Sylvia Day - The Stranger I Married

He moved, cradling her spine as he lowered her to the floor. “I want you, too.”

Isabel gazed up at him, her hair a banner of fire, her skin as pale as ivory where it was revealed by the parted edges of her gown. His dark hand brushed aside the intruding material, revealing the full breasts and ripe curves he worshipped. He shoved his hand into his pocket and withdrew the ruby ring he had purchased for her. With shaking fingers, Gerard slipped it into place, kissing the stone before turning her hand and pressing his lips against her palm.

Heat swept across his skin like a hot breeze, nerve endings tingling to acute awareness, his mouth watering. Bending his head, he licked the softness of one nipple and then the other, parting his lips more fully and drawing her into his mouth. His eyes slid closed, his blood growing sluggish with desire and love, as he drank in her taste with long, deep pulls.

“Yes…” she breathed, when he bit gently down on the hardened crest, relishing as always the fierce need he had to devour her whole.

They moved languidly, in no rush. Every touch, caress, and murmur was a promise made. To forsake all others. To love one another, trust one another, and leave the past behind. Theirs was a union made for all the wrong reasons, but in the end it was one that could not have been more right.

Clothing fell away until their skin touched everywhere and he cupped her thigh and opened her, sinking the hard length of his cock into tight hot depths. Joining them more fully than the golden bands they wore ever could.

Gerard lifted his head and watched Isabel’s face as he pumped deep into her. Her soft whimper filled the air, made his balls draw up, made his arms shake as he supported his weight. She tossed her head restlessly, her heels in his back, her nails in his forearms. The fiery skeins of her dark hair were spread across the Aubusson rug, releasing the heady scent that intoxicated him.

God, how he loved this. He doubted he would ever have his fill of the sight of her helpless to her desire or the feel of her cunt so tight and slick.

“Sweet Isabel,” he crooned, freed for the first time from the desperation that had marked their past encounters.

“Gerard.”

He groaned. His name was a tactile caress when spoken in that throaty voice. Lowering over her, he pressed his mouth to hers, drinking in her gasps as he worked her with his cock in exactly the way she liked, stroking her with long, deep, slow drives.

“Oh God!” she gasped, her depths rippling around him, her back arching in the throes of climax.

“I love you,” he breathed, his mouth to her ear, his chest pressed to hers. Then he followed her, shuddering, spilling his seed in a rush of longing, giving her the promise of the life they would create together with boundless joy in his heart.

She met him stroke for stroke, his match in every way.