A Kiss from a Rogue

by Elisa Braden

  He paced away from her. Tried to breathe against the everlasting need. To take her. Hard and deep. Long and rough. No boundaries. No stopping.

  What he needed was a strategy. A way to make certain she was with him at every step. That he did nothing to cause her fear or pain.

  He turned. Paced back to her.

  She looked confused. “Jonas?”

  “I am going to describe what I intend to do.” He absorbed the shock of her beauty again. By God, she made his head swim. “Before I do it.”

  “Oh.”

  He swallowed and nodded. It was a good idea. She didn’t want him to regard her as fragile, but he’d just been awakened from a dead sleep to be shown the vicious, horrific truth of what she’d endured. She would simply have to accept this compromise.

  She sighed and wriggled deeper into the mattress, sending his body into a fever. “Very well. If you must.”

  “I must.”

  “Shall we begin now, or …?”

  “Yes.” He stared at her breasts, wondering how they tasted. He stared at the enchanted black glade between her scarred thighs, wondering the same thing.

  “Jonas.”

  He should probably keep his breeches on. Better control that way.

  “Perhaps you should kiss me.”

  “I shall remove my breeches now.”

  “Good. I’d like that.”

  If she was naked, he should be naked. It made sense. He quickly dispensed with them, hopping on one foot as his other foot caught.

  Rosebud lips curved in a mischievous smile. Her fingers drifted to her mouth. “It appears your desire remains unaffected.”

  He glanced down before tossing the breeches aside. “Aye.”

  “This makes me very happy.”

  “I’m going to lie beside you now.”

  She nodded, scooting toward the center of the bed to make room.

  “I’ve changed my mind.”

  Moonlit eyes shadowed with disappointment. “Y-you have?”

  “Aye.” He dropped to his knees. “I am going to take hold of your legs and move you toward me.”

  She blinked. “Oh. For what purpose?”

  “So I can taste you.”

  Thick lashes fluttered. Soft lips parted. “Oh, my.”

  He reached for her knees. Turned her sideways and pulled her toward him. Positioned her precisely where he wanted her, with her backside at the edge and her legs propped on his shoulders. He was glad to be on his knees, for her scent had him in his cups as surely as a bottle of Wallingham’s cognac. Roses. Rain. Sea storms and sweet woman.

  He spread her thighs wider. Savored the beauty of his woman. “I’m going to kiss you here, love.” He ran a finger along her inner thigh. Lightly. Just a breath, really. He used his other hand—the one still sore from his battle with the tree—to dip into her folds, spreading the honey he found there to her pleasure center. Then, he sank a finger inside her drenched sheath. “And here.” He added another. “I’m going to taste you and make you come for me.”

  She moaned his name. Her sheath clenched upon his fingers. Rippled and demanded more.

  He kissed the edge of one of her longest scars first. White and thin, it started on her outer thigh and stopped above her knee. Then, he moved to her inner thigh, where the demon hadn’t ventured. Where the soft, white flesh was as pristine as fresh snowfall. He kissed her there, tasting rosewater and salt. Tasting his woman.

  The black-thatched glade waited, however, and he gave her what she presently begged of him—a deeper stroke of his fingers. He repositioned them to test a theory. Repositioned again. Received a panting, “Oh, my heavens, Jonas. What is … that is … oh, my heavens.”

  And his grin grew. He bent his head to her. Pleasured her with firm strokes of his tongue. Drove her higher and higher. Used every damned thing he’d ever learned to draw out her sweet, pulsing bud and make it sing. Make Hannah understand how beautiful she was to him.

  He licked and savored. Pressured and stroked.

  And tasted. God, how he wanted to drown in her.

  She clawed his hair. Squeezed his fingers until they ached. Arched her back and chanted his name.

  After he’d brought her to completion once, he decided to do it again. So, as he’d promised, he withdrew his fingers and replaced them with his tongue. Forced her body to accept the pleasure he gave as its due.

  He didn’t want to let her go. He didn’t want to pull away. But his own body was making hard demands.

  On the heels of her second climax, he repositioned her again, lifting her slender hips deeper onto the bed and rising to his feet.

