Chapter 4: First Light Claiming
The first thing Kairo became aware of was the weight and warmth of her. Sometime in the deep, silent hours before dawn, Brielle had turned. Her back was no longer a tense line against him. Now, her front was pressed to his side, one arm draped over his waist, her face buried in the hollow of his throat. His own hand had slipped beneath the waistband of her silk shorts in sleep, his palm cradding the full, bare curve of her ass, skin to skin.
He didn’t move. He just breathed her in, the sleep-sweet scent of her hair, the soft jasmine of her lotion. Her breath was a steady, warm rhythm against his collarbone. This was new. This surrender in unconsciousness. It unspooled something tight in his chest.
He shifted his thumb, a slow, barely-there stroke against the silk of her skin.
She made a soft sound, a murmur, and nuzzled closer, her lips brushing his neck.
That did it.
A current, hot and immediate, shot through him. He turned his head, found her mouth in the semi-darkness, and kissed her.
It wasn’t planned. It was a reflex, a claiming of the offering she’d made in her sleep. His lips were insistent, parting hers with a gentle pressure that quickly deepened. She was soft, pliant with sleep for a moment, then she woke within the kiss. He felt the exact second consciousness returned—a slight stiffening, then a melting, her mouth opening under his, her tongue tentatively meeting his.
It was sweet, and deep, and for several long, breathless minutes, there was only the sound of their breathing and the slide of lips. His hand flexed on her ass, pulling her tighter against his hip.
She broke the kiss with a gasp, her eyes wide in the grey light. “Kairo… what are we doing?”
He chased her mouth, brushing his lips against hers. “Making out with my wife.” He said it simply, a faint, rough amusement in his voice. He kissed her again, swallowing her next protest, and this time, she let him. She let him roll her onto her back, let his large body settle over hers, a welcome weight. She let him kiss her until her hands came up to tangle in his dreads, until her hips arched up off the mattress seeking his.
Between kisses, he rid her of the camisole. It was a swift, efficient motion. The silk shorts followed, eased down her legs and discarded over the side of the bed. The morning air kissed her skin, but his gaze was warmer. He looked at her, sprawled naked beneath him, her curls a dark fan across his pillows, and something primal and satisfied stirred in his gut.
“I owe you more than words,” he murmured, his voice gravelly with want. He kissed down her throat, over the rapid flutter of her pulse, down the slope of her breast. He took a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue until she cried out, her back bowing. “Gonna apologize properly.”
He continued his descent, a trail of open-mouthed kisses and nipping teeth over the soft plane of her stomach, the dip of her navel. He hooked his hands under her knees, spreading her, putting her on display. He went still.
In the cool morning light filtering through the curtains, she was glistening for him. Completely bare, pink and wet and his. He leaned in, close enough that his breath stirred the delicate skin of her inner thighs. He inhaled, a long, deliberate drag.
A low growl vibrated in his chest, pure, unadulterated male approval. “Fuck, Brielle. You smell like heaven.”
“Kairo, wait—” Her hands flew to his shoulders, pushing weakly. “This… we shouldn’t cross—”
He didn’t let her finish. He dove in.
The first swipe of his tongue had her screaming, her hands fisting in his hair not to push him away, but to hold on. He was thorough, and skilled, and relentless. He learned her rhythms quickly, the places that made her legs shake, the spot that made her sob his name. He built her up with lips and tongue and the gentle scrape of his teeth, his hands pinning her hips to the bed when she tried to buck away from the overwhelming sensation. He drank from her, savoring every salty-sweet drop, until her climax tore through her, a silent, shuddering wave that left her limp and gasping.
He kissed his way back up her body, his own need a painful, urgent pressure. He settled between her thighs, the broad head of his cock nudging at her entrance. He was slick with her.
She stopped him, a hand on his chest, her face flushed with pleasure and something else—embarrassment. She couldn’t meet his eyes. “Kairo… I need to tell you something.”
He stilled, searching her face. “Tell me.”
“I’ve never… No one has ever…” She swallowed, her voice a whisper. “I’m a virgin.”
The air left his lungs. He stared down at her, at the beautiful, nurturing woman he’d married for a contract, who baked cookies for his sons and bore his temper with quiet strength. He’d assumed… it didn’t matter what he’d assumed. This changed everything.
A tremor, profound and possessive, shook through his frame. He lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her with a tenderness that bordered on reverence. “You’re telling me,” he whispered between kisses, “that no man has ever smelled this,” a kiss to her jaw, “tasted this,” a kiss to her throat, “or been inside this pussy?” His voice dropped to a husky rasp.
“No,” she breathed, her brown eyes finally finding his. “Not until now. Not until you.”
A sound, almost a groan, escaped him. He kissed her deeply, pouring a tumult of emotion into it—shock, a fierce, blazing pride, a protectiveness so sharp it was violent. “Good,” he said, the word final.
He positioned himself again, and this time, he pressed forward. Slowly. An inexorable, stretching invasion. Her breath hitched, a sharp intake of pain. He paused, letting her adjust to the feel of him, just the tip nestled within her tight, virgin heat.
“That means this,” he whispered, sliding another devastating inch, “is my pussy, baby. All mine.”
She whimpered, nails digging into his biceps.
“It’s okay,” he soothed, kissing her lips, her cheeks, where a tear escaped. “Open up for me. Welcome daddy home.”
He felt it the moment she yielded, a conscious relaxation beneath him. He sank deeper, swallowing her pained cries with his mouth, murmuring nonsense against her lips. “Almost there, sweet girl. It’ll feel better soon, I promise. Just take all of me.”
And then he was there, fully sheathed, buried to the hilt in her clinging, virgin warmth. He held perfectly still, sweat beading on his brow from the effort. He lowered his head to her breast, sucking gently, worshipfully, as her inner muscles fluttered around him, adapting. He felt the exact moment the sharp edge of pain began to blur, to morph into something else. A fullness. A stretching pleasure.
“That’s it,” he coaxed, beginning to move. A slow, rocking withdrawal and push. “Look at you. Taking me so good.”
A broken moan was her answer. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper.
The pace was agonizingly slow, a long, deep claiming. With each stroke, the last of her tension melted away, replaced by a dawning, wondrous pleasure. He watched it bloom on her face.
“You feel that?” he grunted, his control fraying. “You feel how good we fit?”
“Yes,” she gasped, her hips rising to meet his. “Kairo… don’t stop.”
“Wasn’t planning to.” He shifted his angle, hitting a spot that made her eyes fly wide. “This pussy was made for me. Waiting for me. Say it.”
“It was waiting for you,” she repeated, a fevered, honest confession. “Only you.”
That undid him. His thrusts lost their measured rhythm, becoming harder, faster, driving them both toward the edge. The dirty talk dissolved into guttural sounds, her pleas, his name a prayer on her lips. When she came, it was with a silent, shuddering cry, her body clamping around him like a vise. The sensation ripped his own release from him, a roaring tide as he plunged deep and spilled into her, filling her, marking her as his in the most fundamental way.
He collapsed onto her, careful to keep his weight on his forearms, his face buried in her hair. Their hearts hammered a frantic, synchronized rhythm against each other. The room smelled of sex and sweat and them.
He didn’t move for a long time. He just breathed her in, feeling the reality of it settle into his bones. His wife. His virgin wife. His.
Finally, he rolled, taking her with him, keeping her connected to him. She curled into his side, her body boneless, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. The silence between them was different now. Not empty, but full. Charged.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Breakfast is gonna be late,” he said, his voice rough with satiation.
He felt her smile against his skin. “The boys will survive.”
Yeah, he thought, his arms tightening around her. They all would.