Creatures ok anthology, p.16
Creatures of the Dark Anthology, page 16
But she was shaking her head. “I don’t care about the city. This reminds me of the village where my mother and I spent my childhood.”
This made him pause. It was common even for city-dwelling shifter families to move to the country for a couple of years, until children mastered the art of not shifting in public. “What do you mean, you and your mother? Where was your father?”
She gave him a sad smile. “You’ve met him. Do you really think the great businessman would have been content to live in some forest? How could he rule his empire from there?” She shrugged, and though the gesture was intended to look carefree, there was something bitter in the lines of her mouth. “We were happier without him there, anyway.”
Alexandre wanted to pursue the topic, ask Why? and How? and What can I do to make you forget? But she turned back to survey the scene in front of her.
“So…where will we live?” she asked. “Does your family have a cabin?”
“No, we shift and sleep under the sky.” When she turned back to him, a vaguely panicked expression in her eyes, he snorted and smiled to comfort her. “Of course there’s a cabin.”
He helped her gather up the train of her dress—he doubted she’d ever wear it again but he also didn’t want fir needles all over it—and led her up a stone-paved path toward his home.
The cabin he’d built the previous summer no longer smelled like fresh wood but it was the best structure in the village. He’d channeled all the anger at his father, at his sister, into pushing the construction onward, so by the time the first September rains had arrived, he had a place to call his own. Over the following months, he’d had plenty of visitors, but none had made him as nervous as his bride, who stepped onto the wide porch and took in the cabin with a serious expression.
“Is this where your parents live?” she asked.
Alexandre shook his head. “Just us. My parents’ lodge is higher up in the village.” He’d picked this spot, at the very edge of the inner property, for privacy.
He opened the door, then grinned down at her. “Let’s do this right.”
Christine gave a little yelp and grabbed on when he swooped down and picked her up, then carried her over the threshold of their home. With a well-aimed kick, he shut the door behind them and set her on her feet. But his hands refused to let go of her, so he ended up with her plastered to his chest, her arms twined around his neck.
“Bienvenue,” he muttered, looking down at her.
She was standing so close, her sweet scent teasing his senses, her warmth both foreign and somehow familiar. He expected her to step away, demand a tour of the house, or maybe a change of clothes, but she seemed perfectly content to remain where she was.
In fact, her gaze slipped down to his lips, and he could have sworn her heartbeat sped up a fraction.
He wanted nothing more than to pick her up again, carry her to his bed, and remove that dress once and for all, but he forced himself to do the gentlemanly thing. “I know it’s, uh, expected to…” Merde, how did one say things like that out loud? “Most wedding nights include…”
Christine laughed, which he tried not to take as a personal offense, but since she didn’t shy away from him, he clearly wasn’t fucking up too badly.
“You mean to say that most wedding nights include the consummation of the marriage?”
He grimaced. “Yes, but I didn’t want to sound a hundred years old.” He leaned down to touch his forehead to hers. “What I wanted to tell you was that…there’s no rush. We don’t have to… I mean, I can wait.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he wanted to get all of this out so there were no misunderstandings. He’d never pressure her into something she might not be ready for, regardless of how much he wanted it. “We don’t know each other yet, so we can…”
“Thank you.” Her quiet words cut into his speech. She was looking up at him, her blue eyes so serious. “But… I’m not sure I want to wait.”
Did she…? “You don’t want to wait?” he asked, just to be sure.
She shook her head. “I’ve heard the first time isn’t so pleasant, so if you don’t mind, I’d rather get it over with. They say it gets better after that.”
Alexandre blinked. Get it over with? Who had she been talking to? “I don’t think—” he started to say, but she kissed him. And kept kissing him. So Alexandre did the only thing left for him to do: he kissed her back and set his mind to making her wedding night an experience she wouldn’t forget—for all the right reasons.
