He accelerated toward his slayer, fast enough to blow her hair back and make her gasp, but he stopped just short of touching her. Instead of pinning her to the fire-warmed rug and consummating their marriage in an animalistic frenzy, he called on his reserve of restraint and molded his right hand to her hip, pulling her close and settling his lips against her forehead, gently swaying her side to side. “It’s not dancing in the street,” he said, calling back the wish she’d made before they’d left Brooklyn. “I’m not even sure it’s dancing, because I’m terrible at it.” They both laughed and the soft sound seemed to drift from a perfect dream. “Maybe you can teach me.”
There she was. The girl from Vegas looking up at him. Totally unfettered and free and refreshingly wild, lacking in sorrow or familial duty. Somehow he’d revived the happiness that had been drained out of her. No matter what happened from that moment forward, he would hold on to the way her eyes sparkled and her smile came so easy tonight, like it never left. He’d hold on to the fact that he’d done something to make that happen and he’d be at peace.
Roksana locked her wrists behind his neck, her expression bursting with lightness. Enjoyment. Of this. Of them. “Don’t sound so worried, husband. You are going to love the way I dance.”
“Am I?”
“Da.” Her head fell forward on a laugh. “I was going to tease you for dancing like we’re in church, but it’s kind of nice, you know. We are leaving room for Jesus.”
“Uh-uh.” He tickled her ribs. “Show me your way.”
“Are you sure?” She went up on her toes and whispered in his ear. “It’s very risky. Our private parts might touch.”
He trailed his open mouth along her bare shoulder. “I’ll chance it.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she hummed, twining her fingers in the hair at his nape, tiptoeing forward to lock her curves to his front. They both looked down as her tits plumped against his pecs, their moans joining together like an erotic refrain, Elias’s hands finding her ass, yanking her up and forward to secure them tightly together. “Move your body with mine,” she whispered, her eyelids fluttering. “Slow and easy.”
Elias rolled his hips, using his grip on her ass to work their lower bodies together and was rewarded by Roksana’s eyes going blank, her head falling back. He did it again, again, again, never speeding up or slowing down, his erection protruding from the V of his unzipped fly to grind against the mound between her thighs. “It’s a damn good thing we kept this wedding reception private.”
He felt her carefree giggle in every corner of his body, his heart slamming into his jugular when she lifted her head, letting him see her flushed, lust-dazed expression. “We would have had a party to remember, though. The first vampire-slayer wedding in history.” She gave a happy sigh. “Think of the fights.”
He shivered. “I’m thinking of Tucker’s best man speech.”
With a laugh bubbling from her lips, she took hold of his collar and pulled herself higher against his body, both of them groaning when she wrapped her legs around his hips, his fingers biting into the flesh of her backside, riding her up and down. “If we do a honeymoon, I guess a beach is out of the question.”
Elias raked his teeth down the side of her neck, the energy between them changing, growing more desperate as she started to pump her hips, creating the kind of friction on his cock that he wouldn’t be able to withstand for long. Not without coming. “Does that bother you? Not being able to be with me in the sun?”
“Are we not in the sun?” His wife breathed against his lips. “I didn’t notice.”
He dropped to his knees and pitched forward slowly, laying his slayer down on the rug, his heart sprinting a thousand miles an hour. “My God, you are beautiful.” His mouth suctioned to hers, pulling deeply, giving her a thorough lick of his tongue. “I can’t believe you willingly bound yourself to me. I can’t believe this is real. Tell me it’s real.”
“It’s real,” Roksana said in a shaky voice, her back arching as Elias began kissing a path down the center of her chest, lapping at each nipple reverently, before traveling lower, past her navel to the wet folds he’d been salivating for since the too-brief moments he’d had his mouth between her legs, last time they were in Moscow.
Laying a kiss at the top of her slit, he breached her with his middle finger, plunging it deeply, gently, drawing her moisture back out and spreading it through the slick valley of her flesh. “Should I pick up where I left off?”
“I won’t mind if you start all over again,” she gasped, clawing the rug on either side of her hips. “D-da. Take it from the top, husband.”