Page 13 of Wedding Night In The King's Bed

And Helene lost herself entirely.

She simply...poured herself into him.

Into his mouth, arching her back or thrusting her hips forward, whatever he demanded. Whatever felt good, then better, then better still.

He took his time, moving all the way back up to her face again to kiss her all over again. Until it was almost hard to remember that she was naked and in his arms—

But only almost.

Gianluca pulled back and seemed to study her once more, and Helene felt that like a touch all its own. But he did not speak. He looked at her, his face as stark and as wild as she felt, before flipping her over and making his way back down the length of her body once more.

This time, when he made it back up again, Helene was shuddering. Sobbing. Clenching her fingers into the coverlet below her, making fists, writhing—so outside herself she wasn’t sure, if asked, she would even know where she was.

Nor did she care as long as this man, her husband, was right here with her, working his rough and tender magic.

He left her for a moment and Helene was so dazed with pleasure and longing that all she could do was lie there, her face pressed against the bed, able to do nothing at all but pant. Her head was spinning. Every nerve ending in her body was exulting—

The Gianluca’s hands were on her again. And that was even better, because when he pulled her to him she discovered to her great wonder and delight that he was naked too.

And she wanted nothing more than to celebrate this madness, this astonishing and all-consuming wildfire that felt as good as it burned, so she did her best to mimic what he had done to her.

She tried to follow the bold, breathtakingly masculine lines of his body. She explored the flat planes of his chest. She tested the heavy slabs of muscle along with the deep ridges carved into his abdomen, and she savored every taste of him. Faintly salty, his skin smooth and rough in turn, and these unprecedented acts made a new heat move within her.

And then, when she reached it, the jut of his maleness was huge and hot and it made her feel like whimpering.

With a need she had never felt before.

She reached out, not sure if she wished to wrap her hands around the length of him, or maybe follow a darker, hungrier urge to lean forward and put her mouth on him—

But he didn’t let her choose.

Instead, Gianluca tipped her back against the soft bed and crawled his way up the length of her body once more. Until he was beside her, stretched out so that she could see almost all of him at a glance.

And for a moment, she felt almost overwhelmed at the sight of him. Of all of him.

Because he was so perfect. And because it all seemed so different from what she’d imagined, but was still perfect. There was no question in her mind about that, either.

Gianluca was long and lean, made of a great many muscles, sleek and heavy. She’d never thought too much about the state of a man’s chest, but now she found that his consumed her attention entirely. She was fascinated by the dusting of dark hair there and the way it felt against her body when she rubbed herself against him. The way it made a new and darker flame lick all over her.

As if she’d been made for the sheer physicality of this thing they were doing. As if deep within, all along, there had been this need to wrap her naked body around his—only his—so they could rub together like tinder and see what sparked.

He didn’t speak. There was something almost stricken about the way Gianluca looked at her as he reached down between them, found the place where she ached for him the most, and drew his fingers through all that heat.

She felt something break inside her, but broken was better still, and so she shook against him as her thighs clenched of their own accord around his questing hand.

He let out a dark, male sound that Helene had never heard before—and yet knew, somehow, was approval. Then he pressed deeper, as if he knew perfectly well that every time he did, a great wave of sensation washed all over her.

He did this again and again, until she felt something rush at her, hot and dark and his, until it burst through her and made her cry out.

Then he was rolling her beneath him, holding her thighs apart with his own hips. His dark gaze was all she could see when she opened her eyes, and she didn’t look away as he reached down between their bodies to fit the great blunt head of his manhood against her softest heat.

Helene was a chaotic blaze, too wild to bear. She caught her breath. She found herself dragging her lower lip between her teeth as if that might help her survive this. Gianluca’s dark night gaze seemed like it was a part of her, as if it was already deep inside her, as slowly—so very slowly—he began to press himself into her.

“You are too big,” she whispered, and there it was again, the flash of that smile of his.

“Have patience, mia regina,” Gianluca murmured in a low voice, as if his throat was too rough for words.

But he was too big. He really was, and Helene couldn’t see how patience would help any. There was no way he could fit—