors, directors and senior production staff, while the rest of the film crew would be billeted in the dozen new tent cabins just recently pitched.
