The Prince

“I love you, Wes.” She said the words simply and Wesley could reply in only one way.

He pushed inside her.

For years he’d dreamed of this moment, dreamed of joining his body with hers. And now she surrounded him, enveloped him in her warm, wet heat. So complete…he felt so complete inside her. Inside Nora…Wesley was inside Nora. I am inside Nora... The words echoed through his mind, the idea as potent as the reality.

He thrust deep into her, not able to stop himself from burrowing in as far as he could and wrapping as much of her around him as possible. Nora arched on the table, her back lifting off the white wood.

Stunned by the shock of sensation, Wesley nearly forgot he was supposed to move. But the intense undulations of Nora’s hips urged him on, and he began to thrust—slowly at first, and when she moved—no, writhed under him—he began to push harder into her.

“God…Nora,” was all he could gasp. He had no other words. God and Nora. They became the same person at that moment. He worshipped at the altar of her body and for a moment he felt the power of their union as a communion.

Nora wrapped her legs around his back, bringing him even closer into her, even deeper. Trapped in the circle of her legs, Wesley could only make short, sharp thrusts that brought him to the edge. But he was no kid—twenty years old, he scolded himself. He would make this last longer than five minutes if it killed him. And it just might kill him.

Deliberately, he slowed his breathing, looked past her br**sts, her body, and out onto the rolling acres, black and silent under the shroud of night. He studied the fireflies as they illuminated that darkness like tiny earthbound stars. He breathed in and inhaled the pungent scent of the pond in August. Calmer now, he brought his gaze back to Nora—to the smile that swept across her face, through her eyes—and down to where their bodies joined together. He had to look, had to watch himself moving in and out of her. But only for a second or two. If he watched any longer, he’d…

With his eyes shut tight and a desperate, near-silent gasp, Wesley came inside Nora.

He nearly collapsed on top of her from the force of the orgasm her body had wrenched from him.

“Father of Mercy,” Nora said, raising her head and wrapping her arms around him. She held him close to her and ran her hands through his hair. Her touch felt almost motherly then—the way she cradled him to her chest so he could hear her heart beating so wildly under his ear. Wildly…his Nora did have a wild heart. And he knew this one act with her hadn’t tamed it. Nothing would ever tame it, and for that he loved her even more.

“Are you praying? Is that a Catholic thing?” Wesley grinned against her skin as Nora stroked his hair and ran her fingernails lightly over his shoulders. He’d never felt anything like this before…this simple peace. Nothing felt wrong about this moment, nothing dirty or sinful, even as he lay on her with his body still embedded deep inside hers. “Praying after sex? I mean, making love?”

“Catholics tend to use the Lord’s name in vain whenever appropriate. Having a virgin come inside you so hard you feel it qualifies as an appropriate moment.”

Her words sounded hoarse and breathy, as if she’d been running or something equally absurd. He loved that he’d done that to her voice, changed the whole tenor of it. Already he wanted to do it again.

“You felt it?”

She bit her bottom lip and nodded slowly. “And that takes some doing, kid. So congrats. That was borderline hurricane-force ejaculation.”

Wesley slapped a hand over his face and groaned. He slowly pulled out of her. If he could, he would have stayed inside her all night.

“I don’t think the heroines in the romance novels are supposed to say ‘hurricane-force ejaculation.’ Not that I’ve read a lot of them.”

Nora kissed the top of his head as she pried his hand off his face.

“Let me tell you a little secret...” She held him by the chin and turned his eyes up to her. “I’m no romance-novel heroine. I might even be the villain.”

“Good. The villains are more interesting than the heroes, anyway. And I don’t want to be anybody’s hero.”

She smiled at him and he saw something strange in her eyes, something that didn’t belong there—sadness.

“Talel’s horse got murdered today, and I have the evidence. And neither of us is doing a goddamn thing about it. Safe to say neither of us is the hero here.”

Nora kissed the top of his head and lay back down on the table. Wesley caressed her face, her lips, stroked the line of her body from neck to waist and back again. He grew hard simply from touching her, from watching the little smile on her face broaden even as she kept her eyes closed. Gathering her to him, Wesley pushed into her again. Nora wrapped her arms around his back and buried her head against his chest. There. Right there. That was where she belonged, safe in his arms. And he was where he belonged…inside her. Their lips met as he pushed slowly deeper and deeper.

Her words stung—neither one of them heroes. He had to be a hero for her. He wished the world still had dragons so he had something to slay for her. He ached to prove himself to her, to prove his worth. And if the death of Talel’s horse had hurt her, he would make it right. For her. For them.

Against his chest, Nora released a raspy breath. He’d waited three years to hear that sound, the sound of her shivering with the pleasure his body gave hers. Three years. Twenty years. It had been worth the wait.