The way her body suddenly arced against his touch had Godfrey pausing a moment. He slipped an arm beneath her waist, aware of how her body was at once boneless and yet tensed as if in anticipation of... something.
Her almost silent plea of, “Please, hurry,” had him wondering just what he was supposed to hurry.
His movements?
His kisses?
Quickening the movement of his middle finger, he watched in delight as her chest rose from the pillows and her breasts seemed to swell before his eyes. Although he tried, he couldn’t take one entirely into his mouth, but the combination of his attempt to do so along with how his finger was brushing over her womanhood faster and faster had her mewling a most welcome refrain. He replaced his finger with his thumb and pressed against her womanhood a bit harder. A bit faster.
The sound she made was nearly that of what his mother had emitted all those years ago. Not a scream, exactly, but close enough so he was sure she was in the throes of an orgasm.
Copying what he remembered his father doing, Godfrey quickly shed his robe and lifted himself over her body, positioning himself between her legs and lifting them so her knees were bent on either side of his torso. Although he didn’t know exactly where he was supposed to press his manhood, she obviously knew, for one of her hands was suddenly guiding his throbbing manhood into her wet cocoon.
Godfrey couldn’t help the groan of relief and pleasure he emitted just then. Nor could he stop the spasm that had begun even before he buried himself deep into her body, his seed spilling forth before he could even manage another kiss or an attempt at another thrust. The blinding light and stars reminded him of a night at Vauxhall Gardens, when fireworks lit the sky, their exploding bright lights dazzling him. But the accompanying pleasure was unlike anything he had ever experienced, different because Elise’s arms were wrapped around his back, her fingernails gripping his skin so she left behind half-moon indentations that were both painful and pleasurable.
When her body arched into his and he heard her whispered, “Yes!”, Godfrey gave up his attempt to hold himself up and over her, and collapsed onto her soft curves in submission.
“Oh, I do so love you, Elise,” he managed before his vision went black.
Elise sighed as Godfrey’s body fell onto hers. She supposed she should feel a bit of alarm at his sudden stillness, but from the feel of his pounding heart against her chest, she knew he was merely napping. He was still breathing, although his breaths were no longer so labored. No longer the gasps of a man in ecstasy.
In my arms, she thought with a hint of satisfaction. He didn’t simply remove himself from the bed and hurry off to his own bedchamber as she expected, but rather lay nestled atop her body, his body bent so he didn’t squish her into the mattress too much.
She remembered how she had slid her hands down the sides of his body, reveling in how his breath seemed to catch, as if he’d never been touched by a woman before.
He hasn’t been, she had remembered thinking then, a grin of satisfaction suddenly displayed on her lips. I am his first.
And only.
For the rest of our lives.
When her hands had reached his buttocks, she had splayed her fingers, smoothing them over the surprisingly hard mounds and pulling them until she felt the tip of his manhood at her entrance. She heard as much as felt his breath catch again, almost amused at how hesitant he seemed.
“Make me yours, Godfrey,” she had whispered, her lips nearly touching his ear. And then she had pulled with one hand while guiding his engorged manhood with her other. Her pull on him had been so hard, he had entered her all at once. Buried himself in a single thrust that had stretched her and filled her completely.
Although she’d been prepared for a bit of discomfort—sexual relations with Lancaster had never been a comforting experience—she was quite surprised to feel a tickle of pleasure race up her spine. That and a rather primal sensation course through her lower body as his sac collided with her quim. “Oh, yes,” she had whispered, her body suddenly robbed of breath. She lifted her knees slightly—or perhaps he had pulled them up—pinning them at the sides of his torso—and she inhaled sharply when it felt as if he’d impaled her completely in one thrust. The tickle raced up her spine again and exploded in a spasm of delight that had her nearly robbed of breath. After that, shock waves of pleasure coursed through her lower body.
Sleep took her just then, leaving behind a slight smile on her lips and a soft sigh of breath.
Godfrey’s return to consciousness was slow and filled with images and sensations. I never want to leave this bed, he thought as he considered what had just happened.
Stunned at how easily he had slid into Elise’s body, Godfrey had half a mind to kiss her senseless over how she had simply seen to their coupling with a quick tug on his bottom. Even now, he was well aware of her fingers, of where they were and what they were doing.
Which was just as well given he didn’t quite know what to do next.
He would have to see to those fingers later, he thought absently. Pull each and every one into his mouth, one after the other, and kiss and suckle them in gratitude. And then do it all over again every night for the rest of their lives.
He didn’t want to move, though.
This is heaven, he remembered thinking, being buried so deeply into Elise Burroughs. “My love,” he managed to get out on his next breath. And then the words he never thought to put voice to followed. “Although I’ve... I’ve never done this before, I do believe I shall do so as often as possible.” His elbows pushed into the mattress on either side of her torso, caging her in place as he considered what he was supposed to do next.
Aware of how her nipples barely grazed the dark, curled hair on his chest, tickling him where they touched, he moved his chest ever so slightly. Her sudden gasp had his lips coming down to kiss a hardened nipple, and when her entire body seemed to arch up in response, he kissed the other.
