My Fair Concubine - By Jeannie Lin Page 0,99

his body into her made her heart race. Fei Long pinned her with his weight and filled her. The scent of him surrounded her.

She pressed her lips against his throat and tasted the salt of his skin. The thrust of his body took on an exhilarating urgency, a riotous intensity that she could feel through the height and breadth of her body. There was no time to think. Only feel.

He was taking everything, just as he promised. Just as she wanted.

She wrapped her legs around his hips and held on.

Chapter Twenty-Three

There was heat around him. Tight, silken flesh. Yan Ling.

Yan Ling.

Her body lifted and he closed his arms around her, using the leverage to take her more fully. He couldn’t get enough. His release built rapidly. Her body tightened unbearably around him as if urging him on. He complied. He had no choice.

His muscles locked as he peaked. He bowed his head against her neck in surrender and worship. His hands dug into the small of her back to angle her hips for his final thrusts. It was greed that made him seek every last drop of pleasure.

His body released into her and then Fei Long stilled, drained of everything that had been building inside him for so long. Only then did his senses come back to him.

Fei Long didn’t know what to say. He relaxed his hold on her, not realising until then how hard he’d gripped her in his frenzy. Yan was a slight, slender woman and he’d forgotten in the burn of desire. He’d used her so completely.

‘Did I hurt you?’ he asked, which was an unreasonable question to ask once all was done.

‘No.’

The silence stretched on. Fei Long raised himself up so that he could see Yan Ling. Her hair was in disarray. Her eyes were lidded and sensual and her skin radiated with an inner light. Beautiful.

He touched two fingers to her cheek. ‘Are you all right, Yan?’

She nodded, but winced slightly as he withdrew from her. Yan Ling was a maiden and he had completely forgotten himself, taking her roughly for his own pleasure. Shame gutted him.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice hoarse with remorse.

‘Sorry?’ Her tone became guarded.

‘You’re inexperienced and I was—’ he fought for the right word ‘—impatient.’

Yan Ling stared at him. Suddenly her eyes grew wide and she burst into laughter. She shook with it and he could sense every tiny vibration with her lying beneath him. The clear, sweet sound warmed his soul.

‘Impatient?’ She wiped at the corner of her eyes, she was laughing so hard. ‘I suppose all that calligraphy didn’t help after all.’

‘No,’ he said, his chest swelling with fondness. ‘Not at all.’

All those days, writing her name over and over like a lovesick scholar. Wasn’t he quite the tragic hero?

He held her closer. Kissed her forehead, the bridge of her nose. Anywhere that he’d neglected her. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his shoulder.

‘I didn’t mind,’ she said softly, shyly. Which in itself was new. He’d never known Yan Ling to be particularly shy.

Fei Long eased her back to the bed and kissed her mouth tenderly. Took time now to explore the rise and curve of her breasts. Her figure was slight, but perfectly rounded. He ran his hands down her waist, her hips, seeing her once again for the first time.

It should have been their wedding night. A night of discovery. He treated it now as if it was, learning the smooth skin of her inner arm, the rougher texture of her hands. Not a lady’s hands, but he loved them because they were hers and they told a story that was no one else’s.

Yan Ling explored him as well, running her hands over his chest and down his arms and back. She stroked his side lightly, very lightly, asking him if it hurt. It didn’t. All the pain had disappeared. Or rather it had become insignificant in the wake of something much greater.

Her touch grew bolder and his body heated. But it was a steady fire this time. He was able to give her the patience and discipline he strived for, letting her arousal build, entering her with care. Even as her heat surrounded him, he watched Yan Ling, striving to learn the nuances of her passion before the fire took him.

He held himself back long enough to feel her convulse and shudder. The pressure gathered in his lower back, nearly unbearable. He fought it back while her nails bit

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