Page 38 of Her Sort of Scoundrel
Dash was a bit surprised at that bit of information. As far as he knew, marriage had always been his sister’s fondest wish and was now her greatest contentment.
“But then I told herwhoI was considering marrying.” Fiona reached down and began working the buttons of Dash’s shirt. “She was certain that you would understand that I need a different sort of marriage, and that you’d give it to me.” She bent to whisper near his ear. “That you’d give me anything I asked.”
“I will,” he rasped.
“And you did.” She straightened again and set her fingers to his shirt’s remaining buttons. “A long engagement, maintain separate households, at least at first, and we will…”
For the first time, she stilled, her voice tremulous. “We will try for children, but I cannot promise anything.” She arched back, seeking his direct gaze. “You do understand I may not be able to give you an heir?”
“I do.”
Her eyes grew glassy, and Dash stood to draw her into his arms.
She let him hold her, stroke her hair, her back. And when she drew away from him, she arched one tawny brow.
“May I remove this?” she asked boldly as she reached up to push his shirt from his shoulders. “And these?” Reaching down, she worked the buttons of his fly and then pushed to ease his trousers over his hips.
Dash helped, sliding them and his drawers off.
“Now, lay back,” she commanded in a husky tone that set his blood on fire.
Dash swallowed hard and did as his wife-to-be commanded.
She crawled up after him, settling her body over his, one knee on each side of his hips as she straddled him.
“I have imagined this so many times,” she whispered.
“As have I, love.” Dash gripped her hips, then lifted a hand to caress the lush swell of her breast.
“I still have fears, Dash,” she admitted as she stroked over his chest, dragging her fingers through the dusting of hair down his middle. “But I trust you.”
As she said the words, she reached between them, found the hard, hot part of him that ached for her touch. She held him as she stroked her slick, warm folds along the head of his cock.
Dash bit his lip, fighting the urge to pull her down, to sink into the sweetness of her body. He wanted to give her control tonight, to let her see that what she said was true. She could trust him, and he trusted her.
When his body began to shudder, she eased down slowly, taking him in inch by maddening inch. And when she planted her palms on his chest and began to ride him, he let out a gasp of relief. And then a groan of bliss.
He let himself touch her then, dragging his fingertips across her thighs, down her back. When she increased the pace, she tipped her head back, and he caught the silken strands of her hair, fisting her tresses in his hand as he’d imagined doing so many times.
When he did, she let out a cry and tensed before her whole body began to shake. He felt her release cresting as his own nearly drew him under. She cried out, moaning, still stroking her body against his as his own release rocked him.
Looking down at him, her eyes dazed, cheeks flushed, she smiled.
“I could get used to that,” she said triumphantly, then settled her body beside him.
Dash still fought to catch his breath. “You’re incredible,” he finally managed. “A goddess.”
A hand came down over his mouth.
“No, stop. No moregoddess. I’m not perfect, and I’m not a deity.”
Dash laughed behind the confines of her palm, then kissed it. “All right. All right. My darling, imperfect, soon-to-be wife.”
She removed her hand from his mouth and let it settle on his chest. Then she perched her chin atop and stared at him.
“You’re imperfect, and I’m imperfect, and we love each other regardless.”
“Agreed.”