  “I’m going to suckle your breasts, now, Hannah.”

  “Jonas,” she panted, her eyes glowing, her arms lying limp and sprawled beside her shoulders. “I—I don’t know if I can—”

  “You can,” he assured her. “I’ll show you.”

  He lay down beside his wife. Stroked her cheek and her midnight hair. Kissed her throat and pulled her into him.

  She gasped as she felt the enormity of his arousal. “Oh, heavens. Come inside me. Please. You must be so—”

  God, she was soft. And her nipples were hard. “I’m going to touch you.” He stroked his hand over her right breast. Squeezed her nipple and drew it out. Felt her belly ripple. Heard her snowfall voice thread with arousal. Moaning. Surprised. Not understanding how much more pleasure he could give her. He took her in his mouth—velvety and ripe as peaches.

  Her thigh came up, her legs wrapping around his hips as she demanded.

  He cupped her breast from beneath and suckled deep. Plumped and squeezed and nibbled and feasted. Then, he moved to her left breast.

  That one seemed to please her even more. Her fingers dug at his nape. Pulled at his hair. Made him smile against her skin. Her third climax came just as he drew his teeth across the sensitized tip.

  Her sweet cries of ecstasy soothed him. Made something chaotic inside him still. He eased her down from her peak with kisses upon her sweet mouth. Caresses of her tongue with his.

  “I’m going to fuck you now,” he said, all his control gone. He shouldn’t use such words with her. But his mind wasn’t talking. His body was.

  She nodded, her cheeks flushing, her breasts ripe and swollen. “Yes,” she rasped.

  “It will be deep and fast.”

  She moaned. Her neck arched as she squeezed her eyes closed for a brief moment. When she opened them again, they were alight. They devoured him. “Yes,” she growled. “Yes, yes. Yes.”

  He spread her thighs wider. Took her beneath him fully. And slid deep into his wife without stopping. Without boundaries. Without anything between them but moonlight and lust.

  She gripped him hard—her sheath, her arms, her fingers. Held him fast as he began his rhythm. He buried his face in her neck. Kissed her skin and breathed roses. His hips were acting on their own, hammering away faster and faster. His cock was inside a silken, tight furnace. It wanted to explode. Everything was brighter than it should have been. Her skin. Her eyes. The glow inside his chest.

  He knew nothing, felt nothing but her.

  Her legs locked around him. Her arms tightened and her lips moved beside his ear.

  Then, he heard it. His name.

  He wanted to see her. Needed it.

  So, he looked. Found palest green.

  Something flashed there. A flutter. An oddity.

  She gritted her teeth. Grasped his face between her hands with a ferocity he didn’t know she had. “Keep me with you,” she demanded, panting and kissing him. “Keep me here.”

  He didn’t know what she meant. His body was thrusting, driving them both toward a precipice. She reached for his hand. Dragged it to her cheek. Took his thumb into her mouth. Suckled hard and nipped before releasing him.

  “Keep me with you,” she repeated.

  “What do you need?”

  She pulled his hand to her breast. Took his thumb and finger and squeezed her own nipple—much harder than h
e would have done. With a gasp, she arched upward as though he’d given her another peak. She was almost there; he felt it coming. Rippling around him. But when she looked into his eyes, it was with desperation.

  “Please,” she sobbed. “Keep me here.”

  He gave her what she asked, and in return, she gave him herself. Even as he pounded into her, felt his own peak cresting like a rogue wave, she didn’t look away.

  She held him. Took him. Loved him.

  And let him love her.

  Let him inside.

  Inside moonlight and midnight and roses and rain. Inside her heart, which glowed so brightly, he felt blinded. But he wasn’t. He saw her.

  And, God, how he loved her.

  “Hannah,” he panted, desperate to have more. He touched his forehead to hers. Kept her with him.

  A look of wonder that was almost pain crossed her face. “I am here, Jonas,” she said as her body began to seize up with her climax, to demand he give her his in return. “Oh, sweet heaven, I am here.”

  And when the pleasure surged and exploded inside him, he surrendered gladly, all the while repeating the one thing he knew to be true: “You are mine, love. Only mine.”

