One Night Heir. Lucy Monroe

and frequently in the marriage bed.

      She didn’t say any of that, but concentrated on divesting him of his suit. He helped by toeing off his shoes and socks and yanking his dress shirt over his head once his tie had been loosened and the top few buttons undone.

      “Eager, aren’t you?” she teased.

      “You have no idea.” He nearly ripped her dress getting it off, her bra and panties disappearing with none of his usual finesse or time spent on visual appreciation for her preference for matching lace.

      They were naked moments later. He looked at her then, his brown eyes eating her up with hot hunger.

      She could feel her body’s response to that look, her nipples tightening even more than they already were, her inner walls contracting with the need to be filled by his hard sex.

      Heat suffused her from her toes all the way up her limbs, sending a blush of desire over her cheeks and shivers of emotionally laced physical need quaking through her.

      They’d barely touched and she wanted sex with this man in this moment more than she’d ever wanted anything or another man, Maks included. Knowing this intimacy was the prelude of a lifetime together increased her passion in ways she would never have expected.

      The expression in his eyes said he was similarly affected. Maks looked desperate with his need to be with her.

      Without thought, she stepped into his arms and it felt so right when he lifted her like a bride and carried her to the bed. He managed to yank back the covers and top sheet without dropping her.

      She helped by wrapping her arms around his neck. Not so helpful were the small, exploratory kisses she placed along his jaw and down his neck. She stopped to inhale where his neck met his shoulder.

      The subtle fragrance of his Armani cologne mixed with his own masculine scent triggering a reflexive response in Gillian’s core that she could not stop, even if she had wanted to. And she didn’t.

      She loved the feel of her body preparing itself for his possession, reveled in the reaction that was primal and visceral to things like his smell and as simple a touch as his hand brushing down her hip as he laid her on the mattress.

      “You are all that I want,” he whispered in her ear. “If only…”

      She didn’t know if only what. In that moment, could not begin to care. His hands were moving over her, bringing her pleasure unlike anything she’d ever known.

      Even at his touch.

      There was such profundity in that moment, she did not see how their wedding night could possibly be any better or more special.

      She touched him, too, mapping his body with her hands, loving the feel of his muscles, the tickle of his chest hair against her fingertips.

      This amazing man, who was literally a prince and business tycoon rolled into one, belonged to her and as difficult as she might find that to believe, the proof was in her position. Naked, in bed with him, free to caress his masculine body as she liked.

      “You and Demyan keep yourselves in amazing shape,” she opined happily.

      Maks’s face twisted at the mention of his cousin’s name. Another time she would have asked about that, but not tonight.

      What they were doing was too important. What she was doing was life-altering, especially if she could force those three all-important words out of her voice box.

      “Our sparring was rough today,” Maks said, as if he realized she might wonder at his reaction.

      She brushed her fingertip over a bruise she’d just noticed. “It looks like it.”

      “That is nothing,” Maks said with his typical arrogance and pride that would never admit Demyan may have gotten the better of him in the sparring ring.

      His cousin was hard to get to know, but the older man and Maks were close. She liked knowing he had a friend he could trust. Maks didn’t live in a world where trust or even trustworthiness came in great supply. Gillian understood that world; she’d been on the edges of it because of her father for her whole life.

      She leaned forward and kissed the discolored skin, then the area all around it.

      Maks groaned. “I like.”

      She knew he did. He loved being pampered, even in bed. He gave as good as he got, though, so she never minded giving either.

      He rolled her onto her back and came over her, his big body covering hers both sensually and protectively. Maks looked down into her eyes, his own dark with emotion. “You are so perfect for me. Too perfect.”

      She just shook her head. Didn’t he know there could be no too much about it?

      He kissed her like he didn’t want to discuss it. Like he couldn’t bear not kissing her one more second. Like she belonged to him wholly and completely.

      She kissed him back with her heart on her lips, because she did.

      He pressed her into the mattress, the kiss going on and on and on, increasing intensity with every passing minute until the fire blazing between them was plasma hot.

      All thought and feeling outside the pleasure their bodies brought to one another disintegrated in its path.

      Wanting him inside her, now, Gillian spread her legs in invitation.

      Instead of accepting, Maks moved back, breaking the kiss. “Not yet.”

      “Yes,” she demanded.

      But he shook his head, the expression in his eyes both feral and intense. He began to touch her again, this time with the clear and express purpose of driving her insane with delight.

      He found the spot on her foot that made her shiver with need and the area of her inner thigh that made her ache to be filled. He caressed the curve of her waist and moved up to give careful attention to her breasts, licking and laving, kneading and playing until her nipples hurt with the need to be touched, too.

      Only then did he put his mouth over one engorged tip and bite lightly.

      She cried out, a mini orgasm going off inside her.

      He let out a dark chuckle and sucked her nipple while her body writhed under him of its own volition. He pinched her other nipple between his thumb and forefinger before brushing it featherlightly with his thumb. He did this over and over again as she moaned for more.

      She was begging with her body and a few inarticulate “Pleases” by the time he pressed her thighs wide and surged inside her without a condom for the first time.

      The thought they could be making a child increased her ecstasy to the point that her entire body convulsed with climax on his first initial thrust.

      He didn’t slow down and she didn’t ask him to. He kept surging in and out of her, building pleasure that never actually slipped into lassitude until she came for the second time, her contractions so harsh, the rigidity of her body thrust him upward.

      He never lost his position inside her, though, and shouted with pure male triumph when he came.

      He looked down at her, his expression so intent, it sent aftershocks quivering through her. “Thank you.”

      She shook her head, no words coming out. Not even the three she wanted so badly to say, but then maybe they weren’t necessary. After that, he had to know how she felt. She had no doubts about his feelings for her. A man could not make love to a woman with that level of passion and feel none of the finer emotions.

      “I should have asked. About the condom.”

      “No. It’s all right.” They didn’t need barriers between them.

      He nodded, his expression somber as he moved to lie beside her. “I would like to spend the night. May I?”

      “Yes.” She wasn’t sure why he felt the need to ask, but then maybe it was that