The Gift of Love (The Book of Love #8) - Meara Platt Page 0,94
around and bent to plant light kisses on her neck as he slowly undid the fastenings of her gown, taking his time to trace his fingers over the swells and curves of her body and caress her as he nudged the gown ever lower until it fell in a pool at her feet. “Oh, goodness. My legs are soft as pudding.”
“Ah, then I have done my job.” He lifted her in his arms and carried her to bed.
She gasped. “Ronan, your ribs!”
They didn’t hurt.
Nor did it bother him that his heart was thundering. The molten heat of his desire numbed him to any pain. He set her down in the center of the bed, leaving her still clad in her chemise while he stepped back to peel off his jacket and shirt. But he could not manage his boots on his own. Bollocks. He should have thought of that first. Dahlia realized his difficulty and scrambled off the bed to help him.
Ah, so much for prowess.
He clutched his ribs as the effort of tugging off his boots shot bolts of pain up his sides, and stars burst in his eyes. When his vision cleared, he saw her look of concern. “Ronan, perhaps we ought to wait–”
“Hell, no. I’m fine, Queen Pea. Truly.” He rose and took her in his arms, staving off further protest by claiming her mouth in a torrid kiss that did wonders to stir her heart and arouse her body. He felt her every slight change and knew she was responding to him with a heightened awareness of pleasure.
She pressed herself against him so that he could feel the pounding of her heart against his own. Her breasts, those beautiful, plump mounds he was determined to explore quite thoroughly, molded to the hard planes of his chest. The rope burns he’d suffered had yet to fully heal. Would his skin’s rough texture bother her? She did not appear to mind it.
He breathed her in, lost himself in the cinnamon and apple scent of her skin.
He unpinned her hair and ran his fingers through the silken length, then removed her chemise and tossed it to the foot of their bed, not caring where it landed. This angel was in his arms, lost in his hot kisses, and he was lost in the splendor of her body, the perfect way she fit against him and how right she was for him in so many other ways.
Then somehow, they were on the bed again, atop the covers, and she was beneath his body. He cupped one full breast and began to tease it with his thumb. She gasped when he brought his mouth to the taut bud and began to gently suckle it.
He moved to the other and did the same, his tongue flicking over it, laving it, and loving Dahlia’s response, the honesty of her soft, breathy sighs and whispered moans. “Ronan, I never knew it could be like this.”
“Always, with us. I love you, Queen Pea.” He moved back up to kiss her throat, her face, and at the same time, his hand moved down her body, caressing and stroking, and finally coming to rest between her thighs.
She gazed at him, questioning what came next but also eager to find out if her steamy look of confusion was any indication. He parted her legs slightly and began to stroke her intimately, watching her response as she closed her eyes and gave herself over to these new sensations of passion.
He loved her expressions, the way she nibbled her lower lip, her sighs, and the way her body responded to his touch. She clung to his shoulders and gave herself over to his touch with so much trust, he felt a boundless love for her.
When he felt she was ready, he entered her slowly and carefully, knowing this experience was new to her and not wanting her to feel any pain.
She wrapped her arms around him as he broke through her maiden barrier, clinging to him as he led her toward fulfillment of this timeless act. His thrusts were cautious at first, but grew bolder as her body adjusted to him. She was slick for him. Hot for him. She was his mate. His love. Forever his.
He took her breathy moans into his mouth, kissing her while he thrust inside her, watching her passion build, knowing just how to make it build. He felt her on the precipice of rapture, wrapped his arms around her, and held her in his