Page 12 of Wedding Night In The King's Bed

Her heart seemed to simply stop, there in her chest, then beat so hard she thought it might knock her flat.

This man who had always seemed so ruthlessly controlled, so stern and so deliberate in all he said and did looked nothing short of...undone.

She barely had time to suck in a small gulp of air before he was there before her and then his hands were on her.

Then his mouth descended to hers.

And then everything caught fire.

And the press of his mouth to hers in the cathedral had shifted things inside her. It had made her wonder ever since if she could handle this, him. It had winnowed all the way through her and then pooled between her legs, so that she’d spent the whole of their reception feeling outside herself, swollen with the need she understood in theory but had never experienced before. Not like this. Not with the memory of those firm lips against hers crowding into her, washing over her, making her question everything.

But now there was no question.

There was only the sleek fire of his mouth on hers and the way he licked his way between her lips, so that one fire became another, the heat building on itself and shaking through her to become another kind of humming all its own.

Louder. Better.

In the Institut, they’d been given all kinds of classes on how best they should treat the loss of their virginities, given that their innocence was likely to be a matter of barter in the marriages girls who grew up there were likely to take part in. They did not shy away from such topics at the school, though, it had to be said, they also did not advertise that particular subject matter much outside the Institut’s walls.

Even if you feel overwhelmed, you must lean into it, they’d been advised, in one way or another, by their teachers. For it is up to you to find your own pleasure, ladies. Whether it is offered to you or not.

All the girls in Helene’s year had been resolute when discussing it amongst themselves. If pleasure was theirs to find, then find it they would. They all read enough. Watched enough. They all knew that what they’d been told was only too true and they would have to assume and then proceed as if it was up to them—

But it had never occurred to Helene that she might find herself in a scenario where locating her own pleasure was not required.

Because pleasure was far too tame a word to describe what crested within her, over and over, as Gianluca kissed her. As, again and again, he angled his head to take the kiss deeper.

As if, were it up to him, he might eat her whole.

Everything in her shuddered into the wildest sort of delight at that notion.

Just as quickly, everything seemed to spin around on itself, and it took her a moment to comprehend that he was lifting her from the floor. Something he did so easily and without a pause in the way he was kissing her that it sent another humming thing swirling around inside of her. She leaned into it, still wild over his kisses, and chasing his mouth with her own. Learning with every slide of his tongue, every angle, and even the faint scrape of his teeth.

He set her down on what she assumed was the bed, though she didn’t bother to look. All she knew was that he’d set her apart from him and, accordingly, she made a soft noise of sorrow.

But it changed into something else halfway through, because she’d never seen him look like this. Gianluca’s dark night eyes were a mad heat, and his stern, aristocratic face was changed, somehow. As if he could feel the same wildfire that was eating her alive.

As if it had carved its way into him, too, making him look something like cruel, stark and needy.

Something else she could feel within her, a kind of beckoning.

He moved to stand between her legs, and then reached down, smoothing his heavy palms over her hair, and then, with a look of intense concentration on his face, he set about the task of learning her.

Helene could think of nothing else to call it. It was as if he was committing her to memory with his fingers, his hands. And then, as if he wished to make her feel turned inside out, and scalding hot besides, with that mouth of his, too. He started at one temple and eased his way all over her face. Brows, cheekbones. Her nose. Her eyelids.

Then he took his time learning his way along her neck, finding his way to her breasts through the sheer material gown they’d given her to wear. The gown she’d thought made her look silly, a gothic virgin from another age who ought to be chased down a hallway with a candle in her hand—but she had sighed happily when she moved in it, because it was softer than a dream and felt like caresses all over her skin.

Though she understood quickly now that she had no idea what caresses were meant to feel like.

Because Gianluca was a revelation.

He did not make any attempt to lift her gown or find his way beneath it. What he did was urge her back so that she lay against the coverlet, sprawled before him. Her whole body shook with every breath she took, while he took his time.

And lit her up.

Gianluca found her navel, the jut of her hip, and then trailed heat over the top of her most private triangle. He glanced up at her then, only the touch of that vast night, and she braced herself—or she surrendered herself—but he only grazed that wet, hot center between her legs as he worked all the way down to her feet.

Leaving her limp and wild and unable to do anything but shake. And then, when he reversed direction and started making his way back up, he pulled the gown along with him.