His Not-So-Blushing Bride: Marriage with Benefits / Improperly Wed / A Breathless Bride. Fiona Brand

insane attraction wasn’t as strong as he’d imagined and that there was nothing special about this particular woman.

      Somewhere along the way, the scent of Cia’s arousal and the total surrender in her responses eliminated his intentions.

      She fell back onto the pillow with a sexy sigh, lifting her breasts and making his mouth water. “You melted my bones that time. As soon as I can walk, I’m going to make you the best cup of coffee you’ve ever had in your life.”

      That pulled a chuckle out of him, though it hurt clear to his knees to laugh. “The benefits are good enough to reverse your stance on making a man coffee, huh?”

      “I cannot believe there wasn’t a picket line of your ex-lovers at the courthouse the day we got married.”

      Yeah, he knew a trick or two about pleasuring a woman, and his genuine enjoyment of it helped, but this was a far cry from how he normally went about it. Nothing about this affair with Cia remotely resembled how he normally interacted with a woman.

      How did he explain that to her when he didn’t get it, either?

      “You’re funny. There are more women who would be happy to read my obituary notice than would be upset I married you.”

      She snorted. “I doubt that. But as your wife, I believe I have the right to claim a few privileges.”

      If he breathed through his mouth, he couldn’t smell her lotion anymore, and the lack eased the pain a tiny bit. “Yeah? Like what?”

      “Like the right to say it’s later.”

      Without another word, she flipped and crawled on top of him, sliding up the length of his body, hot as a lava flow, and whipping his crushing need into a frenetic firestorm.

      Her eyes were so dark, they were almost black. They met his with thirst in their depths. The evidence of her desire lanced through his gut.

      Her mouth fit to his, pulling on his lips and sucking his tongue forward. A guttural moan wrenched free from his throat, and she absorbed it into the heat of her kiss. He flung his arms around her and bound her to his chest, desperate to keep her in place.

      The things this woman did to him. It defied description. Thankfully, she’d agreed to exorcise this wicked draw between them by acting on it instead of pretending it didn’t exist.

      Long dark hair fell into his face, trailing along his fevered skin, sensitizing it and begging for attention. He wound it up in a fist and guided her head to the side, lips following the line of her neck with fierce suction, laving her skin with his tongue, crazy with the craving to taste her.

      Lime and coconut invaded his senses, both curse and cure, snaking through his head like a narcotic, heightening the wild lust.

      Her body covered his, scalding breasts flat against his chest, her hands shoved in his hair, fingers sparking where she touched his scalp. One leg straddled him, opening her up. Her hips gyrated and tilted her center against his throbbing tip. Damp heat flared out, enveloping him, and his eyes glazed.

      Now. The keening scream exploded in his head as she dragged her slick center up the length of his erection.

      “Wait,” he bit out, with no idea whether he was talking to her or his questing hips, which had a mind of their own.

      He stretched out a hand to fumble with the drawer knob on the bedside table, shifting her center. Should have already had a foil packet under the pillow, top torn off. Fingers closed over the box and an eternity later, he unrolled the condom.

      The second he was sheathed, Cia wiggled back into place atop him, nudged him once and impaled herself to the hilt with a feminine gasp.

      His eyelids snapped shut as he filled her. His body shrieked to start pumping, but he forced himself to give her a minute to adjust.

      Amazing. So tight. He pulsed as she stretched to accommodate him. Stretched perfectly, just enough, just right. Experimentally, she slid up and back down, rolling her pelvis, driving him home.

      Home. A place for him. Only him.

      He echoed her hip thrusts and heaviness built upon itself, spiraling higher and energizing him to move faster and faster.

      “Lucas,” she breathed. “I … Will you, um, look at me? I like it when you watch me.”

      He worked his lids open and greedily soaked in the visual perfection of the female form astride him. Why had his eyes been closed this whole time? The empowerment, the sheer magnificence, plastered across her face forced all the air from his lungs in a hard whoosh.

      He’d done that for her. Unleashed her desire from its boundaries and allowed her free rein to take pleasure from his body, exactly as he’d insisted.

      And she was taking it. Acknowledging it. Returning it tenfold. It was unbelievably hot.

      Her torso undulated in a primal dance, nipples peaked and firm atop alabaster breasts. She threw her head back, plunging him deeper, and long hair brushed his thighs.

      Sparkling pressure radiated from his groin. Willing it back, he clamped a hand on her thigh, trying to slow her wanton thrusts, but she bucked against him and the tightness shoved him to the very edge.

      He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t wait for her.

      But then she came apart and the shock waves blasted down his length, triggering his release. Their simultaneous climaxes fed each other, like oxygen to a flame, dragging out the sensations and flooding his whole body with warmth.

      Flooding his body with something else, something nameless and heavy and powerful.

      With a sated moan, she collapsed against him, nestling into the hollow of his shoulder, and he gripped her close, absorbing every last bit of warmth, too lost in the lush, thick haze of Cia to move. They were still joined, and he basked in a thrilling sense of triumph.

      Only with him could Cia be like this.

      Now would be an excellent time to put distance between them. But he couldn’t find the energy. Couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t all that interested in distance when he knew he should be. Never had sex been like that, a frantic and mindless rush toward completion.

      Completion, not release. Even this—especially this—was bigger, stronger and more meaningful with Cia.

      He’d proven something to himself, all right. Something earthshaking. Something fearsome. This wasn’t casual sex between two people. He’d been making love to his wife.

Nine

      In the morning, Cia woke half-buried under Lucas, and it made her smile. One heavy arm pinned her to his chest and his legs tangled with hers, trapping her bottom against his abdomen. His heat at predawn was delicious, warming her sore and stretched body.

      It had been a while. Since college, back when she’d still been convinced the right man’s love would heal her. All she’d done was prove sex didn’t equal love, and both were ingredients in the recipe to misery.

      If her high school days had resembled most red-blooded Americans’, she might have figured out how to handle relationships then, instead of lumbering into her mid-twenties without a clue. Now she finally got it.

      As long as she divorced sex from emotion and commitment, no problem. Divorce rocked.

      She unscrambled their limbs without waking him and slipped out of bed to head for a much-needed hot shower. It probably wouldn’t have taken any effort at all to nudge Lucas into semiawareness and then take shameless advantage of him, but she was anxious to get to the shelter. A part of her hoped Pamela would still be there, but in her heart, she knew better. Regardless, the other women would need someone to talk to.