by Jane Porter
“You knew when we got married it would be a real marriage, and it’s going to be.” His gaze wandered slowly down her body, from the thrust of her collarbone to the peaked swell of her breasts, down her ribs to her small waist and rounded hips. “You have the most beautiful body, Emmeline. I can’t wait to touch you and taste you, everywhere.”
“I can,” she huffed.
He had the gall to laugh as he lowered his head to kiss her collarbone. His mouth brushed across the length of the fragile bone and goose bumps covered her skin, making her nipples pebble tighter. “At least your nerve endings there work,” he murmured, his mouth working its way down her collarbone to the upper slope of her breast.
Heat washed through her as his lips closed around one peaked breast, his mouth wet and warm against the cool hard nipple. She shuddered as he sucked, tension coiling deep inside her, making her aware there were things she didn’t know, had never felt.
He moved to the other breast, laved the other nipple with attention even as his hands stroked her flat stomach and the curve of her hips.
He knew exactly how to make her feel. And she was feeling so much.
He was sucking harder on the nipple, and Emmeline pressed against him for relief, but it was impossible to find when his mouth was driving her wild. The pressure, tight and rhythmic, made her aware of how empty she felt, how much she needed him.
And she did need him. She needed him to touch her, kiss her, lick her, fill her. She’d let him do anything if he’d satisfy the aching emptiness within her. She’d never felt so tight and so hollow at the same time. Her body throbbed with the worst of the need between her legs.
His hand trailed down her flat belly, caressing her abdomen, skimming her belly button before stroking lightly across one jutting hipbone. She hissed a breath as his palm circled over the hipbone, sending sparks of sensation shooting through her. Her inner muscles squeezed, gripping nothing and yet she’d never felt so hot or wet before. She could feel the dampness of her own body, the hint of moisture at her thighs.
His fingers brushed over the hipbone again and then down her outer thigh and back up. Again and again he traced her thigh as his mouth followed the path his hand had just taken, tongue on her belly, circling her belly button and then outlining the curve of hipbone.
“Open your legs,” he said, kissing the hollow where her thigh joined her pelvis. It was such a light kiss and yet she shuddered.
“Can’t,” she gritted and shuddered yet again as he kissed her through the golden curls at the juncture of her thighs. His warm breath made her go hot and then cold and little spots danced and exploded against her mind’s eye.
“Why not?” he asked, sliding one finger down the front of her, through the curls and between her lips to touch her.
Emmeline gasped, eyes opening wide, and tried to scoot away. “I’ll lose control.”
“That’s what you’re supposed to do.”
“No. Not good. Not good at all.”
She heard him smother a laugh. “Why not?” he asked, stroking her again, his finger sliding up, then down once more, sliding deeper this time, over the tight bud to her slick inner folds.
“I’ll feel too much,” she gasped, thinking she was already feeling way, way too much. “And fall apart and that’s never, ever good.”
“But if you don’t fall apart, you don’t experience pleasure. And pleasure is a good thing.”
He was still stroking her, and she was finding it harder and harder to focus on anything but the delicious sensations he was creating with his touch. But the pleasure wasn’t just sexual, her entire body felt sensitive, intense and alive.
This time she didn’t resist as he parted her legs and shifted his body to settle between her thighs.
She knew where he was, but it was still a shock when his mouth covered her sex, his lips and tongue touching, tasting her.
“Makin,” she choked.
His tongue and fingers together caressed her, and the sensation seemed to grow, building, teetering between pleasure and pain.
Her hips rose as the tension coiled in her belly, tight and hard and far from soothing. His tongue stroked her, his fingers teased her, one filling her, sliding in and out and matching the flick of his tongue.
“Dammit,” she choked, her body so hot, her skin growing damp. She wanted something else, wanted release but didn’t know how to get it, find it, not when the pressure kept building until she felt mad with it.
“Can’t, can’t, can’t,” she repeated wildly, and just then he sucked on her sex, drawing tight on her until she arched and screamed, everything within her shattering, her body convulsing against his mouth, around his finger.
For long moments she struggled to catch her breath as her body jumped and jerked, exquisitely sensitive from head to toe. She’d never felt anything like that in her entire life. “That’s an orgasm,” she said, dazed.
She felt Makin smile as he kissed the inside of her trembling thigh. “Yes. That’s an orgasm.”
She drew a rough breath. “I can see why that could be addictive.”
“See? You do need me,” he said and the husky tone of his voice sent another wave of sharp pleasure racing through her.
“Maybe,” she said sleepily.
“Just maybe?” he repeated, sitting up to look down at her.
With a jolt she realized he was still dressed. The sense of pleasure dimmed, overshadowed by a feeling of impropriety. Good girls didn’t lose control … good girls didn’t enjoy sex. good girls—
“Don’t do it,” he said curtly, interrupting the punitive voice within her, the one constantly taking her to task.
“Do what?” she asked.
“Ruin this by overthinking things.”
“According to you, not thinking got me into trouble in the first place.”
