The Bride Who Wouldn't by Carol Marinelli

his chest tickling her lips. She wanted to kiss his chest yet she wanted to watch. Briefly, she tasted one flat nipple, and the sound of him moaning his approval as she sucked and licked had a pulse quivering between her legs, and so she sucked more. She liked the salty taste of him and the scent of him—the sensual sexy scent of him—and the sound of his hand and the feel of his tension building.
    His other hand moved from the curve of her hip, roaming her buttock as her own hand moved to his stomach, trailing the snake of hair.
    “Feel,” Isaak said halting, and she ran her fingers down his thick length and tried to imagine how she would ever get that inside, yet it felt alive—both hard and silk, and slowly she stroked it.
    He wanted to tell her to go harder, faster, yet he was locked in the bliss of her tentative hand on him and her slight startle as he started to drizzle pre-come.
    He turned and kissed her, and Kate felt his hand close over hers as his kiss deepened. How badly she wanted to see, yet she was locked in his kiss, a deep sexy kiss that felt as if he was swallowing her, his tongue taking her mind to between her legs as he turned to his side. Her leg moved over his thigh and she could feel him, stroking himself against her, and she pulled back a fraction.
    “I won’t,” Isaak breathed then returned to deep kisses. Kate was kissing him back but she wanted to correct him, for she knew that he could. She was open to the cock nudging at her entrance. She was trying to push down, to offer consent, to beg him to fill her, as Isaak resisted from doing just that, and then there was a low carnal moan from him that finished her and she arched in his arms, hot, sweating, alarmed by the intensity of her orgasm and the sudden still of Isaak. Even his tongue paused, and then he moaned again deep into her mouth, and she felt the jerk of him, the hot pulse of him showering her sex, and her receding come gathered and crashed back again as he stroked the last drops over her.
    “Isaak…” She didn’t know how to say how badly she’d wanted it, she just lay there, hot, sated, breathless as he massaged it in, and she lay there, eyes closed in pleasure as his fingers explored her, warm and wet from their intimate spilling, and she knew—Kate just knew—that soon they’d be lovers.
    It was what she wanted, Kate told herself as she lay in his arms.
    Yet why was she trying not to cry?

Chapter 13
    K ate awoke with Isaak spooned into her and she opened her eyes to the knowledge that last night had been foolish beyond belief.
    How to tell Isaak that she wasn’t even on the pill?
    She had been so adamant, so sure that the marriage would never be consummated. Kate wasn’t naive enough not to know that last night had crossed too many lines and as his mouth started nudging her shoulder, as she felt him stir into life, Kate knew that soon this marriage would be consummated.
    And then what?
    “I’m going to have a shower,” Kate said and moved from his embrace.
    In the bathroom, she pulled off her nightdress and jumped into the shower, wondering if last night could have consequences, if she should find a pharmacie but then what? She could barely order coffee in French, how the hell was she going to get the morning-after pill.
    Perhaps she should tell Isaak, but she could just imagine the roll of his eyes, or his hiss of irritation at her neurosis.
    She remembered his condom jibe, about it being nice to have a year off them, and Kate was suddenly doing her best not to cry as she stood in the shower, because she couldn’t hand herself over to him for a year—it wasn’t just her body that she’d be loaning out to him, but her heart.
    “It’s our last full day here,” Isaak said as she came out in her bathrobe. “And our last night.”
    “I know,” Kate said. She couldn’t believe it had gone so quickly, four days and nights had seemed like forever at first, but now their honeymoon was almost over, and suddenly it