Page 38 of The Desert King's Kidnapped Virgin
Quite the opposite. She’d researched. Extensively.
From films so explicit she’d had to watch them from between her fingers to breathtaking erotic writing that had made her a little too susceptible to unfortunate fantasies that she knew better than to hope the sort of man she was set to marry might fulfill in some way. Much less exceed.
She knew where all the parts went and how they fit together. She had done her level best to get ready so that nothing would faze her too badly no matter who she ended up marrying.
But nothing could have prepared her for Cyrus. Or how thisfelt.
When Cyrus lowered his hard, beautiful chest to hers. When he wrapped his arms around her, holding her so much closer, so much tighter than she had imagined—because, something in her understood belatedly, all the films she’d watched had been staged for a viewer.
Here, now, there were only the two of them.
The two of them and this magic conflagration between them.
The two of them and too much sensation to bear in one body. Maybe that was why it took two in the first place, to share the glory between them, because surely it would otherwise be too much.
Especially because he knew how to wield that great, hard, and hot part of him that he rubbed and rubbed through her softness, driving her mad.
Making her feel turned inside out.
And all of that was nothing—a clamoring whirlwind of a glorious nothing—next to how it felt when he reached down between them, wrapped his fist around his thickness, and guided himself to her molten channel at last.
His finger had felt too big, a decidedly male intrusion, but this was something else again.
This was an undoing.
Cyrus pressed his way in, but only slightly, stopping when both of them felt him catch on the flesh that his finger had eased past, but the enormity of his manhood could not.
His midnight gaze found hers, and she could not tell which one of them was breathing heavier just then. Nor which one of them was making that sound, so raw, so needy, that seemed to fill her from within.
He did not speak. She could not have answered.
And still, it was as if a whole conversation happened there in that lightning hit of his gaze to hers.
Some understanding. Some knowledge, primitive though it might have been.
A kind of anguish on his face that even here, even now, she had succeeded in surprising him.
Something entirely feminine and deeply held within her seemed to nod, as if she’d known how this would be all along.
As if she’d known it would be him, and now, andthissince before she’d known her own name.
“Forgive me,omri,” Cyrus murmured, and his voice was like a dark ribbon of sound that tied itself around her. And with her thighs wide open to hold him and all of him pressed between them, he had finally said those words as if he meant them.
My life. Forgive me.
It didn’t occur to her to ask him why he needed her forgiveness, or to tell him it was already freely given, or to wonder why this moment felt like an intenserecognition—
Instead he thrust home.
And everything went dark.
Then burst into light, so bright and so hot that Hope wasn’t sure she could tell the difference between a marvelous pain and a maddening pleasure.
It was sointense. It was too much, of everything. He was too big, and shecouldn’t, and she could hear, far off in the distance, sounds she knew were her own odd little pants—
But Hope couldn’t possibly care about that, because he pulled back out a little, then thrust deep again.
Making room.
