Page 64 of My Kind of Scoundel
She wet her lips and nodded.
He didn’t thrust to the hilt straight away. He withdrew, rubbing his manhood over her slick folds until he drove her mad with need. When he entered her, she couldn’t help but express her pleasure.
“Yes. Don’t wait.”
“Forgive me,” he uttered as one sharp thrust left him buried deep inside her. “You feel so damn good. Take a minute to get used to me.”
A minute?
She could stay like this for a lifetime.
Never in her wildest dreams did she think this was possible.
Then he started moving, sliding out, then sinking deep. Filling her. The rhythm was so intoxicating she was breathless with desire. They couldn’t get enough of each other. The tempo changed. She begged him not to stop. He angled his hips, rubbing against her as he pumped so hard the bed creaked and took a chunk out of the plaster.
“Theo!” She came again, a wave of euphoria rippling to her toes. She gripped his tight buttocks, holding him inside her, not wanting to let go.
“Love, I’ll spill inside you if I don’t withdraw.”
He came over her belly, a deep groan rumbling in his throat.
She watched, loving the glint of passion in his eyes, how he uttered her name when he lost control, gawping at his toned physique when he retrieved a handkerchief from his coat pocket.
He lay in bed beside her, cleaning her belly. “I’ve barely had time to recover, yet I need you again.” He hauled her on top of him.
She rested her head on his chest, his hair tickling her face, his heartbeat thumping loudly in her ear. “Is that a good sign?”
He chuckled as he stroked her hair. “An extremely good sign. I’m yours whenever you want me. I can’t get enough of you, Eleanor.”
Men were fickle. That’s what Lady Summers professed. One minute, a lady is his diamond of the first water; the next, she’s a pebble beneath his feet.
A wise woman would guard her heart.
But Eleanor knew it was too late to save herself.
Theo had taken a piece the night he’d kissed her at the theatre. Stole another with all the thoughtful things he had done at the shop. He had claimed the rest while making love to her in bed. No matter what happened in her life, nothing would ever be this perfect.
Chapter Fourteen
It was late afternoon when they crawled out of bed, dressed, and began the half-mile walk to Emily’s house on Great Eastcheap. Lovemaking had left them exhausted and sated to their bones, but Eleanor wanted the exercise.
“My head throbs a little, and exertion is good for the blood.”
Theo regarded her with some amusement. “After our romp in bed, I imagine your blood was coursing faster than the Rhine.” He brushed her hip with his hand, relishing her little shiver.
A pretty blush stained her cheeks. “I hadn’t expected it to be so vigorous. Lady Mulberry said she often naps during her husband’s conjugal visits.”
Theo laughed. “Do ladies tell their modistes all their personal secrets?” He reached for her hand, wrapping it around his arm as they walked. Since leaving the shop, she seemed unsure whether to touch him.
He couldn’t get enough of her.
“Yes, mostly tales of how they avoid marital relations. One lady, who shall remain nameless, drinks a tincture to bring on nausea.”
He sensed her relaxing now and asked the question they had been avoiding. “Do you regret what happened between us earlier?”
Despite the crowded pavement, she brought him to a halt on Watling Street. “Don’t feel guilty. I seduced you.” She looked at him as if remembering the pleasure they’d shared. “You didn’t hurl me over your shoulder and throw me onto the bed.”
“I can play the Neanderthal if you’d prefer, though I rather like it when you ravish me.” A man knew a lady desired him when she couldn’t keep her hands to herself. “Next time, I shall act the scoundrel.”
