Page 84 of The Rogue's Runaway Bride
“I know,” she said, looping her arms around his neck and bringing him back to her.
“If you’re not ready, you will tell me.” He sounded so very serious, it warmed her heart. “Promise me that, love.”
“I will,” she whispered against his lips.
“You will like this.” His voice was smooth as velvet and utterly tempting.
He began to touch her then. His clever hands glided over her body, kindling an instinctive heat. Caressing her breasts. The flat of her middle. Her legs. When she was thoroughly breathless from his sensuous attentions, he flashed a deliciously wicked smile.
As his hands wandered lower, shivers of pleasure rippled over her. The sweep of his fingertips against her skin was so very gentle. So very tender. He mastered her body with the most adoring of touches. When she moaned against his mouth, a gentle little plea for the release she knew he longed to give, he stilled and draped the bedsheet over them.
Nesting his body against hers, he held her for a long moment. She felt the beat of his heart, feeling its strong, steady pulse against the hand she’d splayed over his chest. Goodness, his body was hard. All sleek muscle and bone, he exuded lean, masculine power. Letting out a breath, she ran her fingers through the feathering of crisp hair on his chest, trailing lower over his abdomen. Then lower still, following the path of that single line of hair lower, to the hard ridge of his manhood pressing against his trousers.
He pulled in a low breath, almost a hiss, and rolled onto his side. Pressing a soft kiss to her mouth, he caught her hands in his own. And when he spoke, his voice was a sensuous rasp against her ear.
“Shall we be more wicked, still, my sweet?”
“As wicked as you dare,” she whispered against his mouth.
His smile would’ve melted the hardest of hearts. And then, he kissed her again, a decadent caress. Long and slow and nearly mesmerizing with sheer pleasure.
“You’ll like this, darling Arabelle,” he murmured the words against her lips. “I promise.”
Following the path of his hands, he explored her body with tiny, sweet, decadent kisses that drove her wild. Dancing over her belly. Anointing her breasts. Her inner thighs. Tempting her with tantalizingly gentle nips of his teeth against her skin. Stirring her need to a fever pitch. And then, he ducked his head beneath the sheets. Ah, so very wicked. So very bold. And so very tender.
She heard her own quiet moan of pleasure as his oh-so-clever mouth found that most deliciously sensitive part of her.
The sheer bliss of his caress coursed through her. Soon, she was utterly wild with hunger. Utterly wild for each wicked kiss. Utterly wild forhim. Suddenly, it felt as if she were on the edge of a precipice. With each gentle touch, he nudged her further. And further. Toward the vortex of the pleasure she craved.
Suddenly, time stilled. She toppled over the edge. Spiraling down in a tide of sensual delight, she heard herself cry out.
And then, it felt as if she’d landed in powerful arms that held her with breathtaking gentleness. If only she could stay in that tender embrace all night. Every night.
Goodness, he’d certainly convinced her that being wicked in his bed was both decadent and delicious, hadn’t he?
Basking in a sense of greater contentment than she’d ever felt before, she breathed in the heady scent of bergamot and savored the sleekness of the taut muscles beneath his skin. They reveled in their lovemaking with a passion born not of lust. But of adoration.
Cuddled up to Jon after they were both utterly and completely fulfilled, she drank in the heat of his body. While they’d made love, he’d taken the necessary precautions. But as she nestled her head against his shoulder, she closed her eyes and drifted off to dreams of a happy toddler with dark hair and mischief-filled eyes.
As the night ebbed, Belle lay in his arms until the first rays of morning peeked through the curtain. The rays pulled her from sleep, and she stirred. Reluctantly, she slipped out of his bed and pulled on the chemise and robe. She had to leave. After all, it wouldn’t do to scandalize Mrs. Gilroy or confuse Carrie.
“Don’t go,” he murmured, half asleep.
She sat on the edge of the bed and drew her fingers over the curve of his face. Sable-brown stubble edged the firm edge of his jaw and chin. She couldn’t help but smile.
Oh, Jon. You are so deliciously wicked. And you are mine.
Gazing down at him, she felt something shift within. A new awareness dawned on her, bright as the new sunrise.
I love him.She threaded her fingers through his hair, pressed a soft kiss to his temple, and watched as he fell back to sleep.
I truly do. I love him more than anything.
With that truth playing in her thoughts, she forced herself to leave him. With whisper-quiet steps, she made it back to her chamber, slipped beneath the covers, and fell back to sleep, dreaming of the man she would always adore.
Chapter Twenty-Five
In Belle’s eyes,the morning after her night in Jon’s arms came far too soon. She’d have happily lingered beneath her bedcovers for another hour or so, relishing the very recent memory of his adoring touch. Of his heady kiss. Tenderness. Passion. Pleasure. All blended in each delicious caress.