  *~*~*

  She awakened to moonlight and a silken breeze kissing her bare body. Her eyes opened. She shifted in bed, her inner thighs sore and protesting. Remembered pleasure made her smile.

  Then, she saw him. He was sitting by the window, bare shoulders painted silver, sketchbook in hand. He stared at her. Tilted his head.

  “You are bloody exquisite, do you know that?”

  Her smile deepened. Her breath caught. “Are you sketching me, husband?”

  “I am.”

  She swallowed. Looked down at her hips and thighs. Thin scars shone whiter in the moonlight—lines and lines and lines. Evenly spaced. Precise. Older scars were longer, extending down nearly to her knees in some places.

  “What did you mean when you asked me to keep you here?”

  His question made her heart twist. Her eyes fluttered. She covered her mouth with the backs of her fingers. Then, her eyes found his. “I don’t know why it happens,” she whispered.

  His frown was dark. Intense. “What happens, love?”

  “Something frightens me and I … go away. Behind my eyes, I am far away. Floating. Often, I cannot remember …” She couldn’t hold his gaze any longer, so she focused on his shoulder and the open window. “I cannot remember anything of the time I am away. I simply disappear. The episodes are less frequent than they once were. I’ve learned to fight them. Strong sensation helps. But sometimes, I fear I may leave and never return.”

  “After our kiss. That was—”

  “Yes.”

  “I frightened you.”

  “No. You carried me.” She sighed. “None of this is your doing. I am not normal, Jonas.”

  He went silent for a long while. Finally, in a roughened voice, he repeated, “You are exquisite. Every single part. Inside and out.”

  Her heart swelled. Quickened. “You make me feel beautiful.”

  “Only because you are.”

  “Do you remember the day we met in the drawing room at Holstoke House?”

  A sensual smile curled the corners of his mouth. Silvery eyes burned a path from her breasts to her hips. “I could see your shape through your gown. A haughty Snow Queen whose beauty set me afire.”

  “You wouldn’t let me hide,” she murmured. “I tried not to want you. But there you were, close enough to kiss. Kneeling at my feet. Seeing me as both desirable and … normal. Speaking to me as if I were strong enough to accept your challenge.”

  He ran a hand over his jaw and set his sketchbook aside. “I was too bloody fascinated to be polite.”

  “I didn’t need politeness. I needed to be shaken. Tempted. I just didn’t realize it.”

  He pushed to his feet. Wandered to the bed, his face shadowed, his hardness flagrant. “Do I tempt you?”

  “Endlessly.”

  Muscles in his shoulders flexed as he drew a deeper breath. “Tell me what I must do.” His hands tightened into fists then released. “I never want you to … disappear because of something I’ve done.”

  She reached out for him.

  He hesitated before taking her hand in his.

  “Touch me,” she said, her heart in her throat. “Please, Jonas.”

  He sat on the bed, his expression hidden by the darkness. “If I ever hurt you—”

  “Never. You never will.” She drew his hand between her breasts, flattened his palm over her heart. “I know it here. You mustn’t allow my scars to come between us. Do you understand? Promise me.”

  He shook his head.

  “With you, I mustn’t be fragile,” she insisted. “Promise you will always challenge me to be stronger. Promise you will always touch me without boundaries.”

  A low, deep groan emerged from his chest. In the next moment, he slipped his arms beneath her back and neck. Lifted her to his mouth. Kissed her until she was clinging to him, moaning for him.

  Her back met the mattress again, but this time, he flattened her, weighted her. Inflamed her.

  She loved everything about lying beneath his lean, hard body. His mouth upon hers, his chest pressuring her breasts and chafing her nipples, his thighs wedging between hers so that she lay open and vulnerable to him.

  She welcomed him. Needed his thick hardness filling her again.

  “Jonas,” she whispered against his mouth. “I want you so much.” It wasn’t merely his body or his hands that she longed for. What she wanted most was the connection they’d shared earlier, the transcendent moment when she’d felt herself merging with him. She tried pulling back long enough to see his eyes. But, oddly, he avoided her gaze.

