Despite the unshakable attraction between them, Maeve and Lucian are uninterested in love and marriage; especially since they hate one another and couldn't think of a worse match.
• • •
London, 1815
Maeve Langston's aversion to the opposite sex has...
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Regardless of how much she wanted him inside of her intimacy, Maeve couldn't help but recoil at the sharp pain that pierced through her when he reached deeper. He was incredibly gentle and tender, but her body was fighting his intrusion against her own will.
"No, Maeve... Stay relaxed," he whispered, kissing her thoroughly. She imagined he was trying to distract her, and she welcomed it, focusing on his tongue unabashedly grazing against hers instead of the spot where their body joined.
It worked and her intimate muscles loosened, allowing him to breach deeper. He looked down between them, and she did the same, curious to see how much of it was inside of her now. Shock spread through her mind upon seeing only three inches were filling her. It felt like so much more than that. He pressed further, delicate, and she bit her lower lip to muffle the moan of discomfort it triggered.
Dear God, she'd never be able to take him whole. Barely a third of him was in, and she couldn't imagine the rest would find room in her recalcitrant flesh. Determined to take more, he pushed in another inch, steadily, and she whimpered at the pressure, pressing her forehead in the sweaty crook of his neck.
"I am sorry, swan, I wish I could do this without hurting you."
"It doesn't hurt that much," she pretended with a brave smile.
Lucian pushed one more inch in after retreating slightly, and she cried, her hands flying to his chest to push him away. It was evident he hated to be the cause of her discomfort, and with a groan, he carefully pulled out, about to give up.
"No, don't stop!" she begged, grabbing his firm behind with both hands to press him back onto her. "The pain will pass."
Grabbing her jaw, he forced her to look into his eyes. There was something soft in his green irises, a tenderness she hadn't seen much from him. Slowly, his hips started a slow roll, conquering her with delicate nudges.
"When I was away, you were all I could think of," he told her. "Even in the middle of a war, you were the only thing on my mind. My darling, ever since I met you, three years ago, you have been in my dreams, in my thoughts... I would have never imagined being here one day, deserving your affections."
As he was speaking, he was pushing himself in, more and more, with the smallest thrusts, subduing her virginal tightness. His words worked wonders at distracting her, and when she looked down to check his advance, she noted that well over half of him had entered her. A moan that had nothing to do with pain escaped her lips when he retreated to gently push back into her. Clearly, he was doing something right, and the pleasure of his intrusion was already surpassing the pain.
"I cannot tell you how many times I have imagined this, being inside of you, how many dreams I have had of this, then waking up hard, needing you."
By the end of his lustful declaration, he was fully buried in her, his entire length having miraculously found room in her silky channel. The hair on his lower abdomen had met hers, and when she looked down again to glimpse at his shaft, she was delighted to witness the total union of their bodies, his hard flesh having entirely disappeared into her. Carefully, he attempted a few rolls of his hips, moving in and out, and she watched as his thick girth appeared and vanished between them.
