Chapter 23

Chapter

Twenty-Three

T he feel of Beckett inside her was peculiar in a warm, inviting, dominating kind of way. While she liked having him there, she was also unused to having another person so close.

Kissing a man was one thing, but consummating a marriage was something entirely different.

She pressed against him, the pain that had seized her at first dissipated, leaving only pleasure, a pleasant sensation that teased the edges of her mind of something that would be extraordinary if she continued.

She reached for him, slipping her arms about his shoulders, and took in the raw, unfiltered visage that was her husband.

His cutting jaw and high cheekbones seemed more angular as he towered over her, pausing to give her time to adjust. He was so handsome, her stomach clenched, and she pulled him closer with her feet, wanting him deeper, harder inside her.

"What are you waiting for?" she teased, knowing that Beckett wouldn't delay this interaction any longer than he had to. She could see by the little blood vessel on his temple that he was fighting against his desire, his need to take her, lay claim.

She could hardly wait.

After all, she was a woman who'd been on the marriage market for some years. Even though she had failed to find a husband before, that did not mean her body had not long craved a man, even though it was only now that she knew what that encompassed.

His mouth twisted into a wicked line, and her breath hitched. He thrust into her, relentless in his taking. His hand reached for hers, forcing them above her head as he pumped with a rhythm that left her breathless.

A tingling, aching sensation teased between her legs. With each stroke, he pushed the growing need to new heights. Was she going to experience another pleasurable experience like the one she'd had with him yesterday at the inn?

Could a woman, when being made love to, climax this way? How extraordinary and exciting, if that were the case.

His other free hand reached down about her ass, lifting and adjusting the angle of her hip. The change of pitch deepened his reach and, with each relentless, brutal thrust, pressed her ever forward to conclusion.

"Beckett." The beseeching gasp tore from her before she could stop it. "What are you doing to me?"

His eyes met hers as he stroked within her, pressing, teasing, taking her, pushing her to the point of no return. His eyes were dark and stormy with determination and desire.

She could not look away, could not tear herself from watching the emotions and complexities of his face as he gave and took satisfaction from her.

He'd never appeared so deliciously handsome before. That she was here, married to her lifelong nemesis, her bully, and enjoying every little scrumptious thing he was doing to her was madness.

And perhaps she had gone a little wild.

For him…

The thought stilled her mind but a moment before he rolled them over. Somehow, she was now sitting on his lap, staring down at her husband.

His eyes latched on to her breasts before he reached for her, running his hands over her flesh, circling her nipples with his fingers, fascination glowing in his eyes.

"Dear God, you're beautiful."

His words warmed her. How sweet he was. She had not thought he believed her to be anything but an annoying gnat, a pebble in his boot, but perhaps she was not.

Maybe there was hope after all for their marriage that she had failed to see a day or two ago.

"Lift yourself on me. Ride me as if you're trotting on a horse."

For a moment, Genevieve thought about what that movement would entail before she braced herself on his chest and, using her knees, lifted herself upon him.

"Not all the way out, just up and down in short heights."

She did as he instructed, and the sensation was different again. More consuming and satisfying somehow. She came down on him, taking him deep, and gasped, not out of pain, but the bliss that shuddered through her.

"Yes, just like that, little wife."

Wife… She shivered at his endearment. Liking the term more than she ought, especially from Beckett.

She could not comprehend how they were married, here and now, making love. It was utterly bizarre and yet so right. She could not imagine doing what they were with anyone else.

She moved on him with an ease and expertise that she'd not thought she'd have so soon, but it wasn't as difficult as she thought. It was growing more and more enjoyable, her blood warming, her skin prickling with sweat and bliss. Her core ached, and she only built that need with each downward stroke.

She wanted more.

She increased her pace, leaning on him, closed her eyes, and savored the feel of him, hard and thick, filling and inflaming her body.

She moaned, the sound slipping from her lips. "Beckett." She was so close, tittering on the edge, yet could not quite get to where she wanted.

What she now knew him capable of giving her.

He sat up, slipped his arms under hers, and hooked his hands on her shoulders. "Ride me. I'll help you," he said.

She did as he bade, moving on him more forcefully. With his hands gripping her shoulders, his thrust was deep and firm and was all she needed to tip her over that delightful edge that had eluded her thus far.

"Beckett…I'm…" His kiss swallowed her words. His mouth drank her cries as she shattered in his arms. The pleasure too much and yet not enough. She wanted to feel this free again, to float in his arms while locked within his hold.

"Genevieve…I'm coming."

She broke from the kiss. She needed to see him and watch how he came apart. Tremors rocked and thrummed through her as his manhood thickened, hardened more if that were at all possible.

He moaned her name, gasped, and thrust into her as he spent his seed. Warmth flooded between her legs, and she bit her lip, hoping that perhaps, no matter how this union had started, he would not deny her this part of the marriage if he was to deny her everything else.

Love, affection…fidelity.

Worse still, now that she'd had her husband so, longed for more before it had even ended, how was she to live knowing he was to continue his life as before?

Rutting about town as if he were still an unwed man.

They had been enemies before and had fought too many times to count, but this time, this fight may be one she could not lose.