The Importance of Being Wanton - Christi Caldwell Page 0,95
mouth upon her. All the while, he ground the heel of his palm to her center, the tight thatch of her curls soaked from her desire.
Why were women taught this was wrong?
She panted.
Why, when there was no greater bliss . . . no greater magnificence than this? All this.
Suddenly, he stopped, and she cried out . . . silently? Aloud? It was all confused as to what was real.
“Is this what you want, Emma?” he asked gruffly. “Are you certain?”
Emma touched her fingers to his lips, silencing the remainder of that noble question. She moved her eyes, hazy from the passion he’d awakened, over the strained muscles of his face.
His brow gleamed with perspiration, and she lifted trembling fingers up to brush those droplets away. What must that question have cost him? That restraint?
Emma finally let her gaze rest, meeting his stare directly. “I have never been more certain of anything,” she said with a strength that brought Charles’s lashes sweeping down like a glorious golden blanket.
With a groan, Charles shifted, lowering himself between her legs, and he moved his hand, replacing it with his hard length. Her pulse escalated, and panting, she reflexively lifted her hips, urging him to continue.
And then he gave her what she begged for, sliding himself slowly within her; her body was tight, but her channel so wet it slicked the way for his entry.
Emma wrapped her arms around him, running her fingers up and down his back, and undulating beneath him, she urged him onward.
Charles’s eyes locked with hers, and the searing depth of emotion there robbed her of what little breath she had left in her lungs. “There is no one like you, Emma.” He thrust home, and she knew there was supposed to be pain; everything she’d ever learned and been prepared for said the moment would be marred by discomfort. And yet there was none of it. Closing her eyes, she panted fast and hard at the exquisite sensation of his enormous length buried inside her.
Charles placed a butterfly-soft kiss just above her brow, and her eyes fluttered open. “Did I hurt you?” Worry roughened his voice.
Emma arched her head back and twined her hands about his nape. “Only when you stopped,” she breathed.
His eyes darkened, and he claimed her mouth.
He moved slowly, withdrawing and then pressing deep, repeating that tantalizing motion, as he rocked within her.
Emma followed his lead, matching each downward thrust by lifting up into him.
Their movements took on a frenzy, more frantic and desperate as they strained against one another. Her sweat mingled with his. Their breaths grew shallow and raspy as they moved in perfect time.
The ache between her legs became so acute she was tunneled to that desperate sensation, and more, to the need to assuage it.
“Charlessss.” She hissed his name, digging her nails into his back, leaving crescent marks upon his flesh as she climbed higher and higher, closer to that glorious cliff she’d dived from days before.
“That’s it,” he encouraged harshly. He sank his fingers into her thighs, using her limbs to leverage himself forward, deepening his strokes.
Emma stiffened. Throwing her head back, she screamed. She screamed his name, endlessly, over and over as she knew a pleasure unlike any other she’d ever known before. This bliss made all the fuller by having him inside her. He pumped harder and faster, his thrusts growing almost jerky from the force of them, drawing out Emma’s climax.
Then he froze. With a low, animalistic groan, he buried his face against her neck and joined her.
She felt his length shuddering and throbbing as he thrust over and over again.
They collapsed at the same time, against one another, clinging to each other, with him buried to the hilt deep inside.
Charles abruptly reversed them, so she lay sprawled atop his chest.
Until their breathing resumed a normal, even cadence and the fog of desire lifted, and Emma made a slow descent back to Earth and the same reality awaiting her when she did—the same reality which had driven her here this night. Only she’d proven once again not strong in the ways that she wanted to be, for she was reluctant to let go of the magic and return to what they were, what they’d always been—a woman and man, always at odds with one another.
Now, they were two lovers at odds.
She lay there with her cheek pressed against his chest, absorbing the sound of his heartbeat, rhythmic and strong, pounding underneath her ear.