It was over almost before it began, the tightness diminishing, then disappearing as quickly.
Nick was looking at her curiously. “Did you just cl**ax?”
“I…I think so. A little.” She could feel herself blush. She wasn’t sure. “Can we turn out the light, please? I’m embarrassed.”
“No need to be embarrassed. Nothing should embarrass a man and a woman when they make love.”
“The light, Nick. Please.”
“No, I want to see you. I need to see you, sweetheart. All of you.” And with that he took the hem of her nightgown and lifted it over her head.
Lamplight shone through the room, showing her na**d body to him for the first time. “Beautiful,” he murmured, reaching out and resting the palm of his hand on her stomach, leaving it there as if soaking up the touch of her skin. Her pulse shimmied through her veins, building anticipation. She wanted him to touch her more.
So much more.
Instead he leaned down and placed his lips against her there and just as she recovered from the shock of it, he gave a deep groan and pushed himself off the bed.
Her gasp was not because he’d left her, but because he was shrugging out of his bathrobe. In the blink of an eye her focus was on him, her sensibilities shocked at seeing a man in his full glory for the first time. Transfixed, she reached out to touch him. She could see her hand shaking but once she slid around him, he was her rock.
The air grew thick.
“Sasha,” he said in a guttural voice.
She thrilled to the sound of him, to the sight of him, and now if she could just keep on…
“I need to touch you, Nick.”
He made a low sound deep in his throat and that was all the encouragement she needed. Tentatively she ran the tip of her finger over the head of his erection. She wanted to see what power she had over him.
He jerked. “No more,” he growled and took her hand off him, twisting away to take a condom out of the bedside drawer and roll it on himself, entrancing her by his very masculine action. She’d read about all this in magazines, but the reality was overwhelmingly intimate.
“Slide over,” he ordered, and he joined her on the bed, where he grasped her waist and rolled her on top of him.
She felt a rush of heat at the full length of his body against her own for the first time, and the feel of his hands cupping her bottom.
Their eyes met.
She wanted to look away but couldn’t. Not when she could feel that curl starting in her toes again, making her want to tighten her legs and grind herself against him.
Suddenly he rolled her over and slid on top of her like he was meant to be there. And then he nudged her legs apart and pushed inside her a little.
She winced at the slight pain.
He stilled, his eyes widening in shock. “You’re a virgin?”
She wanted to deny it. Wanted to say that she was experienced so he would keep making her feel this way. Only she couldn’t lie.
“Yes.”
He swore but amazingly didn’t pull out. He took a deep breath and then began to move slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. Carefully he filled her, and when he was fully inside her he stopped.
“Okay?” he asked hoarsely.
She nodded, too emotional to be able to speak. Nick had made her a woman.
His woman.
He began to move, and the world faded away. No one else existed, and nothing mattered. It was just the two of them, and when she cl**axed Nick followed, and they came together in their own private world.
After Nick returned from the bathroom he sat on the bed and took her hands in his. “Why?”
Sasha swallowed. “Why didn’t I tell you? You said it would make a difference and I…well…I wanted you to make love to me.”
His mouth softened with tenderness. “You silly goose. The difference would have been in the way I made love to you, not in whether I made love to you at all.”
“Oh.”
“Your first time needs to be handled gently.” A moment later he grimaced.
She saw the hint of regret in his eyes. “Nick, you were very gentle with me. Thank you.”
He kissed her briefly. “Thank you for saying that.” Then he leaned back with a penetrating look in his eyes that made her uneasy. “I seem to remember you telling me that you’d slept with Randall Tremaine.”
She’d been prepared for this.
“Yes, I did say that. But I was eighteen, and I didn’t want you thinking our kiss meant anything to me so…” she lifted one shoulder in a shrug, “I made it up.”
“You were saving face?”
“Yes.”
He considered her. “Why haven’t you ever slept with anyone?”
“Perhaps I wanted to save myself for my husband.”
A tic beat in his jaw. “And I’ve taken that away from you.”
“No!” She swallowed, feeling bad for him. “Nick, look, we’ve both lost a lot of things from this marriage but we’ve gained some things, too. I’m glad you were my first, okay?”
His gaze took on a piercing look that held hers for long moments. Then just as quickly it changed to a sensual warmth that made her heartbeat stutter.
He got off the bed and scooped her from the sheets. “Nick! Where are you taking me?”
“To the shower.”
She didn’t ask why. It became obvious when he stood her in the cubicle and began to wash her with tenderness and care, and with a gentleness that almost brought tears to her eyes. This rich, arrogant playboy had a capacity for caring she hadn’t really expected.
Then his hand and fingers replaced the soap, creating a lather that had nothing to do with bathing and everything to do with making love.
Four
F or a moment Nick was confused when he woke up the next morning. He could hear car doors shutting and voices talking, and usually he didn’t hear those sorts of noises from his tenth-floor apartment in the city.
Then he remembered.
He was married now. And this wasn’t his apartment. He was at the Valente estate and the sounds he heard were the caterers clearing up the last of the wedding reception.
Sasha!
He lifted his head to find himself weighted to the bed by the na**d female sleeping against his chest. He looked down at the top of her blonde hair, and heat surged through his veins.
God, she’d been a virgin.
Amazingly there was something totally satisfying about knowing he was the only man to ever touch her like he had. Knowing he was the first man to be inside her like he’d been. He’d never thought he’d be the sort of guy who indulged in that sort of thing. He wasn’t usually some sort of he-man who beat his chest in triumph.