Free The Water's Kiss by Harper Alibeck

thing to my father, but...” Her voice trailed off. Papa wanted too much. She shuddered at the thought of Celia’s marriage. Of Sara being forced to southern Europe. Of her maid Mary’s desperate fleeing of a husband who had total control over her. Why could she not choose her own fate? Evan was offering her the one chance to do so. To make the choice. To act, instead of being acted upon.
    “But it is the right thing to do, isn’t it?” he finished for her. His dark hair framed those bright, blue eyes that held an intensity she wanted to see every morning for the rest of her life.
    “Yes,” she whispered, reaching up to kiss him. “Being married off to the prince of a country that is younger than the very dress you just unbuttoned seems ridiculous,” she whispered.
    Rich laughter greeted her, the sound rising from Evan and then slowly winding down to a groan as Claire gave her maidenhead willingly to the man she had assumed, all these years, would take it, beneath the sounds and spray of the waterfall that had truly brought them together. With a leisure that belied the very public nature of their situation, Evan found his way to his own pants, releasing himself and exposing what seemed so...large. Foreign. Yet Claire wanted him in her, wanted desperately to experience the very essence of Evan, to be as attached as possible, to feel him in her bones and in her soul.
    He opened her legs, caressing her thighs until she ached for him, his hips aligning with hers, his hands roaming over her flesh, the feel of him over her like a protective cover of love. “Oh, Claire,” he murmured, her heat rising, her hips reaching for him as he slipped inside her, the pain not too much, but the sensation of being full, of completion, so great that tears filled her eyes.
    Favoring his injured leg ever so slightly, he moved within her, slowly, his mouth exploring hers as if he could love her physically, the press of flesh on flesh a tangible expression of emotions that had no words. Soon, a spark inside her grew into something more, a keen building like when she was under the waterfall, but this was shared with his body, her hands feeling the wide expanse of his back, sliding under his open shirt to touch as much of his hot skin, a slight sheen of sweat making her hunger for him more.
    “Ah, Evan, I’m yours,” she murmured, his breath hitching, his kiss bold and aggressive now, her mouth not a place to be journeyed but a land for him to conquer. She raised up one leg, improving the angle so swiftly she gasped, her hand grazing a long section of skin on his thigh that was hairless, her palm flattening against his great, twisted scar, her heart wishing to heal it fully.
    He inhaled, breath jagged and exerted, and soon he hissed, “My dear, I am – ” and he tensed, his hands wound in her hair, his thrusts short and deep, and her own air flew from her body in a great, clenched explosion that matched his, as if they had scratched out a new word for what they felt with their bodies.
    He collapsed onto her, then rolled slightly, still in her and still breathing hard, now kissing her neck, her shoulder, little touches that seemed to milk more of the feeling of floating, of timelessness, of complete abandon with the man she was meant to spend eternity with – or, at least, this lifetime. They had cemented that, she hoped – but as she came back to her thoughts, her mind filling with reality, she turned to him, his grin reflected in hers.
    “What if that did not work?” she asked, a teasing smile twitching her lips. Her fingers danced over his war injury now, curious. Brow furrowed, he studied her as she charted the terrain.
    “Then we must persevere. A warrior never backs down from a fight, Claire,” he answered. His face grew serious, one hand cupping her face, the other propping him up, shifting enough to make her comfortable yet still blanketing her body with his. “And you are the only thing worth fighting for, for me,