“I can take care of that,” he assured her and began shrugging out of his frock coat.
She shook her head and advanced on him. “Oh, no. I demand to take part.”
Well, he couldn’t very well argue with that, could he? He allowed her to remove the coat and then his waistcoat. She undid the buttons of his shirt and untucked it from the waist of his breeches, but he had to help her draw it over his head. His cock was hard and aching by the time she finished, her apple-and-cut-grass scent mingling with the unmistakable musk of female arousal in his nostrils. He felt like a bull in rut. But she didn’t immediately move to release him, curse her. Instead, she traced her fingers over the muscles of his chest, grazing his nipples with her thumbs. He clenched his teeth.
“You are more muscular here than I remember,” she mused.
Swallowing a groan, he said, “When I missed you, I exercised.” He grasped her wrist and brought her hand to his mouth, kissing her palm before flicking his tongue against is center. “And I missed you a lot.”
After that, the remainder of his clothing—and hers—came off with remarkable alacrity. When they were both naked, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, a tall, four-postered affair with pretty spring-green curtains embroidered with tiny pink flowers and a matching coverlet. Fortunately, she had thought ahead on this point at least, and the bedclothes were turned back so he could deposit her directly on the sheets and follow her down, their mouths joining in a carnal dance. The stiff peaks of her nipples pressed against his chest as he rolled her beneath him.
Her hands went everywhere, reacquainting herself with the terrain of his body in swift, greedy strokes—his hair, his neck and shoulders, his biceps and forearms and finally his back and arse. Heat exploded in his loins as she arched and adjusted her hips until the head of his cock was pressed against the folds of her sex. She was soft and warm and very, very wet.
“I do not think I can wait to have you inside me.” She sighed. “Inside my pussy,” she clarified. “I feel as though I have been waiting forever for that.”
God, so did he, but he did not want to move too quickly, to hurt her more than necessary in his eagerness to complete the act. “Are you sure you are ready? I had thought to make you come at least once before—”
She pressed two fingers to his lips to silence him. “You can make me come a dozen times later. But what I want now is to feel you inside me. Where you belong.”
Her plea hit him squarely in the solar plexus. Yes, he belonged inside her. But also beside her, near her, around her, against her. Always. And somehow, through some remarkable twist of fate, he would never have to leave her. He was the luckiest man alive. “You are a persuasive woman.” Bracing himself on his forearms, he kissed her again, reveling in the taste and texture of her lips, her mouth, her tongue. His heart thudded in his ears when he raised his head. “This will probably hurt,” he told her gently.
“I know. I do not care.”
He shifted back onto his knees and looked down at the glistening pink folds of her pussy, adjusting his position and hers until he was satisfied with their bodies’ alignment. His eyes damn near rolled back in his head at the hot, wet feel of her flesh against the engorged head of his cock. Hoping to minimize her discomfort, he eased in, his breath coming in hard, rough pants of effort. And then, with a suddenness that caught him utterly unawares, Sabine grasped his buttocks in her hands and thrust her hips upward while pulling him down at the same time, taking a full two-thirds of his length into her tight passage in one motion.
Her eyes flew open, and she gasped a little “Oh” of pained surprise. Thomas held himself ruthlessly still, despite the way the fluttering contractions of her inner muscles seemed to demand that he move. Caught in paradise and the seventh circle of hell at the same time. He waited and watched as the tension of discomfort eased from her face and became tension of a different sort. Her fingers dug into his arse, and she shifted restlessly beneath him. “I am ready for you to fuck me now, husband,” she said in her sweetly accented, dirty English.
“As you wish, wife,” he replied, and the word wife had never felt more pure or perfect on his tongue.
He started by drawing back and then thrusting once, twice, three times until at last he was seated to the balls inside her. Then he began to move in earnest. She caught the rhythm quickly, rocking her hips to meet him. In and out, faster, harder. Her breath came in the short, harsh puffs he recognized as signaling an impending climax, and he thanked God, because there was no way he could hold on more than a few. More. Thrusts.
Just when he was certain he would finish before she did, every muscle in her body went taut, and she moaned as the spasms began to shake her. With a groan of pure gratitude, Thomas kissed her and let his own release spiral from the base of his spine to his balls, emptying his seed in long, hot spurts that made him see stars behind his eyes.
When he came back to his senses, he managed to remember not to collapse on top of her, and withdrew gently. “I hope you have a basin of water and a cloth nearby.”
“Mm,” she murmured and pointed vaguely toward the opposite side of the room. “Over there.”
He rolled off the bed and found what he was looking for, wiping himself down with one side of the cloth before bringing it back to the bed. She hummed with approval when he pressed the cool, damp fabric to her tender flesh, cleaning away his seed and a slight tinge of pink. Not that he had needed any evidence, but something fierce and possessive burst inside his chest at the sight, not so much because it meant he was her first, but because it was tangible proof that she was truly his at last.
The sound of querulous voices floated up from downstairs.
“Oh dear,” Sabine said, raising her head. “They have missed us.”
“Do you want to get dressed and go back downstairs?” he asked. He hated the idea, but if it would make her feel better, he would do it.
She shook her head. “No. I am just wondering how many times you can make me come before they give up waiting for us.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Do you know how much I adore you?”
A smile of sleepy, feminine contentment curved her lips. “Yes, I believe I do.”
A Matter of Indiscretion Page 21
