She gasped and clung and urged him on—wanting, demanding, unendingly giving.
Struggling for breath, he crossed the few paces to an expanse of uncluttered wall, braced her spine against the silk wall covering, and pounded into her.
She raised her head, desperate for air as he pushed her up and on. Her hands turned into claws, her fingernails sinking into the backs of his shoulders.
From beneath weighted lids, he watched her face as he pressed deeper between her thighs and thrust harder, faster.
And finally, on a gasping scream, she shattered and flew.
The wash of ecstatic joy that passed over her features nearly brought him undone.
Determined to wait, to make the moments last, on a shuddering breath, he thrust deep and buried himself inside her—and held still. He bent his head and pressed his face into the scented silken mass of her wildly disarranged hair.
His breath was coming in rasping pants; he breathed deeply, the swell of his chest cushioned by the firm mounds of her swollen breasts. Every muscle he possessed remained as rigid as iron.
Wanting.
Waiting.
She was close to boneless in his arms. Gathering his wits, he plotted his next move.
He was fairly certain that conventional wisdom held that one did not engage with one’s wife in such intemperate fashion. Luckily, he gave not a whit for conventional attitudes, not with her, not in this.
Then she drew in a deeper breath, and her hands, until then lying lax on his shoulders, drifted in a gentle caress.
Strengthening his hold on his ravenous impulses, promising himself that satiation would not be long delayed, he tightened his hold on her and straightened, lifting her away from the wall.
She murmured incomprehensibly and pushed her arms farther over his shoulders, helping him balance her weight as he carried her to the bed.
The mattress was high; he’d long ago ensured it was just the right height.
He set her hips on the edge, then reached for her arms and drew them from his shoulders.
On a soft huff of delight, she obligingly fell back to sprawl across the silk counterpane. A knowing little smile of anticipation curved her swollen lips, and he caught the silver flash of her eyes from beneath her long lashes.
He grasped her hips and anchored her as he rolled his hips, seating himself more fully between her widespread thighs. Her smile deepened, and she started to lift an arm as if to beckon him close, but he withdrew from her heat and thrust home again, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth.
He repeated the movement, powerful and sure, and her hand fell limply back to the counterpane, and her features smoothed as, in response to his call, desire again welled and her body rose to meet his.
During all such encounters to date, as far as possible, he’d kept the reins in his hands, but tonight…there were no reins. He’d thought he was plotting their play, but as instinct claimed him and his body reacted, he realized he’d already been swept away, his will suborned by a power, a need, he had no hope of controlling.
Obeying the compulsions that pounded through him, he leaned forward, planted his hands on either side of her shoulders, and leaned his weight on his braced arms. Hanging over her, his body plunged deeply, rhythmically, into hers, and she responded and writhed, then raised her knees, wrapped her legs about his hips, set her hands to his chest, and with reckless abandon, drove him on.
Sensation swamped him, and he struggled to draw breath past the vise locked about his chest.
Need soared, and passion seared and whipped and demanded.
Never had the moment—the ineluctable drive for completion—been more intense. More fundamentally important.
More all-consuming.
He tipped his head back and gave himself up to it—surrendered to what now lived within him.
Anchored beneath him, her body dancing to the rhythm of his thrusts, Therese watched in fascination as passion claimed his features. Claimed his wits, his mind. His surrender was there, in the planes of his face, in the tautness of his features, writ large and displayed for her to see, and he made no effort to hide it.
Her lids were too heavy to lift more than a fraction. From beneath the fringe of her lashes, even as sensation raged and caught and claimed her flesh, she watched and marveled. They’d shared so many passionate interludes, she would have sworn there could be nothing new, nothing more she had yet to experience with him.
Yet tonight…this felt different.
She’d always embraced the physical side of their marriage, had always gloried in the intimacy of these moments. And while she’d initially assumed that his declaration of love wouldn’t change her, she’d been wrong.
His words had made her stronger in herself, more certain, more confident—more assured of her position by his side—and in this arena, such escalating self-confidence had consequences. Her emotions had heightened, broadened, deepened, and strengthened until it seemed they’d broken onto some higher plane.
Some higher level of existence.
Transparently, his declaration had changed him, too. Never had she sensed him so deeply sunk in the moment, so unshielded and committed, so devoted to all the act could be.
So committed to wringing every last iota of togetherness and mutual pleasure from it.
As, with him, she rode the crest of sensations he expertly called forth, a surging, building crescendo of senses-searing, rapturous delight, with joy rising in her heart, she embraced the change and reveled in it.
Passion, desire, and need raked them, then as if those emotions were tangible forces, they clashed and battered in furious demand, then merged and exploded in a firestorm that cindered every last thought and had them both surging anew, locked together in passionate harmony and desperately striving to reach the final peak.
Seeking to claim the physical solace only the other could give.
Then the moment was upon them, and they held fast to each other as the world gave way.
Release hit them, first her, then him, and they gasped and groaned as reality fractured and ecstasy rushed in and claimed them.
Her heart pounding, spent and drained, she sank deeper into the mattress, and he surrendered to her wordless tug and slumped on top of her.
Pleasure and peace burgeoned within her and spread beneath her skin, infusing every limb with the indescribable warmth that inevitably welled in the aftermath of the ultimate delight.
Gloriously replete, sated to her bones, she rejoiced in her husband’s heavy, helpless weight. She wrapped her arms about him and held him while their hearts thundered and their breathing gradually eased.
Slowly, thoughts seeped into her mind, prompted by innate curiosity rather than anything else. This encounter was so very distant from their first—five years and more of active married life removed—yet as her natural inquisitiveness inevitably compared previous interludes with what had just occurred…in terms of intensity and the depths of soul-shaking completion they’d attained, this interlude had been a first.
Lovemaking made new.
Or was it love renewed?
Renewed by love?
Regardless, as sleep stole over her, she—her mind—saw one fact clearly.
Despite all the years of having told herself that she was happy and satisfied with a one-sided, half love-match, this, tonight, was what, in the depths of her Cynster heart, she’d always wanted and hoped to have.
This, tonight, had been her heart’s true desire made real.
This, tonight, had been a dream come true.