Page 82 of Counting on a Countess
She held her breath. He cupped her head with both of his hands, their gazes holding tightly.
Slowly, he sank into her, inch by inch. Despite the discomfort, she breathed into the unfamiliar sensation, urging her body to relax to this new presence. He stretched and filled her.
Sweat glossed his brow and his jaw clenched. He didn’t exhale until he’d seated himself completely. Then he held himself still, as though waiting for her to grow accustomed to the feel of him within her.
“Yes?” he said through gritted teeth.
“Yes,” she answered breathlessly.
He drew his hips back, then slid forward. Gradually, her body eased, and the feeling verged between pain and pleasure. When he set up a slow rhythm, in and out, discomfort receded. She found herself rising up to meet his careful thrusts, gleams of sensation growing brighter with each stroke. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as his pace increased.
“Ah, God,” he growled.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, opening herself fully to him. He lifted up on straightened arms, gaining leverage to plunge harder, deeper. Sounds came out of her mouth, rising from a profound place. His low rumbles and exhalations joined her own wordless noises of pleasure.
The world tilted as he rolled them over so he was on his back and she straddled him.
“Ride me, love,” he rumbled, gripping her hips.
This was wondrous. This was power. Bracing her hands on his chest, she experimented with angles and motions until she discovered the precise point where she could grind her bud against him with each stroke. A hot ecstasy gripped her. She felt wild and fierce, creating pleasure with him and taking what she wanted.
“Ah, sweet.” His words were low and gravelly. “I could come just from seeing that look on your face.”
“Then do it.” She didn’t recognize her voice—surely an untamed siren had taken her place.
“You first.” He bared his teeth. “Fuck me, Tamsyn. Fuck me until you come.”
His raw words untethered her. She let go and pumped her hips hard against him, and he bucked beneath her. Release beckoned. She raced toward it, riding Kit hard.
She cried out as her climax struck. It filled her and shattered the boundaries of her body, her mind. She only knew the feel of Kit under her, within her, and the rapture they made.
The pleasure withdrew in long, slow pulses, taking her strength with it. She draped over him. But no sooner did the last waves pass before he thrust up powerfully and threw back his head. He groaned as his orgasm seemed to rack his entire body, and she felt him pulse within her.
They collapsed and panted together, slick with sweat. He stroked her hair, her back, her arse. She soaked in the feeling of his touch. Their mouths found each other.
“We burn together,” he murmured between kisses.
She couldn’t speak, but if she could, she would have agreed. Had they done this on their wedding night, with them practically strangers, they might have felt some physical pleasure but missed the profound connection that bound them together now.
But she’d been right to fear this, because she knew with overwhelming certainty that in giving her body pleasure, he’d won her heart.
Kit lay with Tamsyn in his arms, contentment filling him. Leisurely, he ran his hand back and forth from her shoulder, down her arm, to her hand, then back. He loved the feel of her skin. He could touch it forever and never tire of the sensation.
He was wrung dry, his body sated, yet the need to make love to her again drummed through him.
Perhaps his unquenched desire was a result of having withheld for so long—yet that wasn’t what drove his need. He’d wanted her almost from the very beginning, realizing on a deep level how magnificent they would be together. He’d been right.
Tamsyn’s honest, frank responsiveness had aroused him beyond measure, and the fit of their bodies together sent him into a frenzied fever. God, she’d been sweet. His cock stirred at the remembrance of being inside her. And there was so much wonderment in making love with someone he cared for. The experience had been transcendent, and he wanted to share it with her again. But she needed time to recover from her first time.
Hisfirst time, as well. He’d tried so hard to please her, wanting that above all else. Had he been successful? Given the way she all but purred in his arms now, he had to think that he was. He permitted himself a moment’s pride, reveling in the glow that came from pleasuring a woman. Not just any woman. His wife. There were men who talked of mechanically having sex with their spouses, saving passion and creativity for mistresses. They were sodding fools.
What a damn idiot he’d been, thinking that he would sleep with Tamsyn long enough to get an heir, then find himself a mistress and look the other way when she took a lover. The idea of touching any woman besides her was abhorrent. As for Tamsyn’s future lover—he couldn’t even allow himself to complete that thought.
At the very back of his mind, he remembered his plan to get closer to her, for money’s sake. Yet he let that idea scatter like a dandelion on the wind. They had started a journey together, a journey that bound them to each other. Now he wanted to win her heart because he’d given her his.
She trailed her fingers over his chest, her touch lingering over the scar he’d received in Vimeiro from a bayonet. The fever had been worse than the wound, nearly killing him as he’d sweated in a hospital tent with dozens of dying men. He still heard the screams of those undergoing amputations, though the rattle of gaming dice usually chased away the phantom sound.
Yet her brightness burned away lingering shadows.