  Instead, he kissed her throat, his breath hot. Then, he suckled her breasts, his whiskery jaw chafing her skin in a way that made her writhe.

  “More,” she panted. “I need more of you.”

  He growled against her, his hands holding her still, cupping beneath her breast to position her for his mouth.

  She worked her hips lower, trying to tempt him into sliding that thick, hard stalk inside her. How empty she felt without him. Threading her hands through his hair, she once again attempted to draw him up so she could see his beautiful, silvery eyes.

  Once again, his gaze slid away.

  She frowned, frustrated and growing hotter, needier by the moment. “Jonas.”

  His shoulders heaved on rough breaths.

  She tried cupping his jaw.

  He clasped her wrist and tugged her hand away. Then, in a flash, he shifted and flipped her onto her belly. Drew her hips up beneath him so that his hardness became an intimate caress against her backside.

  She moaned into the pillow as the new position introduced new sensations—his lips against her nape, the hair of his chest against her back, the thrill of his hands gripping her hips and digging in as though he couldn’t stop himself. Heat and hardness surrounded her while one of his hands slid between the mattress and her belly.

  Slid down to where she was wet for him. Stroked hard and sure against swollen flesh.

  His mouth suckled at her neck. His teeth scraped and his tongue soothed.

  She’d wanted connection. He gave her raw pleasure.

  “J-Jonas. Let me …”

  He pulled her up onto her knees, his strength a massive force. “No boundaries,” he growled in her ear. “Tell me you still want it. Even when I take you this way.”

  Good heavens. Was he testing her? She felt his arm bracing her hips, pulling her back into him. He leaned upon his other arm, holding himself above her. Waiting. Waiting for her to shrink away.

  He’d be waiting a long while. She adored his strength. His hardness. The primitive lust she sensed in him. She would have preferred being able to see his eyes, but if he liked her in this position, she’d happily oblige.

  “I want it,” she purred. “I want you.”

  His forehead to
uched her shoulder. His breaths were hot and harsh. Between one and the next, his blunt, thick member found her opening. Pressed inside.

  She was still a bit tender from their earlier lovemaking, and he felt bigger at this reverse angle. But heavens, how her body rejoiced at being filled again. She tightened and groaned his name.

  “Relax, love,” he panted. “Let me … ah, God. Let me inside.”

  She struggled to do as he asked, relaxing her muscles and focusing on the feel of him inside her. Stretching. Pressuring.

  Long, slow thrusts carried him deeper each passing second. His hand came up to play with her nipples, stoking yet more heat where they were joined. His mouth suckled her neck and his tongue traced her ear. “Feel me there,” he rasped. “We’ll take this slow. You’ll like how it builds.” He nipped her earlobe. “I’ll like knowing how deep I’ve been, how you’ll still feel me tomorrow.”

  It was precisely as he described—slow, methodical, a fire built upon smoldering coals. His hardness slid out on long strokes until he nearly left her. Then back inside, so deep the pressure became an ache.

  His hand remained busy, caressing her breasts and belly, sliding down between her thighs to tease her swollen bud, to test how strongly he stretched her.

  The cadence of his possession was controlled yet relentless. It didn’t quicken or slow, just claimed like waves claiming a shore.

  “That’s it, love.” His palm cupped her belly while his fingers caressed her mound. Then, he used the base of his palm to add yet more pressure. “Feel me?”

  She was gasping, fighting for air. The heat and stretch and pressure were all one thing. They expanded and swelled. Stroked and filled. Became a burgeoning storm of heat and light. Rolling. Rolling. Rolling.

  Bursting open and releasing. Releasing. Releasing.

  Seizing upon him with gasps and sobs.

  She clawed into the mattress. Groaned his name into the pillow. Tightened around him over and over as pleasure and her husband held her in an explosive grip.

  Only then did his tempo increase. Pounding. Pounding. Pounding.

  And she took his release inside her, warm and complete.

  Replete. Her husband, fully claimed. As their bodies sank together onto the bed, he remained joined with her, his strong arms drawing her back against him, crossing her belly and shoulders.