Free Carides's Forgotten Wife by Maisey Yates

through her body. She gasped, and he began to carry her out of the room, carry her toward the bed.
    “The bath,” she said, feeling dazed.
    “I suppose we don’t want to cause a flood,” he said, depositing her at the center of the mattress and abandoning her as he went to turn the water off.
    She had a moment to rethink then. A moment to gather her thoughts. A moment to flee.
    She stayed where she was.
    He appeared a moment later, filling the doorway, his broad shoulders, heavily muscled chest and narrow waist so utterly masculine, so completely captivating, it stole her breath.
    And then there was the hard press of his erection against the front of his jeans. The absolute and complete evidence that he truly did want her.
    She bit her lip, nerves threatening to swamp her.
    “There’s that look again,” he said, his tone gentle. “Please don’t be afraid of me, agape .” He came to stand beside the bed, his hands on the snap of his jeans. “I only want to make you feel good. I want to make this a memory we share. I want... I want you to feel close to me.”
    She tried to speak. She tried to say that she wanted that, too. But she already did feel closer to him than she ever had. But she couldn’t form the words. She couldn’t make her voice work. Couldn’t force anything through the tightness of her throat.
    “Sometimes I wonder if you have lost your memory, as well,” he said, undoing his jeans then drawing the zipper down slowly.
    Her heart nearly stopped. “I haven’t. It’s just that... You’re different. This is different.”
    “I am sorry.” He pushed his jeans down his narrow hips, exposing his rigid arousal. He was so beautiful. So rampantly masculine. So...large.
    “For what?” She managed to scrape the words past her dry throat.
    “For the way I was.”
    He joined her on the bed then, closing the distance between them, drawing her naked body up against the length of his. His erection was hard, so very hot against her skin. It was unfamiliar. It was wonderful. He ran his hands over her curves, warm, large, soothing. She found that she wasn’t as nervous now.
    She just wanted. She was filled with a restless, overpowering ache that was threatening to unravel her completely. If she didn’t have more of him. More of this.
    “What do you like?” he asked, his voice a rich, deep whisper that whisked along her veins.
    “You,” she said, the deepest and starkest truth there was.
    “Surely you must like something specific.”
    “Everything you do. Everything you are. That’s what I want. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” The admission poured from deep inside of her. From deep within her soul. And she couldn’t be embarrassed.
    “You are too easy on me, I think. I think you should perhaps make me grovel. I think you should perhaps make me beg.” He leaned in, pressing a hot openmouthed kiss to her neck.
    “I’m the one that’s about to beg,” she said, her voice breathless.
    “There’s no need. I am at your mercy,” he said, “your willing slave.” He kissed a line down her neck, down to the curve of her breast, his breath hot across her sensitized nipples. Then he traced the outline of one tightened bud with his tongue before sucking her in deep. She gasped, arching up off of the bed, sensation shooting through her like an arrow, hitting its target unerringly.
    “You are very sensitive,” he said, his voice rough. A smile curved his lips. “And do not ask how I know you are particularly. I simply do.”
    She had not been about to ask him anything, if only because she felt as though her voice could no longer form words. Her brain certainly couldn’t muster up the amount of cells required to say anything. Indeed, sentence formation was beyond her. He had transformed her, transformed her into a creature of feeling and needing . Who could do nothing but simply wait for the next sensation to bombard her.
    Still, she managed to speak. “This has only made your arrogance worse, I