to at least recognize her own ravenous response. She clung to him, and he clung to her.
Beneath his hands, the skin of her back was hot and smooth, soft where he was rough. When he slid his hands up her spine, he brushed the clasp of her bra. Panting, he whispered, “Can I?”
“Yes,” was her breathless answer.
Like a bumbling teen, he fumbled with the hook until it finally gave way, and he had just enough functioning brain power left to laugh at the absurdity of fact that he’d just unclasped his first bra. But that, too, evaporated the instant she stepped back from him and the straps of her bra fell down her shoulders. The curves of her breasts kept the lace in place, the cups molded around each soft mound of flesh. As he watched, she shimmied once, and the lace dislodged. The bra fell to the floor, leaving her bare to his gaze. And only then did time finally screech to a halt. How long had he imagined this moment? Dreamed of it? So many years of longing, but now that she finally stood before him, he froze with indecision. His hands twitched with a need to feel that soft flesh beneath his palms, to thumb her taut nipples. Did he . . . could he just reach out and touch her?
“Vlad,” she whispered. As she spoke, she placed her hands atop his, which had somehow come to rest uselessly at her hips.
He tightened his fingers. “I’m so nervous.”
“So am I.”
“You are?”
“This is as important to me as it is to you.”
“I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
“How could I be?”
“Because I’m not going to last long. Once I’m inside you, I—” He chuffed out a laugh and pressed his forehead to hers.
“I don’t care how long you last. I want you.”
“Lie down.” The words came out an order, gruff and urgent, because just as he feared, he was about to lose control. And he nearly did as she sat down on the mattress and reclined. His fingers trembled as he shed his jacket and worked at the buttons of his shirt. When the sleeves got stuck on his wrists, he swore a blue streak and ripped them from his body. Before him, Elena shimmied out of her panties and reached for him.
Oh, God. God. It took three tries to undo his pants, and even then, all he could manage was to shove them down over his hips before he crawled one-legged onto the mattress and covered her body with his. His erection found a soft nest between her thighs, and every cell in his body exploded. With a groan, he buried his face against her neck.
Beneath him, Elena wiggled her legs around his waist.
Wait. Shit. He lifted his head. “Condoms. In the drawer.”
“I’m on birth control.”
Thank God. Elena reached between them, encircled his erection with her fingers, and guided him toward her entrance. If he had a single functioning brain cell, he’d try to imprint the memory of this. The first time making love to his wife. But his body had become a machine with a single mission. To be inside her. To consummate their marriage. To claim her.
“Please,” she begged.
Without fanfare, without foreplay, he entered her in a hard thrust. A sound emerged from his throat that was barely human. She gasped and arched into him, driving him farther inside her body. She was tight and warm and wet, and . . . Oh, God. Vlad sought her mouth with his. Anything to distract from the fission reaction erupting inside him. She moved beneath him and lifted her legs.
“Vlad,” she moaned, fingers digging into his back.
Bracing his good knee against the mattress, he moved inside her. Somehow, his body knew how, but what it didn’t instinctively know, he’d learned from the manuals. He slowly withdrew to the tip and then back into the embrace of her body. She cradled him with her arms, her body, her heat. Together their bodies found a rhythm, a pace as natural as if they’d done this a hundred times before. As if this was what they’d been meant for all along.
And beneath him, she made noises that drove him mad, but tenderness was there too. And gratitude. The guys were right. This was a gift. A sacrament. A promise all its own.
“Elena,” he gasped. His body was its own master. Seeking pleasure, giving pleasure, finding pleasure like he’d never felt before. He could never write this. How could he ever