“Yes. But I’m not trouble. I’m your husband, and what we do together is a good thing, and you felt good until you started letting fear take over.” He was unbuttoning his shirt, and then peeling it back from his powerful shoulders. His chest was all bronze muscle, his stomach so hard it looked as if it’d been carved from stone. “I don’t subscribe to fear.”
Her eyes grew round as his feet hit the ground and he stood next to the bed, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, stripping his remaining clothes off one by one.
Alejandro had been naked with her that one night in March, but she hadn’t really looked at him. Everything that night had been a haze of panic and fear, but Emmeline found it impossible not to look at Makin.
He was all male, incredibly male, from the wide shoulders to the tapered waist to the corded muscles of his thighs, and that didn’t even include his very big, very erect member.
Her gaze locked on the length of his erection and it was a little too impressive. But then, everything about him was big.
Intimidating.
“That,” she said, gulping, “will not fit in me.”
His lips curved but his eyes burned with heat. “It will. Your body is an amazing thing.”
“It’s too big.”
“You’re very wet.”
She cringed, shoulders rising to her ears. “It hurt with. him.”
“You were a virgin, and it didn’t sound as if he was gentle.”
“And you will be?”
He stretched out on the bed next to her, his weight resting on his elbow. “Have I ever hurt you?”
His eyes were holding hers, his gaze intensely warm.
“No,” she whispered.
“Nor would I. Ever.”
Emmeline couldn’t breathe, overwhelmed by emotion. He was so strong and sure of himself and she wanted to be that strong for him. “Promise?”
“Yes.”
He lowered his head, covering her mouth with his. The kiss was extraordinarily slow, almost languid, as he took his time exploring the shape of her lips, the softness inside her mouth, knowing just how to turn her on again and make her feel.
Pretty soon her
breath was catching in her throat, and her toes were curling with pleasure and her still-warm body grew hot.
He kissed her until she was reaching for him, her arm linking around his neck, needing to draw him even closer to her.
She loved it when he shifted and moved over her, welcoming his warmth and the weight of him. He was so big and hard and it felt right against her softness. She practically purred as his chest crushed her breasts, the hard planes of muscle rubbing across her tight nipples.
She was the one who parted her thighs, allowing him to sink between her hips, and then twisted her hips to slide the tip of his erection from her belly to between her legs. She exhaled hard when his shaft’s large silken tip pressed against her wetness, the tip brushing across nerves that still felt sensitive from before.
It would be so easy to come again, she thought, as Makin kissed her deeply. His tongue probed her mouth, sliding across her lips and tongue even as his shaft slid across her slick opening.
She whimpered as he rubbed the tip up and down her once more. “Anything hurt?” he asked, looking into her eyes.
His eyes were so cool and yet hot, silver flecked with glowing gold. He was hard and fierce and focused and determined, everything she wasn’t.
Her chest suddenly felt unbearably tight, and the backs of her eyes stung. If she weren’t so afraid, she could love him. If she weren’t so afraid of being left, rejected, broken, she could give herself to him.
But she was afraid. “No,” she whispered, heart aching.
“I want you,” he said.
Her arm tightened around his neck, her heart twisting, contorting, emotions on fire. “Take me.”
Makin did, slowly filling her, groaning a little at the tightness of her hot sheath. She was almost too tight, and he feared hurting her. He paused, focused on her mouth and kissing her, and making her feel good. He could feel her grow hotter, wetter, and she was adjusting to his size. He pushed in deeper, still hanging on to his control. This time she wiggled beneath him, taking more of him. Makin groaned deep in his throat.
Once he was buried all the way in her, he rocked his hips, moving forward just enough to press against her.
She gasped and he knew that hitch in her voice. Makin pushed her long tumble of hair back from her neck, kissed her neck and slowly withdrew before plunging back in.
She gasped again. Blood surged within him, making his skin tingle and his erection grow even harder.
He kissed her neck and the pink tips of her breasts as he slowly thrust in and out of her tight, hot body. He could hear her breathe and see the color storm her cheeks and the deep flush suffuse her breasts.
Makin used her breathing to tell him where she was and what she needed. It was easy to delay his pleasure. He’d learned control years ago but she was something new and gorgeous, and he wanted to make her feel good again, wanted to see her come this time, and when she began to breathe in little pants he knew she was close to shattering.
His fingers moved between their bodies as he increased the tempo, his hips driving harder and deeper into her body, only to withdraw and drive deep again. He touched her, lightly circling the small delicate nub with the pad of his finger. He felt her grow still beneath him, tensing, and he knew she was right there, ready. He touched her again even as he thrust deep and she screamed.
This time he didn’t let up. He kept thrusting in and out and she writhed beneath him, her inner muscles clenching him, squeezing him, wrenching his control away so that he couldn’t hold back any longer. Makin felt as if he exploded, his body violently releasing into hers, and then shuddering with aftershocks.
It was the most intense orgasm he could remember. His entire body throbbed. But it wasn’t just physical. His chest ached, too.
Makin kissed her, savoring the softness of her mouth and the way her lips parted beneath his. She tasted warm and sweet. She tasted like his.
