One to Take (One to Hold 8)

Stuart

Mariska’s tiny apartment wouldn’t have been my first choice for our wedding night, but her bridesmaids apparently sneaked in and transformed it into a resort escape. A silver bucket holds a bottle of champagne with two flutes on the counter in front of it, and tall candles in hurricane lanterns are arranged on every shelf and mantle.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Mariska sighs as we walk through the yellow light. “It’s going to take forever to blow them all out.”

“We’ll have to open a window.” Soft laughter, and I pull her into my arms.

Her small hands rest on my chest, and I want to kiss her long and hard before slipping her lace dress off her body.

“It was very thoughtful,” she says just before I claim those lips.

A breathy moan escapes her throat as I slide my hands up the material of her gown.

“This dress,” I say, stepping back to survey the filmy network of lace. “All I could think about was touching you in it.”

“That’s the point.” She steps into my arms, a naughty gleam in her eyes.

Cupping her breasts, I slide my thumbs over her nipples, feeling them peak just beneath the fabric. She hums a happy noise, and I trace my fingers higher, lifting the thin straps off her shoulders and guiding them down her arms. The entire garment drops away to the floor, and she stands before me in what I suppose are panties. It’s nothing more than a triangle of lace with tiny lines over her hips.

“Turn around.” My voice is low, and her eyes darken. She steps out of the gown, turning her back and looking over her shoulder. “Fuck me,” I hiss taking in the long sweep of her beautiful back, the curve of her ass, leading down to her long smooth legs.

My fingers work quickly to unfasten the buttons on my shirt. “Come here.”

She steps back, and her slim fingers join mine in removing the remainder of my clothes until at last we’re facing each other, nothing between us in the soft glow of candlelight. Her hair is loose, and she’s stopped straightening it. Now it hangs in gentle waves to the tops of her shoulders. I reach out to remove the white flower behind her ear.

Looking down at the bloom, I confess. “The scent of jasmine haunted me when we were apart. When the sun set, I could see your eyes…”

She steps forward and slides her hands around my waist before pressing her face to the center of my chest. I toss the flower aside and run my palms down the length of her back. Her soft lips press against my skin, and it’s enough.

In a sweep, she’s in my arms. She holds my neck, kissing me roughly, and I almost stumble on the short trip to her bedroom as my erection strains for her. Sheer netting is draped around the bed. I stop in front of it and lower her to stand while I rip back the thick white duvet. Then I sweep her up again and toss her to the center. She squeals a laugh, but my arms are around her thighs, dragging her to my mouth so I can slide my tongue down the center of her sex.

“Oh, god! Stuart!” she cries, slim fingers threading into my hair. Her hips rotate in time with my mouth, and I hold on, continuing the motion, tasting and teasing until I feel her legs break into shuddering jerks. Her back arches, and she releases a low moan. I move quickly up her slim body, kissing her stomach, tracing her small navel, cupping and squeezing her small breast before covering it with my mouth, giving her nipple a firm pull.

Her legs go around my waist and her hands are on my ass as I pull her to me. “I want you inside me,” she gasps, and in one swift thrust, I grant her request, groaning low at the sensation. Her swollen, wet heat massages my aching cock.

“Yes,” I groan, pulling back slightly and pushing deeper.

Her hands are on my shoulders now, and her lips are at my ear. “Harder,” she whispers, and I let go, grasping her hips as I work out my own orgasm.

The room recedes as traces of pleasure wind up my thighs like a vine. I’m chasing the explosion. It’s just in my grasp when she pulls my neck, rising up to nip my bottom lip with her teeth. I release with a groan and our mouths smash together, tongues entwining as we pulse back to Earth. Her fingers twine in my hair before tracing down my neck and back, and all I can do is hold her, buried deep inside, savoring the afterglow.

“Mm,” she sighs. “I love you, Mr. Knight.”

I turn and kiss the inside of her shoulder, across to her collarbone, and up to her chin. Our eyes meet, and I look deep into the golden hazel that entranced me from the beginning.

“I love you, Mrs. Knight.”

* * *

The sun is making its way toward the horizon as we drive the narrow, two-lane road into the middle of nowhere to the ranch. It’ll be setting in just a few hours, but we’ve got time to get home and unpack before it’s dark.

I consider as we cross the endless prairie all my preparations before returning to Princeton ended up being for Mariska and me this winter. I’d done all the chores, cut and cured firewood, and prepared the barn, tack, and horses so Bill wouldn’t be left struggling, and now my uncle says he’ll spend the winter in Chicago. I can’t help wondering if he planned it with this in mind.

&nbs

p; “I know we have the house to ourselves,” Mariska says, turning from looking out the truck window, “But I’d like to spend at least a few days in the cabin before it gets too snowy.

“We can do that.” I say, giving her a grin. I’ve got my straw cowboy hat on, and she’s back to flowing skirts and tiny tees. “I’d like to swim in the spring one more time.”