Stephanie Laurens - The Elusive Bride

“And that is why I want you to know what I want with you, but I don’t want us to speak of it-to make any declarations or decisions now.” He searched her eyes. “Do you understand?”

Her smile only grew more confident. She moved into him, molding her body to his. His hands slid around her, his arms instinctively closing about her. She raised her other hand to join the first, framing his face. “I understand-no declarations, no details, no mutual decrees. But you need to understand something, too-we’re already there. Words are necessary, but actions speak louder, and our actions have been declaring our truth for weeks, even if we haven’t been paying attention. What we need to have the marriage we both want-trusting, valuing, sharing all aspects of our lives, a partnership on all levels-we’ve been working on that, are well on our way to achieving that, and if we continue to grant each other those things, we will win through to the end. To the end we both want. We have to have faith in us-in what we are and can be together. And if we do, nothing-not even the Black Cobra-can deny us.”

Emily smiled into his eyes, her confidence, her faith, her unfettered joy all openly on show. “Together we’re stronger. Together we’ll weather this-whatever comes in the next two days-and then -”

“We’ll speak of our future. Of everything we want our future to be.”

Her eagerness was spiraling out of control. “How we want to shape it, and what it will hold.”

He bent his head. “How we want ‘us’ to be.”

Her lips were deeply curved when he covered them with his. She kissed him back with unrestrained passion, with elation and abandon. Her joy, her welling happiness, were so profound, so powerful, she couldn’t contain them-had to allow both expression.

Had to, was compelled to, reward him. This man-her man, her one and only “one”-was no more blind than she. Thank heaven. To have had to prod and nudge and work to make him see what would be best…she’d been prepared to do it, but to her soul she appreciated his courage in facing and embracing their truth.

This was what they were. What, for them both, their marriage needed to be. Breaking from the kiss on a laughing gasp, she steered him back toward the bed, along the way helped him out of his coat, out of his waistcoat while he dealt with his cravat. His legs hit the end of the mattress and he halted. Mouth watering, she opened his shirt, pushed the halves wide. Savored with hands and eyes while he muttered and reached around her to undo his cuffs.

Then she slid her hands down, palms to his warm, resilient skin, skating over muscles that tensed beneath her touch, to the waistband of his trousers. Two quick flicks and the buttons there were free. But before she could open the placket and reach within, he uttered a breathless laugh. “Shoes first.”

His voice sounded strained.

Eyes dark with desire, he stepped aside and toed off his shoes, stepped out of them, and reached for her. She flung her shawl aside as she went into his arms, needing his heat, rejoicing as it enveloped her.

She lifted her face, wordlessly offered her mouth. He bent his head and took, claimed, filled. She responded, letting the familiar sensations-the welling desire, the burgeoning taste of passion, rising urgency and hungry need-fascinate and absorb them.

While she plotted, planned.

He’d let her explore before, but the pleasure she experienced when he worshipped her with his mouth made her wonder if this wasn’t the time for turn and turnabout. For her to pleasure him.

She thought it would work, but knew of only one way to know for certain. Without breaking from their kiss, from the increasingly heated exchange, she slid her hands down, around, and sent his trousers sliding down his legs to the floor.

He was busy with the buttons closing the front of her nightgown. She only did them up so she would have the small pleasure of having him undo them, the hunger in his touch fueling her own, racking their desire one notch tighter.

While he was engaged, she reached between them, found the rigid rod of his erection, closed her hand boldly and stroked. Sensed the sudden hitch in his breathing, the momentary deflection of his attention.

But then he swung it back to her with renewed intent, renewed urgency.

Even greater hunger.

He wrenched the halves of the nightgown’s bodice wide, baring her breasts, but instead of bending his head to feast, he slid an arm around her upper thighs, lifted her off her feet.

She blinked, and was on her back in the middle of the bed, with him leaning over her, his hot gaze on her breasts, one heavy thigh pinning her legs.

One hard hand closed over one of her breasts, took possession. Her lids fell; she moaned with sheer pleasure as he worked her swollen flesh, tortured the tight bud…

In less than a minute, she would lose all chance to take charge.

Her hands had come to rest on his shoulders. She slid them down, flattened her palms on his upper chest and pushed.

“Later,” he murmured.

She knew by his tone he meant much later. “No-now.” She shoved. “Roll over.”

He made a guttural sound of frustration, but obliged, rolling onto his back, taking her with him so she ended atop him.

Her eyes met his. “Good.” Before he could use his hands, still on her breasts, and distract her again, she swooped down and kissed him-voraciously, hungrily, greedily. She poured every ounce of heated passion she could summon into the rapacious kiss-and succeeded in dragging his attention to it, succeeded in snaring his awareness and holding it there, deep in the kiss. Succeeded in sliding one hand down his chest, down his side and in, and closing that hand possessively around his erection.

He stilled, and she pulled back from the kiss.

“Just wait,” she murmured, sliding lower in the bed as her fingers caressed, stroked, promised.

While her hand played, she dipped her head and placed kisses-hot damp kisses-across his collarbone. Then she searched the mat of crinkly dark hair and found the flat disc of his nipple, kissed, licked, then nipped.

He shifted beneath her. One hand rose, sliding beneath the fall of her hair to glide over her nape, then lightly grip her skull.

His breathing quickened as she shifted lower still, trailing kisses with abandon, the fingers of one hand lightly razing her path while her other hand remained wholly devoted to pleasuring his turgid member.

When she shifted lower yet, and her kisses reached his navel, Gareth sucked in a breath and couldn’t release it. Couldn’t breathe.

From wanting. From hoping.

Anticipation dug her claws deep, locked him in place-held him helplessly immobile for her.

Expectation was a rising tide within him, urgent and greedy.

Needy.

It had been a very long time since any woman had pandered to him as she was-as she was promising to do. But what held him in thrall, hers to tease and please as she wished-however and for however long she wished-was the simple fact that this was she-Emily, the woman he wanted as his wife-that it was she who was intent on pleasuring him.

Wonder and so much more held him ensnared. Held him captive as she slid lower yet and her lips finally-finally!-grazed the aching head of his erection.

Instinctively his hand tightened on her skull, fingers clenching in the silk of her hair as he fought to remain still, to keep his hips from jerking upward in greedy eagerness.

Head back, he stared unseeing at the ceiling, wondering just what she would do-willing her, hoping, praying…then he felt the wet stroke of her tongue sliding slowly, sinuously upward from the base of his shaft to the sensitive head.

His lids fell. He locked his jaw. But then with the tip of her tongue she traced the excruciatingly sensitive rim, and his lungs seized.