chapter Twenty-Seven
Honey waited for the realisation to register in Dex’s eyes. He blinked, and then very slowly his lips started to curve.
“If you think I want to wait to get my hands on you, you’re stark raving.” She took his hand and began to walk backward, over to the window that looked down on the hotel grounds and over to the sea. “I’ve been thinking about this all day, and I can’t wait a moment longer.”
She spoke the truth—throughout the wonderful day, as she’d danced and laughed with her friends and family, her gaze had repeatedly crept back to Dex, often to find him watching her too, as if they were two magnets drawn to each other across the room. He’d looked gorgeous in his suit, but it was once he took off his jacket that she’d finally melted. She had a thing for waistcoats, and the sight of his white shirt sleeves with the elegant silver cufflinks and the smart silvery waistcoat and tie had nearly been her undoing.
Her back met the window, and she pulled him close, wanting the feel of his muscular, hard body against her. She took his hand and, lifting her voluminous skirts, placed it on her thigh. “This is going to take a bit of manoeuvring,” she teased as the lace tumbled over his arm, “but I’ve been dreaming about it for months.”
He inhaled as his hand rested on her stocking tops, and then he slid it slowly up, over her hip, around to her butt.
And stopped. His eyes widened.
Honey giggled at the look on his face.
He gave her a reproving look. “How long have you been going commando, Mrs. Concannon? Please don’t tell me it’s been all day?”
“No, just the last half hour or so.”
“Jesus,” he mumbled, lowering his head to kiss her. “If I’d known that, I’d have got you up here in double quick time.”
She laughed, then sighed as he stroked down her thigh, and up over her hip and bottom again, obviously enjoying the feel of her bare skin. The touch of his hand on her made every single hair on her body stand on end, and her nipples tightened behind the beaded bodice, her mouth opening under his. He kissed her deeply, his tongue sliding sensuously against hers, and she raised her arms around his neck, sinking her fingers into his hair, scoring her nails lightly across his scalp.
She couldn’t believe the time had finally come. All that waiting, worrying, wanting… And he was here, in her arms, hers to enjoy for the night, for the rest of her life.
“I want you,” she murmured, nibbling his bottom lip. She took his hand where it was still sliding up the outside of her thigh and moved it around, between her legs. “I can’t wait much longer.”
He stroked her and groaned deeply, obviously realising she wasn’t lying. “We’ve got to slow down,” he said hoarsely. “Why don’t we lie on the bed for a while and—”
“Plenty of time for that later.” She began to fumble at his belt.
“Honey! Jeez.” He tried to stop her.
“Please, Dex.” She pushed his hands away, finished undoing the belt and unpopped the button.
“I wanted to take it slow,” he said desperately. “The first time. Make it last, make it good.”
“It’ll be good whatever,” she said, “and next time we’ll take it slowly, I promise. But I’ve got to have you now or I’m going to explode.” And that’s how it felt—her heart pounded, and every nerve ending was on fire for him.
She undid the zipper, pushed down his boxers and released him. He swelled in her hand, clearly as eager as she was.
“Lift me up,” she whispered.
“To the bed?”
“Here.” She raised her skirts and, as he obediently picked her up, she wrapped her legs around his waist.
He pushed her back against the huge window and let his lips hover over hers. “Are you sure?
“God, yes, Dex…please.”
She felt the tip of him part her, and then he slid into her. Her head fell back on the glass, and she bit her lip at the exquisite sensation of having him inside her at last.
He kissed her neck, her jaw, up to her lips. “Okay?” he murmured.
She opened her eyes. The moonlight fell across his face and turned the tips of his hair silver. He was like a movie star, so handsome it made her catch her breath, and he was hers. Her husband. He’d chosen her out of all the women in the world. It made her want to cry.
But she just whispered back, “Okay,” and so he began to move inside her, long, slow, delicious thrusts that soon had her sighing and begging for more. She slipped her hands into his hair and pulled his mouth to hers, and he groaned and thrust harder, faster.