Sensation ripped through him, centered in his chest. For a moment he couldn’t catch his breath. It was a pain unlike any he’d felt in years … a pain he’d only experienced twice before. When his father died. And then his mother. It was pain created by love.
Makin lifted his head, gazed down into Emmeline’s blue eyes and he finally understood why he’d claimed her. Why he’d insisted on marrying her and taking her away from her parents.
He loved her.
He needed her.
He wanted her.
Why hadn’t he seen it before? Why hadn’t he understood what he was feeling?
“Makin?” she whispered.
He stroked her hair, realizing now his desire to protect her. To make her his. It was because she was his. She’d been made for him and he was here, born, created, for her. “Everything’s good,” he said, and he meant it. Everything was truly good.
Emmeline lay in the huge four-poster bed with the cool cotton sheet pulled to her chest, listening to Makin breathe.
He’d been asleep for an hour now, but she couldn’t relax, couldn’t sleep.
She liked him too much. Far too much. And that scared her.
She’d married him to provide legitimacy for her baby, and yet here she was, falling for him. And falling for him was wrong. It was dangerous.
She wanted to be brave and fearless. Wanted to wield a sword and fight dragons, but the only dragons in her life were the dragons and demons inside of her. And those were still too big for her to vanquish.
Twenty-five years of fear and insecurity didn’t disappear in a week. Twenty-five years of needing acceptance didn’t end after a night of sex.
The bad thing about fear was that it created more fear. And she was afraid now.
Afraid of opening herself up and being crushed. Afraid to feel and love only to discover more pain.
She couldn’t do more pain. Not yet.
And so the only way to protect her heart was to guard it, and yet around Makin she had so little control. Around him she felt emotional and terrifyingly vulnerable.
Was this love? Could love be so full of fear?
She turned onto her side to look at him. The wooden shutters were partially open and moonlight fell across the bed in strips. A finger of light illuminated Makin’s mouth. It was a firm, generous mouth that knew how to kiss her senseless, make her weak in the knees.
Gently she reached out to touch his cheek, a light touch, the briefest caress, as she didn’t want to wake him. He needed his sleep.
He was a good man.
Better than she deserved.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EVEN though she’d been awake half the night, Emmeline woke at six and quietly slipped from bed to go dress in the spacious walk–in closet. She changed into a long cotton skirt and a knit top and then grabbed her sandals and headed outside for an early walk.
Skirting the island villa’s immense and gorgeous gardens, she descended the different terraces to walk the length of the cove, on the beach of soft, powdery, pale sand.
Her head ached from lack of sleep. Her heart felt even worse.
Makin heard her leave the bed and watched as she tiptoed from their room with sandals in her hand. He knew she hadn’t slept well, knew she’d been waiting impatiently for dawn so she could escape.
After she left, he rose and showered and headed toward the kitchen for coffee.
Cook was already in there, baking. She greeted Makin effusively and poured him a cup of steaming-hot coffee while asking where he and the queen would like to have breakfast. The edge of his mouth lifted as he imagined Emmeline’s reaction to being called his queen. “Outside,” he said, still smiling faintly, “on the upper terrace. Her Highness is out for a walk, so I’ll wait to eat until she’s returned.”
He carried his coffee outside and leaned against the balustrade. He was still savoring his drink when Emmeline appeared on the lower terrace, cheeks pink, golden hair tousled. She looked young and fresh in her ruffled coral cotton skirt and white knit top, unbelievably appealing.
“You went to the beach?” he as
ked as she climbed the stone stairs to join him on the upper terrace.
“Yes. Looking for shells.”
“Did you find any?”
She turned her hand over and showed him the three delicate shells in her palm. “These.”
“Pretty,” he said, admiring them before glancing up at her. “But do be careful. The old staircase at the lower terrace worries me. It should have been replaced years ago.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“Did you sleep well?” he asked.
“I did. And you?”
So she wouldn’t tell him the truth. She didn’t trust him. Was determined to hide. “I was worried about you.”
She looked down at the shells in her hand. “Why?”
“Because I care about you.”
“Then don’t worry. I’m great.” She smiled then, a quick tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Have you eaten yet? I’m starving!”
After breakfast they spent the day snorkeling, sunbathing and swimming, both in the ocean and the big pool, and then mid-afternoon, after a long, leisurely lunch, Makin excused himself to take care of some business while Emmeline took a much-needed nap.
She woke up slowly, stretching lazily, her gaze fixed on the bright blue sky and turquoise water outside the bedroom window.
She’d slept well, and must have dreamed something lovely because she felt good, better than she had in days.
She liked Marquette. Could get used to coming here. And she’d enjoyed spending the day with Makin today. Earlier, as they swam and snorkeled and splashed in the pool, she’d laughed easily and felt happy. The real kind of happiness. But that kind of happiness scared her. It made you vulnerable, made you hurt when it ended.
Leaving bed, Emmeline disappeared into their ensuite bath to shower and wash her hair, taking time to blow it dry. With her towel wrapped around her toga-style, she headed back to the bedroom to figure out what she’d wear for that evening.
Makin was stretched out on the bed now, hands behind his head, a hot, hungry light in his eyes. “I almost joined you in the shower.”