Chapter Nine
Christine
Her husband was an exceptional kisser. Christine didn’t have enough experience to know for certain just how good he’d be compared to other masters of the craft, but he was driving her mad with slow, long licks, with small nibbles, until she was clinging to him like a bear to a tree and kissing him with all her heart.
But so far, that was all he’d done. He kissed her, and kissed her some more. A slow burn kindled inside her, and she wanted him to just move it, to take her to bed and get past that thing so she could finally relax. Strung tight as a wire, she pushed at the lapels of his jacket—and pricked her finger on the pin of his white rose boutonnière.
“Tabarnak,” she muttered under her breath, breaking the kiss, then flushed when she realized he’d heard her swear.
“Are you okay?” he asked, grabbing her hand before she could snatch it away, and peering down at her index finger.
“Yes,” she said, trying to cover her faux-pas and pretend like she had everything under control. “It’s nothing.”
But Alexandre refused to let go. He wiped at the tiny droplet of blood with his thumb, then kissed the pad of her finger, softly, his gaze suddenly tender. When Christine wanted to pick up where they left off, he put his forehead to hers and muttered, “Slow down. It’s going to be okay.” He pressed a tender, slow kiss on her lips, and added, “Trust me.”
Trust me. Trust me. The words echoed through her when he cupped her face, his gaze traveling over her cheekbones, her chin, and down her neck, when he pulled the pins from her hair, one after the other, until the locks tumbled down, freed from the tight updo. She bit back a moan as he dug his long fingers into her hair, sifting through the strands, massaging her scalp in gentle circles.
“That’s it,” he whispered against her skin, then trailed kisses down her neck, over her bare shoulder. Then he reached back around her, his hand finding the zipper on her bodice. “I’m going to take this off you now.”
She nodded, breathless, and felt the tug of the zipper. Her bodice gaped in the front, and she caught it instinctively, unwilling to let it drop just yet. Alexandre raised an eyebrow at her, and heat rose in her cheeks again. She was probably pink all over, but that couldn’t be helped. “You’re still dressed,” she whispered, trying to explain her sudden bout of modesty.
Shifters weren’t usually concerned with being naked in public, but Christine had spent most of her formative years in a Catholic school for human girls, which had, despite her best efforts, instilled in her a sense of shame when it came to removing her clothes in front of others. It didn’t help that her parents never shifted if they could help it, so she was now left standing in front of her new husband, trying her best not to panic at the thought of dropping her dress.
But Alexandre didn’t share her worries. A wicked grin stretched his lips, and he stepped back, shrugging the black jacket off in one smooth move. It landed on the floor, but Christine didn’t care because his fingers were already hard at work, undoing the buttons of his shirt.
It soon became clear why he didn’t have an ounce of self-consciousness in his body. The man was gorgeous—that much she knew even before he took of his clothes—but the fact was that his body was a thing of beauty, a lean, powerful form built for strength. The defined muscles of his arms stretched when he pulled off his shirt, and Christine was left to admire the sculpted lines of his torso. His chest was dusted with coarse, dark hair, making her wonder how it would feel under her fingertips. Then her gaze dropped to his belly button, to where his abdominal muscles narrowed and disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers.
She snapped her attention back to his face and found him laughing at her. “It’s okay,” he said. “You can look.”
Snorting, she took a step closer to him. “You’re really sure of yourself.”
He shrugged. “If it makes you more comfortable, I don’t mind undressing first.” With that, he undid his belt and dropped his trousers before she had the chance to reply.
Christine’s answer got stuck in her throat. Mon dieu, he was…hard.
At this point, she was beyond caring about her blushing, but her face heated when she met his gaze, knowing he’d caught her staring. It was hard not to—the long, thick ridge of his erection tented his boxers, and holy hell, how was that going to fit inside her?
But then she noticed his own cheeks had turned a deep red, his dark eyes shiny in the low light of the room. She smelled the air, caught a nervous tendril beneath the sweet, powerful scent of lust rolling off him. And it calmed her, knowing that in this, even he wasn’t completely certain. Even he was nervous to see where this would take them.