Her senses spun. The warm room made the spicy smell of his aftershave rise from his skin, and he tasted of whiskey. His innate masculinity overwhelmed her, flooded her with a dark urge to possess him, to please him, to succumb to his fierce desire.
She moaned as he continued to kiss her deeply, filled with the knowledge that this intensely passionate man knew exactly how to tease pleasure from her, to guide her toward the outcome her whole body ached for and had yearned for since she first met him. At that moment, she realised she was completely his, and with that came the final abandonment. She’d promised herself to love him forever, and now she gave herself over to him, body and soul.
In what seemed no time at all, her internal muscles tightened and clenched around him, and she cried out as the blissful sensations overtook her. He crushed his lips to hers, fierce and possessive, before finally giving in and letting his own climax sweep over him. His body tightened beneath her hands, and she opened her eyes and watched him, loving every moment of his pleasure, loving that she was the cause of it.
Finally, his body relaxed and he opened his eyes to give her an amused, remonstrative look.
“Bad wife,” he said, lifting her off the glass.
“You didn’t enjoy it?”
Another wry look. His trousers now around his ankles, he shuffled across to the bed and lowered her down before gently withdrawing, then bending to pull his trousers back up, tucking himself in. Honey lay back amongst the rose petals, sighing, her muscles still trembling. “That was nice.”
“And that was the understatement of the year.” He walked over to the table and came back carrying the tray with the strawberries and two glasses of champagne. Placing it on the bed between them, he climbed on beside her and stretched out. “It was f*cking amazing.”
“Dex!”
“Well it was. Tell me it wasn’t, then.”
She smiled lazily and turned on her side. Propping her head on a hand as he had done, she let him feed her a strawberry. “Touché.” She nibbled the end of the strawberry, and he brought the other half back to his mouth and ate the rest, smiling at her. She felt warm right the way through. This was how it would be from now on. Sharing everything. She wouldn’t be alone anymore.
She started talking about the day, and they lay there for a while, sipping champagne and eating strawberries, discussing their favourite parts of the wedding, whether the guests had enjoyed themselves and how nice the food had been. She didn’t mention Cathryn and neither did he. There wasn’t much to say anyway. Hopefully that was all done and dusted now.
After a while, the room grew warm and Honey grew tired.
“I think it’s finally time,” she said. “Help me out of the dress?”
She stood, and Dex came to stand behind her and undid the row of tiny pearl buttons at the back of the bodice. Slowly, reluctant to take off the dress she’d never be able to wear again, she let it slip to the floor and stepped out of it. Then she lifted it and placed it over the chair, giving the skirts one final smooth before turning to face him again.
A giggle stole from her lips at the look on his face. “You like?” she said coyly, giving him a twirl. She wore a strapless lacy bra, garters and stockings.
His eyes met hers, desire flaring in them. “I do.”
She walked up to him and began to undo his waistcoat. “Your turn now.”
They undressed each other leisurely, removing the garments piece by piece until they stood naked in front of each other. She unpinned her hair and let it fall, and he separated the blonde curls across her shoulders.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his hands skating over her skin.
She shivered, her nipples peaking, and turned and lifted the tray onto the bedside table before drawing back the covers. “Let’s get in bed.”
She’d dreamed about the first time they would make love, about seeing him naked, but this was her greatest fantasy—sliding onto the soft mattress, pulling the covers over them and pressing herself up against his young, warm, strong body.
“This is just heaven,” she whispered as she ran her hand down his chest and traced the defined muscles there and in his shoulders and arms. “I think I’m dreaming.”
“I don’t think we can have the same dream.” He brushed his hand down her back, over her hips, along her thighs. “I wish this night would last forever.”
“Me too.” She slipped her hand into his hair and kissed him. He kissed her back, gentle and soft.
After a while, she pulled away. She cupped his face, brushing his cheek with her thumb. Was something bothering him? She felt as if he was holding back somehow. She’d felt it from the moment they came into the room. He’d given in a little when they first made love, but now it had returned—a reservation, as if he was worried about moving too fast, or doing something she didn’t like.
My husband, she thought. How could she convince him she wanted him more than anything in the world?