Page 67 of The Bachelor
“Probably . . . as good as it . . . feels for me,” she said.
It was the truth. There was none of the embarrassment or discomfort or awkwardness she’d experienced before—just a wild energy driving her on until she reallywasriding him, clasping his shoulders and undulating on him in search of the same carnal explosion she’d felt last night.
He must be searching for it, too, judging from his low moans and the way he clutched her waist to urge her on. And now she felt the slow build of sensation again, like last night, only this time she could control it, could hold on to it . . . a little longer . . . long enough for it to head higher . . . hotter . . . harder into . . . into . . .
Heaven.
“Yes!” He thrust deep and spilled himself inside her. “Yes, dearling, yes!”
Definitelyyes.As her body quaked around him, she held on to him for dear life, relishing the ecstasy, trying to eke out every last drop.
She collapsed on top of him, and he kissed her neck, her hair, her ears, whatever he could reach.
Lord help her. This was better than anything she’d known. And now that she’d experienced it with him, she didn’t want to give it up. She didn’t want to givehimup. Perhaps he would agree to be her lover.
No, somehow she doubted that. But if she told him everything and he then refused to marry her . . .
She didn’t know how she would bear it.
Chapter Nineteen
It had been five years or more since he’d shared a woman’s bed, but he was fairly certain nothing before that had compared to this. To having Gwyn in his arms, on his lap. To being inside her. Oddly enough, the waning of his erection made him only more eager to have her again.
He would never have guessed she wasn’t an innocent. She’d been so tight and, sometimes, so incredibly naïve. Then again, she practicallywasa virgin, having shared Malet’s bed only once.
She squirmed a bit, and his cock slipped from her.
“Are you all right?” he murmured.
What he really wanted to ask was how he compared to Malet in bed, but even if she was truthful about it, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. After all, he had practically run roughshod over her in his eagerness to make her his.
But she gave a contented sigh. “I honestly don’t know. It was . . . amazing.”
Thank God. “For me, too. Then again, unlike you, I knew it would be.”
She kissed his temple. “Are you that sure of me?” she asked coyly.
“Hardly.”
But he wanted to be, which meant proposing marriage. It was the only way to prove that bedding her didn’t change what he wanted.
Still, now that the time had come to make an offer, an odd panic filled him. What if she turned him down? She’d been reluctant to consider marriage earlier. She’d said it was because he deserved a different kind of wife, but what if that wasn’t the real reason?
Perhaps he should just pray that he had put a babe in her belly. That would solve everything. She would have to marry him then. She wouldn’t dare not.
He dragged in a heavy breath. That was not the way to a woman’s heart, he was fairly certain.
He nuzzled her neck, and she sighed. “I daresay I could sit here on top of you for . . . days.”
“That would become uncomfortable very fast, I would imagine,” he said dryly.
“Oh, dear, your leg!” she cried and slid off his lap.
“My leg is fine, Gwyn,” he snapped.
He was starting to get irritated by her insistence on thinking of him as one step from being an invalid, a man who was only half a man, an object of pity. A man who didn’t deserve her. Perhapsthatwas why she had refused to accept the idea of his marrying her. Perhaps it wasn’t her shame over her past, after all.
God save him, what if she didn’t want him for anything butthis?