He delighted in watching how her heavy-lidded eyes watched him, in how her lips, slightly parted, seemed to invite him to kiss her. So he did that, too. When he finally pulled away from the languorous kiss, he murmured, “I don’t want to move. I want to stay like this for the rest of our lives.”
When he realized her hands had moved up to his hips, he was reminded that he had to move. Needed to move. To pull out and push in, if he wanted to repeat what had happened a few moments—or was that a few hours—ago?
Besides having watched his parents for that brief moment when he was but ten years of age, he had paid witness to the act of sexual intercourse one other time—again, unintentionally. That’s what had happened when he entered Lord Weatherstone’s library without first knocking. Although he didn’t suppose the knock would have been heard above the labored breathing and mewling and growling that had emanated from the leather divan.
He pushed his hips forward before he pulled out a bit, eliciting a gasp of surprise from Elise at the same time her torso seemed to meet his once again. Such exquisite torture, to have her beautiful soft body pressed into his, her nipples ripe and red in invitation. He nipped one again, rather relieved to hear her mewl of appreciation. He nipped the other as he was suddenly aware of the flats of her hands skimming the sides of his body, her thumbs reaching out to brush against his nipples.
The unexpected sensation beneath his skin had his body giving a start. And then it was if his body knew exactly what to do next. Thrust and retreat. Thrust and retreat. He likened it to a military campaign at first. Order the troops forward in a mass surge, and then retreat to regroup and do it again. After the first two or three thrusts, the analogy was so ridiculous, he nearly chuckled. He managed to stifle it by closing his lips over Elise’s, kissing her until he found he couldn’t because he needed to breathe. He could barely manage to inhale, though, as his entire body seemed to seize up, his insides contracting and robbing him of breath and any sense of the here and now. Lights danced before his eyes as an intense pleasure gripped h
is entire body—even down to his very toes.
A moment passed, and it was if his body had turned to gelatin. His arms seemed incapable of holding him up, his hips no longer able to move. He was quite sure he was crushing Elise into the mattress, but he had no energy to push himself off of her, nor did he want to. His head finally settled onto the pillow next to her head, and sleep deprived him of further thought.
Reaching out for a bed linen, Elise finally found the edge of the quilt and pulled it atop their intertwined bodies. Although she was blissfully warm—she was nearly completely covered by Godfrey’s body—she feared his bare back and buttocks and thighs would grow cold and have him seeking his own bed should he wake up. She had no intention of allowing him to leave her bed on this night.
Elise allowed her knees to slide down his body until her feet touched the mattress while her arms wrapped around his back. The slight movement didn’t seem to disturb his slumber in the least, but given how her body seemed to thrum, she rather doubted she would be joining him in dreamland anytime soon.
What the hell had just happened?
The intense sensations that had coursed through her body had been entirely unexpected. Altogether exquisite. Completely consuming.
Lovemaking with Lancaster had never felt like this. But then, Lancaster had never truly made love to her, had he? He merely tumbled her, or bent her over the bed, claiming he preferred the padding of her bottom over the more intimate alternative.
Godfrey had just made love to her. Twice. Kissed her, caressed her, worshipped her before even making an attempt to claim her. Even then, she had been the one to make the move so they joined together, merged into one being, melded at the point where time seemed to stop. The only sensation besides the pure pleasure that seemed to consume her was that of a wash of warmth filling her lower body. That was the moment Godfrey seemed to lose himself, she remembered, when his entire body froze, suspended over her, the tendons in his neck straining, his chest broad, the muscles in his arms bulging.
The mere memory of it had her insides contracting once again, the now-familiar wave of pleasure a mere fraction of what it had been only moments before but still such a surprise, she nearly gasped.
The pads of her fingers traced the blades of his shoulders and trailed over the bumps of his spine.
What had he said just before she pulled him into her?
I’ve never done this before.
She was quite sure for just a fleeting moment that he wasn’t going to come into her of his own accord. Or that he didn’t quite know what to do. Or how to do it.
She certainly hadn’t expected him to behave in such a hesitant manner. He was a grown man. Five-and-thirty, wasn’t he?
No. Six-and-thirty, she remembered. His birthday had been just a few days ago. The day he had sent the letter with his proposal of marriage.
She had been so sure he had bedded women before. Courtesans, if not a mistress or two or three. Even prostitutes, although he never struck her as a man who would bed just any woman.
Still, she expected him to... to take her. To possess her. Strip her of all her night clothes, which he hadn’t begun to accomplish given she still had most of her diaphanous gown around her body. Even the negligée was still on one arm even though it didn’t cover any of her body.
She had expected him to simply impale her with his hardened manhood in a move that would leave her feeling, well, rather disappointed. She was his, after all. His property.
But he hadn’t.
He had probably always thought she was his—and she had thought the same of him—given his promises from when they were mere teenagers. From when they believed their innocent love would conquer all.
And then he had said those words.
I’ve never done this before.
She nearly giggled at the thought before she suddenly sobered. Godfrey Thorncastle had never been in the company of a mistress—at least, not in public. Nor had there been a hint of gossip about his conquests in the bedchamber in The Tattler.