Without breaking his gaze, she slowly released her bodice, let it drop away from her chest. The weight of it, along with a quick shimmy of her hips, was enough for the dress to slip off her, pooling around her ankles like a misshapen meringue.
She stood in front of her husband in nothing but her white silk panties and stilettos—the dress’s snug bodice and open shoulders didn’t allow a bra, and she’d known the day would be incredibly warm, so she’d ditched her pantyhose as soon as she’d had a moment to herself that morning. Now, she wished she had something more to cover her, still, because her skin felt so sensitive, goose bumps broke out all over her body under the weight of his stare.
For a second, all she could hear was their breathing and the rushing of blood in her ears. Her breasts felt tight, exposed, and she fought the urge to cross her arms over her chest. But when she lifted her hands to do just that, Alexandre made a low noise in his throat and came closer, taking her hand in his.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. He slid his palm up her arm, his caress warm and soothing, until he cupped her face, angling it so he could drop a kiss on her lips.
Christine kissed him back, slowly at first, and found herself exploring his bare skin—his arms, where muscles tensed at her touch, his shoulders, where bone and sinew gave way to the fuzzy planes of his pectorals. Every new sensation imprinted itself on her mind, and she knew she’d never forget this first moment of closeness with her husband.
The warmth of his body was a revelation, his skin almost hot to the touch, and she wanted to borrow some of it so she would stop shivering. Molding herself to him, she slipped her arms around his waist, grabbing on to the hard ridges of his back muscles, when she realized this had brought her in close contact with— “Oh!” she gasped, breaking the kiss.
Alexandre looked dazed, his eyes glittering and his mouth red from the kisses. Keeping his hands on her waist, he slowly backed toward the bed, until he sat on the edge and pulled her into his lap.
Christine went eagerly, though she perched well away from his erection. But Alexandre’s kisses drugged her, spurred her on, until her need was a tense coil inside her belly, begging to be released. When he found her breasts with his large, warm palms, she moaned, surprising herself, but he didn’t seem to mind—he grinned at her, then lowered his head to take one tight nipple inside his mouth, licking it over and over again, making her clutch his head and gasp his name. The hot, wet sensation was everything; her breathing stuttered, her fingernails digging into his shoulders.
Then he laid her down on the bed, the cool linen sheet such a stark contrast to his body heat, and she shivered again. Alexandre removed her shoes first, slipping them off her feet, and pressed a tickling kiss to the sole of her foot. With eyebrows raised, he hooked his index fingers below the waistband of her panties, and she lifted her hips, allowing him to drag the last scrap of fabric from her.
Maybe she should have just laid there and waited for him to show her what he wanted, but Christine found it wasn’t what she wanted. Instead, she rose to a seated position and tugged at his boxers. “It’s only fair,” she muttered when he sent her an amused look.
And then they were naked in daylight, as exposed to each other as they’d ever be, and she couldn’t drag her gaze away from him. His impressive erection rose toward his belly, and Christine’s first impulse was to touch it and see if it was as hard as it looked. She wedged her hands under her thighs to keep from doing something stupid, but Alexandre chuckled, took her hand, and placed it on himself.
Christine gasped at the sensation. His erection was hard, yes, but the skin was smooth and soft, and when she stroked the broad head, Alexandre groaned. She immediately moved her hand away. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”
But looking into his coffee-brown eyes, she saw they were full of heat. He shook his head and pressed a hard, bruising kiss on her lips. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It felt good, is all.”
“Oh.” Tentatively, she gripped it again, smoothing her palm up and down. “So you like this?”
“Yes.” Alexandre’s reply was guttural, a rumble that coursed through her body like sparks, setting her nerves on fire.
And then, when she was distracted by how it seemed to grow beneath her touch, Alexandre explored her. His palm slid up her thigh, slowly, giving her plenty of time to shy away, but she didn’t want to—the insistent ache inside her belly, so unfamiliar and yet so right, was enough for her to wait, to pray that he would know what to do to make it better.
