quickly, not say a word, and never, ever think of it after it happened.
His hand moved and he stopped stroking the little nub that vibrated with such intense feeling. She gasped in frustration.
He wrapped his hand around the shaft of his erection—she could feel the brush of his fingers against her stomach as he took hold of himself. Then, with his hand tight around it, he stroked the head of his erection against her nether lips. They had stuck together, resisting him, but he gently eased them apart.
Her arms were splayed on the bed, pressing hard into the soft mattress. Her hands were clenched in tight fists. Her toes curled. But she bit her lip so she couldn’t possibly let a “no” slip out from between them.
His hips arched forward in slow, easy strokes as he pushed his penis inside her. For the first time, she knew what it was like to have a man’s thickness inside. He didn’t go in far. Just enough that shock turned to need, and tension melted like ice beneath a flame. Just like his mouth on her nipples, this was good.
“You are a brave woman,” Greystone said gently. “Very brave to face fears to save your brother.” He rocked his hips as he spoke and the movement was as soft and relaxed as his words. It pushed him further inside her. Astonishing sensations ... squishiness, warmth, wetness, pleasure ... her fingers tightened on his arms. Her hips lifted.
His face came to life in great detail. Blond hair fell across his brow, glinting with strands of pale gold. His eyes truly sparkled. They were large, beautiful eyes, green and flecked with silvery-gray—so much, they shone. Astonishing, unusual eyes. Lines framed his mouth, lines of strain, which seemed to come out when he showed desire.
He drew back, withdrawing until she felt just the tip of his erection touching her and she moaned. Now, she just wanted him deep in her. “Perhaps I am brave and foolhardy?” Her voice was husky, hoarse, as though she hadn’t spoken for years.
His lips curved. “Not foolhardy.” He tipped his hips, going deeper inside her. Instinctively her arms slipped around his neck, her leg around his. She shouldn’t behave so intimately—she didn’t know him. He was a stranger to her. This was not about love. Yet she wanted it to be intimate. She wanted to feel close to him. To hold him. His body was so warm and strong in her grasp. She loved the weight of him against her. Her fingers touched hard muscle, velvet skin. Her leg lay against legs with muscles that felt as hard and solid as iron.
Deeper he went, and his penis stroked a place inside her that made explosions of light in front of her eyes. Then a twinge of pain rushed through her and she gasped in shock.
His fingers traced the curve of her cheek. “Shh,” he whispered. “Easy. It will hurt, I’m afraid, when I go past your maidenhead. I wish it didn’t, love. But after that it will be very, very good.”
“No—”
He thrust. She squealed. She clenched. She tightened. She wanted to back away. But she couldn’t vanish into the mattress. Nor could she push him off.
Greystone pressed against her, seating himself all the way inside, and he didn’t move. He stayed motionless, and he rained kisses on her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. It was hard to feel pain with such glorious kisses stealing her breath. And little by little, the stinging sensation ebbed.
She whispered, “It’s better... .” Then she saw his expression. He looked like a man in great pain. He looked raw, ravaged, tormented. His eyes were wild. His mouth was a slash, bracketed by harsh lines. He looked as though his control could snap in a heartbeat. “Are you ... all right?” she asked.
“You are tight, sweet, and perfect, my dear. So no, I am no longer all right.”
Lucy let her arms slip from his neck, but her legs were still wrapped around him, and his groin, hot and hard, was pressed tight against her. “What should I do?” she whispered.
“Have a screaming orgasm, Lady