So, it was true what he had said. That he was a... a virgin. Had been a virgin, at least, up until just a few moments ago.
Elise nearly giggled. How ridiculous to think a man of his age and his rank wouldn’t have bedded a woman or two in his lifetime. No, she thought, nearly shaking her head in the pillow. It cannot be. But it was.
I’ve never done this before.
The words echoed in her head. She remembered the look on his face. How unsure he had seemed. How... hesitant he had been.
Sobering suddenly, Elise stilled her fingertips. He hadn’t bedded a woman before. Hadn’t because he was saving himself for someone special.
Saving himself for...
Elise’s eyes widened when she remembered his words.
He was saving himself for me.
The man who lay pressed upon nearly all of her body, and whose manhood was still quite stiff inside her, had saved himself for her and her alone. Had she never become a widow—perish the thought!—he might have died a virgin, a man better suited to a life dedicated to the church.
Instead, he had saved his worship for her. Every movement, every kiss, every touch, every glance had been as if he had held it in wait for her. “Oh, Godfrey,” she whispered, one of her hands sliding up his back and over his shoulder to rest on the side of his face. “Why didn’t you tell me before tonight?”
But, then, he had, in his own way. In everything he did. In the things he had said. Of course, he had imagined the worst of her, but despite his imaginings, he still cared for her, still loved her.
Still worshiped her.
After all these years, she thought in dismay. To not take comfort in the arms of another when he could have had any beautiful mistress, any gorgeous courtesan. He had instead waited for her.
Elise turned her head slightly to kiss him, her lips meeting the corner of his mouth. She sighed a rather sad sigh, and then followed it with a happy one, for she found his one visible eye open and watching her. “I adore you,” she whispered before giving him a kiss again.
Godfrey’s eye closed as he allowed the simple words to permeate is addled brain. Good God! No wonder men seemed to want to have sexual relations all the time! Why, if he’d had any idea just how...
He stifled the thought before he had a chance to complete it.
No.
He would not have engaged just any woman for such an intimate act. Would not have spilled his seed into any other woman than the one on which his body was so comfortably resting. Would not have allowed another to see him naked and aroused. He would not have allowed another woman besides Elise to hold him like this, to kiss him so sweetly and murmur words he’d been waiting to hear for so long.
No. He was where he belonged this very moment.
He rather hoped Elise wasn’t about to send him to his own bed. He was rather comfortable right where he was. Warm, and satiated, and cast in a golden red glow given off by the few embers still lit in the fireplace. Well, not all of him, he realized. Somehow she had managed to cover him with some bed linens, the sweetheart.
Knowing she still watched him, Godfrey lifted his head from the pillow and opened his eyes. “I do hope I’m not squishing you into the bed too much,” he murmured. He managed to get an elbow beneath him so he could rest his head in one hand.
Elise grinned. “Not at all. In fact, you’re not allowed to move. At least, not from this bed,” she amended, deciding she wouldn’t mind a bit should he decide that twice of what they had done was not enough on this night.
Godfrey leaned over then, his lips coming down onto hers in a slow, deep kiss. When he finally pulled away, he sighed. “I do hope you weren’t too terribly scandalized by what I said.”
One of her fingertips moved to his lips. “As I said earlier, I was honored, actually,” she said quietly. She allowed a wan smile to touch her lips. “It’s true then, what you said?”
“Hmm.” The quiet murmur was accompanied by an expression that suggested he was d
isappointed. Or sad, perhaps. “If you don’t count how many times I’ve imagined us making love,” he whispered on a sigh. “Then, yes, it’s true.”
Elise grinned at that. “Pray tell, how many times do you suppose?”
It was Godfrey’s turn to grin. “Nearly every night since the day we first kissed,” he replied. “Which means we have quite the task in front of us if we’re ever to outnumber the number of times we’ve made love in my imagination.”
Her grin widening, Elise gave him a quick kiss. “I am ready whenever you are,” she challenged.
Godfrey’s eyes darkened as he gazed at her. “As I will be again rather soon, my sweeting.”
Elise arched an eyebrow. “I believe you already are.”
Chapter 38
Nine
Meanwhile, in Lord Breckinridge’s townhouse
“By the way, I thought you a ‘nine’ at the time.”
The sound of Adam’s voice had Diana slowly opening her eyes. Warmth permeated her entire body, especially where he had pulled her against the side of his. “A nine?” she repeated, unsure of what he meant.
“A huge mistake on my part, I must admit,” he murmured as a finger drew light circles on her bare arm. “I’m rather glad I didn’t mention it when you asked.” When Diana didn’t respond, he allowed a grin. “You did ask how I rated you,” he reminded her, his finger trailing down to her breast. It circled her nipple, eliciting a gasp from her before his lips followed it and gently nipped.
“I remember,” Diana managed, wondering in which direction his mistake had landed on the rating scale. It was hard to concentrate when Adam seemed so intent on making love to her.
Again.
And then she remembered hearing something about a ‘seven’. She lifted her head from his shoulder, a lock of hair falling in front of one of her eyes.
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