He did. His fingers traced the line from her hip bone to the juncture of her thighs, then dipped below the light-brown curls. When his warm, clever finger first touched the center of her, she jerked in his arms, squeezing his erection instinctively, and Alexandre growled, his hips jerking up, nearly toppling her backward.
She wanted to apologize for messing up again, but he tumbled her back onto the pillows, dragging her hand away from him. “I won’t last if you keep doing that,” he told her, his forehead pressed against hers. “And I want to make you feel good before…”
Before they had sex for the first time.
She gripped his face between her palms. “I already feel good. This is already better than what I’d imagined.”
But he shook his head, the look in his eyes incredibly serious. “You’ll see. Just… Trust me.”
With a swallow, Christine nodded, and Alexandre kissed her. He invaded her mouth, nipping and licking until she clung to him, but he unwrapped her arms from around his neck and trailed kisses down her neck, her shoulders, dipping into the valley between her breasts.
Then his fingers were at her hip again, like he was trying to alert her what he was about to do, and she opened her legs on instinct, letting him in. His touch was electric. Her hips rolled off the bed, and she grabbed Alexandre’s shoulders, unsure of whether she wanted to push him away or clutch him closer. She ended up digging her fingernails into his skin, making him hiss, but she didn’t—couldn’t—care, not when he rolled that button between her legs until she grew slick and wet, not when he licked and bit her breasts so every sharp tug sent sensation coursing straight to her core.
Around and around, her tension spiraled, and she yelled his name, beyond caring about modesty, when he slid one long finger inside her innermost part and withdrew, only to plunge in again, hitting some elusive spot that brought stars dancing across her vision.
She screwed her eyes shut, eliminating one of the senses that threatened to overload her, her body taut under his. She wanted—needed—release, knew her body couldn’t take so much pressure, but she didn’t know what to do, could only hope he did, because if he brought her to this stage of pleasure and left her here, she was going to be a very grumpy bear.
“Look at me,” he ordered, his voice strained. “Christine, look at me.”
She opened her eyes to see him staring down at her, his expression so intent her breath caught in her throat. The strain in his body, the tense muscles, his clenched jaw—he was holding himself back from something, making sure she found her pleasure first. So she dragged his head down and kissed him, her fingers circling his erection again, and she wanted to make him feel just as good, but at that moment, the pads of his fingers returned to that little, over-sensitive bundle of nerves. And something inside her broke like a dam, letting loose a torrent of purest joy, a sensation so powerful she threw her head back and screamed his name, trembling in his arms as he gentled the pressure of his fingers, flicking them over and over until she was a shuddering, gasping mess.
When she could think again, she registered that he hadn’t let go of her, had enveloped her in his arms and curled protectively around her as if he was shielding her from the violent storm that had just overtaken her body.
His chest was heaving, his heartbeat thundering under her cheek, and she turned her head just a fraction to press a kiss on his chest. “Thank you,” she muttered, knowing he would hear her. She felt him nod, the afternoon stubble on his chin scraping over her hair. “That was… I didn’t know bodies could do that.”
He drew back enough to peer down at her. “Did you like it?” A faint grin tugged up the corner of his mouth, and she poked him in the stomach.
“You know I did.” Then she noticed his very prominent erection, still proud and hard, tucked against her leg. “Oh my.”
He flushed and dragged his palm across his face. “Don’t mind that. It’ll go away.”
“But don’t you want…?”
His laugh sounded half-strangled. “I do. God, I do. But it’s your first time, and I’m…” He buried his face in her neck, his voice muffled as he added, “I’m really fucking close, Christine. I don’t want your first time to be…rushed.”
It took some wiggling, which had him groaning out loud, but she got him to look her in the eye again. “Alexandre, what you just did to me…” She blushed but soldiered on. “I want you to feel as good as that. You’ll need to show me how. And then maybe it can be my turn again.”
