Page 53 of The Gentleman Was Right
Her attraction to him appeared to be the sort that poets wrote sonnets about.
It wasn’t love, she reminded herself firmly.
Just all-consuming lust.
“I’ve never done that before. I was being honest. Basil and I were…well…we never made it to consummation. He insisted we wait until we were married.”
“You loved him,andyou wanted him. I can be jealous of him if I choose to be.”
She didn’t want him to be jealous. Shewashis now, and no one else mattered. Especially not Basil.
“I married you,” she reminded him, as his fingers gently skimmed the sensitive skin between her breasts. Her breath caught in her throat. How was it that she wanted him just as much now as she’d wanted him before? Wasn’t lust supposed to dissipate for a time once it was satisfied?
She’d always assumed the desire she felt for Basil was so powerful because it was unfulfilled. He’d allowed her to pleasure him, and while she had enjoyed exploring his body and had felt a heady joy anytime he’d erupted in her hand or her mouth, it had not been enough to inspire her own fulfillment. It had been too one-sided.
Being with Edward, though, had shattered her.
And made her crave more.
He dropped a light kiss on her mouth. “I’m glad you married me.”
The satisfaction she heard in his voice meant more to her than it should. If she wanted to protect her heart, she probably should extricate herself from his arms and remove herself from his proximity, but she couldn’t make herself do either while he was touching her like there was nothing more he wanted to do in all the world.
He kept stroking her so gently that she had to clench her jaw so she didn’t beg for more. The longer he caressed her flushed skin, the more mindless she became. At some point, she forgot about the distance she ought to keep between them and started babbling nonsensical words and making sounds that had no meaning except to urge him to keep going.
She was more than familiar with untamed passion, but this time she had been both the seducer and the seduced, and it was so unlike her previous experiences that she couldn’t contain her reactions. She trembled as his fingers trailed across the soft curls at the apex of her thighs, and the last vestiges of her control splintered.
“Please,” her broken voice demanded, although she didn’t know exactly what she was asking for. Release, obviously. But something else too. The plea escaped again. “Please.”
He rolled completely, pinning her beneath his superior weight. She squirmed—not so she could get him to release her—but so she could feel him everywhere. Shifting and widening her knees in invitation, she let him know without words that she wanted him inside her again.
“You must be sore,” he told her when she locked her feet around his waist.
She growled in response. Even if he was right, she didn’t care, and she didn’t appreciate him trying to protect her. “You touched me like you wanted more, and now I’m desperate. I don’t care if I’m sore.”
“You—” he started, but she cut him off with a kiss.
“Don’t tease me. Give me what I want,” she demanded against his lips.
“So insistent,” he whispered into her mouth. She would have kept demanding, but she didn’t have to, because he levered his hips at exactly the right angle to slide into her silky folds.
The pinch of discomfort she experienced was more than worth it.
She might be sore, but she wasn’t sore enough that she wanted him to stop, so she locked her legs around his waist and pulled him down until his lips met hers. He rocked into her, slowly at first, and then his pace increased as he became more fevered. She clung to him, her hands trailing up to his shoulders and then back down to cup his tight buttocks.
More words slipped from her lips. They were inarticulate and garbled, and they still urged him on. The scrape of chest hair against her sensitive nipples and the desperate sounds that escaped him were better than the sweetest song she’d ever heard, and when he stiffened and came inside her, she tightened her limbs and let his weight sink onto her.
His muscles were lax even after his breath became steadier. He tried to pick his head up, but she wound her hands into his short curls and pressed his face into her neck.
“I’m crushing you,” he mumbled against her sweaty skin.
“Let me feel you for another minute.”
She could hardly expect him to stay on top of her forever, so eventually she released her grip and allowed him to shift to her side. Propping his head on his right hand, his left hand trailed a line from her chin down the center of her body.
When he reached her curls once again, she grabbed his hand and shook her head.
“Was it too much?” he asked softly. “Were you too sore to enjoy it?”
