Page 106 of The Language of Love

Chapter 18

It was still dark when Henry woke, the only light in the room a few guttering flickers from some candles across the large bedchamber.

He had always slept lightly and woke frequently during the night.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, he had a small body on top of his; tonight, his hard, pulsing shaft wasn’t cradled in his fist, but inside his new wife.

Henry experienced a moment of pure, undiluted happiness as he stared up into the gloom.

Calm down Henry, it’s only been one night—not even, just a few hours.

He knew it was only one night, but it had gone far better than he’d hoped. Their marriage might have been born of lies, but they were both attracted to each other physically. They liked each other—at least she seemed to like him—and marriages were often built on far less, so perhaps they had a chance?

He certainly adored her body and the way she looked at him, curiosity and intelligence and desire brimming in her magnificent eyes.

Henry settled his hands on her lush bottom, cupping one cheek in each palm, and then flexed his hips, sheathing himself more deeply in her tight, wet heat.

She made a soft snuffling sound against his neck, where her warm breath had dampened his skin. “Henry?”

“Yes, it is your husband.” He smiled foolishly at his words. “Are you too sore to take me again?”

She gave a sleepy gurgle of laughter. “I think I’m already taking you again.” And then she answered his question by tightening her inner muscles around him.

He hissed in a sharp breath as he withdrew slowly and then re-entered her with a powerful thrust.

She moaned, and her body squeezed him like a fist.

“That feels so good,” he murmured.

He felt her lips curve into a smile against his skin. “I’ve been practicing.”

Her words startled a laugh out of him. “Have you?”

She nodded, her silky hair gently abrading his sensitive skin. “Yes, if I do it enough, er…” She shoved her face into his neck, as if she could burrow into him, and Henry knew she’d spoken without thought—one of his favorite attributes of hers.

“If you do it enough, you can give yourself an orgasm?” he guessed.

She nodded.

“Such a wicked, wicked girl,” he praised, and then groaned when she clenched in response to his words. He smiled to himself, working her with slow, steady thrusts that penetrated her deeply each time.

She shivered and then sighed, the sound one of profound contentment.

Henry caressed from her arse to her thighs, picturing what she looked like from behind, open and exposed, while his thick shaft tunneled in and out of her tight passage.

He groaned at the mental image and slid a hand between their bodies, wanting to feel the place where they were joined.

“Mmm, I like this,” he said, exploring their slick, hot flesh with the tips of his fingers.

When he brushed her bud, she squirmed and ground against him, using him for her pleasure. Together, they easily worked a climax from her responsive body.

“Bloody hell, that feels divine,” he ground out as he stilled inside her, his body shaking with need as she convulsed around him, wave after wave of her orgasm rocking them both.

“Sit up,” he coaxed when her contractions ebbed. “I want to see you.”

She obeyed without hesitation and Henry’s lips parted with a gasp as he took in the sheer wonder of her wild tangle of hair, heavy-lidded blue eyes, and the gentle curves of her slender body.