Annabelle made a pleading sound and took hold of his hand, trying to bring it between her thighs. Resisting with a quiet laugh, Simon pinned both of her wrists over her head and settled his mouth on hers. He sensed her surprise at being restrained, and the response that followed, her eyes closing and her breath striking his cheek in a faster rhythm. Maintaining the secure grip on her wrists with one hand, he slid his free hand along the front of her body, his fingertips circling the peaks of her br**sts. His own body was hard and hot with arousal, his muscles tight with coiling need. In all his experience with lovemaking, he had never known such feverish absorption, all connection to the world outside completely severed so that he was occupied only with Annabelle…her delight fueling his…her quivering responses intensifying his own desire. Her mouth opened beneath his in trembling welcome, moans slipping from her throat as his penetrating kisses became more aggressively penetrating. He touched the crevice between her legs, loving the silky moisture of her flesh. Her body undulated upward, her h*ps tilting toward his hand, while her imprisoned wrists flexed in his grasp. Every writhing movement communicated her need to be taken and filled, and his body hardened to an exquisite degree as primitive hunger rushed through him.

Slowly he entered her with one finger, and she moaned against his mouth. Perceiving the increased pliancy of her flesh, he added another finger, caressing gently until she was swollen with arousal. As soon as he freed her mouth, she begged incoherently, “Simon, please…please, I need you…” She trembled all over as he withdrew his fingers. “No, Simon—”

“Shhh…” He grasped her knees and carefully pulled her across the bed. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of you…let me love you this way…” Bringing her h*ps to the edge of the mattress, he eased her over, until her pale bu**ocks were turned upward. He stood on the floor, positioning himself between her thighs, the rigid head of his c**k slipping easily into the slick entrance of her body. Grasping her h*ps firmly, he entered her in a long glide, not stopping until he was fully embedded. A flare of heat covered his entire body, as if he had stepped before an open furnace, and his groin tightened with an ache of lust that was nearly too acute to bear. He breathed in sharp pants, fighting to control the intensity of his desire before he unraveled completely. Annabelle lay passive and still on the mattress except for the clenching of her fingers against the counterpane. Afraid that he was causing her pain, Simon somehow managed to restrain his savage need long enough to bend over, and murmur hoarsely, “Sweetheart…am I hurting you?” The movement impelled him even deeper inside her, and she whimpered. “Tell me, and I’ll stop.”

She was slow to respond, as if it took her several seconds to comprehend the question, and when she replied, her voice was thick with pleasure. “No, don’t stop.”

He remained hunched over her, moving in deepseated nudges that caused her inner muscles to flex greedily around his hardness. His hands covered hers, fingers wrapping around her fists…a position that overpowered her completely, and yet he was not forcing his own rhythm on her. Rather, he was moving in response to the demands of her body, thrusting in complement to the pulsing grasp of her flesh…each time she tightened helplessly, he pushed farther, using himself to stroke and caress the depths of her. She hovered on the edge of a nerve-shattering release, and yet she couldn’t quite reach it, her breath coming in long gasps, her bottom pressing hard against his loins. “Simon…”

He reached beneath her, easily finding the place where she was stretched to accommodate him, and the tender hood above. Using his fingertip, he spread the warm moisture of her body over the engorged nub and manipulated it delicately, circling and stroking, varying his rhythms until he found one that made her cry out as she clamped tightly around him. She groaned as he thrust and stroked in tireless counterpoint, her back arched in ecstasy. The lush twisting and gripping of her body became too much for his overstimulated senses…he gasped with his own cl**ax, tunneling inside the sweetness of her flesh as relief roared through him in uncontrollable bursts.

The worst moment of their honeymoon came on the morning that Annabelle cheerfully told Simon that she thought the old saying was true—that marriage was the highest state of friendship. She had meant to please him, but Simon had reacted with bewildering hostility. Recognizing the well-known quote from Samuel Richardson, Simon had commented tersely that he hoped her literary taste improved, so as to spare him having to hear cheap philosophy garnered from novels. Stung, Annabelle had reacted with cold silence, unable to understand why her comment had provoked him so.

Simon stayed away for the entire morning and part of the afternoon, returning to find Annabelle playing cards with some other matrons in one of the hotel salons. Approaching the back of her chair, he rested his fingertips on the curve of her shoulder. She felt his touch through the corded silk of her dress, the sensation wrapping delicately around her nerves. Strongly tempted to prolong her wounded resentment, Annabelle thought briefly of shrugging off his hand. Instead, she told herself that it would cost her nothing to show him a little tolerance. Summoning a smile, Annabelle glanced up at him over her shoulder. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hunt,” she murmured, referring to him in the formal way that most married couples adopted in public. “I hope that you enjoyed your outing.” Impishly she showed him her cards. “Look at the hand I’ve been dealt. Do you have any helpful advice?”