Page 55 of Her Beautiful Bastard
“I am giving it to you anyway,” she replied, returning his kisses with equal fervor. “Take it, Sin. Takeme.”
Reaching down between them, he palmed his cock, wincing at the tenderness of his freshly-sprung erection, the ache that had built and built for four endless years. Even sating himself in her mouth had not been enough. Only finding his way inside the warm haven between her thighs would satisfy him, and even then, it would only do until he could find his way into her again, and then again.
“I will not let you down,” he promised, urging his head toward her tight, slick opening. The kiss of the sensitive flesh to that wet, slick passage sent a shudder through him, anticipation making his mouth go dry.
Stroking his hair, she opened her legs wider, letting him in. “You could never.”
He paused, primed to enter her, her wetness coating his tip and slicking the way inside. One dainty, soft hand gripped his buttocks, urging him on with a squeeze. He groaned, responding to her silent command by thrusting his hips, easing his way into her.
She gasped, the hand on his arse tightening, her other grasping his neck and holding fast. He grit his teeth and forced his way in with excruciating slowness, opening her tight channel, exploring the untouched. He braced a hand upon the pillow beside her head, his other seeking out the little bud of her pleasure, needing to do whatever he could to make this first invasion easier for her, more pleasurable than painful.
“Sin,” she whispered when he found her clit. “Oh …Sin.”
He buried his face in the curve of her neck, steadily strumming the little bundle of nerves as he paused halfway into her. He stroked and stroked as she grew wetter, moaning and writhing beneath him. He waited until she was positively mindless from the pleasure before he withdrew a few inches and then plunged, opening her the rest of the way and seating himself fully inside of her. She screamed against his shoulder, her hips bucking against his, her arms tightening around him.
The tight squeeze of her virgin passage around him nearly unmanned him, forcing him to pause within her, afraid that if he moved, it would end before they’d even begun. His balls drew up tight against his body, his spine tingling as climax hovered just within his reach. It had been far too long, and it took every ounce of his will to keep from spilling into her right then and there.
Once he felt certain he could move without embarrassing himself, he circled his hips, digging deeper, searching for the hidden places inside that would drive her mad for him. She groaned, her body undulating beneath his, her legs coming around him and holding him deep.
He braced himself over her, hands tangled in her hair, his hips working in a timeless rhythm that even four years of starvation could not have made him forget. Dipping his head, he sought every inch of available skin he could find, nibbling at her collarbone, her neck, her chest. She arched, offering him her breasts, and he took them, lavishing them with kisses and flicks of his tongue while he drilled his cock into her, slowly at first, then with mounting speed as her channel began to ease open for him, accommodating his length and girth.
Wrapping his arms around her, he turned so that they lay on their sides facing one another, his cock still buried deep. Hooking one arm beneath her bent leg, he lifted it, draping it over his hip and opening her even more. She gasped, squirming in his arms as he drove into her, no longer able to control himself now that he’d found this deep, swift rhythm inside her. He needed to possess her, touch the parts of her that had never been touched, mark her and stake his claim. She clung to him, seeking out his mouth for a kiss. He obliged her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth much the way he thrust into her cunt, tangling with her, tasting her. The little sounds of pleasure she made from deep in her throat drove him, urged him on as he took her, his hold on her hip brutal enough to leave fingerprints. Perhaps he would feel guilty later about having been so rough with her this first time, but just now, he could not stop, would not stop until he’d driven them over the edge and into the depths of rapture together.
He felt her oncoming climax, the delicious tremors of her inner walls around him pushing him closer to his own. It only spurred him on, harder, faster.
“That’s it, angel,” he murmured against her lips, his hips battering against her in a rhythm that forced each of her breaths out of her on a rough pant, his hold tight on her thigh. “You’re so close. Let go … let go and come for me.”
He dipped his head to latch on to one nipple, clenching it in his teeth and lashing it with his tongue. It sent her over the edge, and she stiffened for a moment before falling apart, wailing her pleasure and clawing at him, her nails digging into his back, her channel clenching tight around him as the pounding spasms of climax rippled through her.
A rough growl tore from him as he fought for more time, the nearly unbearable squeeze of her cunt pushing him toward his end far too fast. Inevitably, he was forced to pull away from her, turning so his seed spilled on the sheets instead of inside her. He turned his face into the pillow and groaned as an alarming amount of mettle poured from him—what felt like four years’ worth of tortuous need forced out of him in a matter of seconds. Even after spending in her mouth a moment ago, it felt as if he still contained so much. It took his breath away, and for a moment, he could only lie there on his side, eyes closed, his breathing harsh while he attempted to slow his pounding heart.
His body began to unwind when Lydia’s hand came against his back, resting between his shoulder blades. A moment later, she lay against him, her chest pressed to his back, one arm wrapped around his waist. She kissed the back of his neck, then his ear, her breath on the sensitive skin both a comfort and torment at once.
Finally, he found the strength to move, turning over and keeping her away from the mess he’d made on his side of the bed. He pulled the counterpane up around them and held her, letting her legs tangle with his, burying his face against the wildly tousled locks of hair splayed over the pillow.
He studied her face, marking the changes that making love had put there—the flushed cheeks, the sparkle in her eye, the wondrous expression as she gazed back at him. He grinned, elated to have been the one to put such a look upon her face.
“How do you feel?” he asked, running a hand up and down her back. “I was not as gentle as I should have been.”
She giggled, nestling even closer to him. “Nonsense. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. As for how I feel … I suppose I feel … like myself.”
He furrowed his brow. “That is certainly something a man likes to hear.”
She laughed again, the sound all the sweeter for its pitch and unfettered abandon. He’d never heard her laugh too loudly or so freely and found that he’d have happily remained in this bed with her for the rest of his life, listening to that sound again and again.
“I suppose I should explain myself,” she said. “You see, becoming a governess has forced me to stifle certain parts of my personality so that I can be as unassuming as possible. Otherwise, no family would ever hire me. I keep my voice low, I try not to laugh, I dress plainly and do my best not to appear too attractive or too young, or too …”
“Something,” he filled in for her when she trailed off.
She grinned and nodded. “Yes, that is it exactly. Living at Oakmoor became difficult as I grew into a spinster and my brothers went on to create their families … it is why I left, why I have not gone back. It hurt too much, watching them fall so in love with their wives and live the sorts of lives I’d always wanted.”
Her statement sank into his heart like a dagger as he realized that all he wanted was to give her those things. It ate him alive to realize it was not within his power to give them to her. For certain, he could buy her a home of her own, pay for her to have any material thing she could ask for. He could even sire children upon her. But he could not give her the things he wished to give: his surname, his ring upon her finger, his promise to love and cherish her for life. He held her tighter.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, hoping she understood.
She seemed to, as she rewarded him with a gentle kiss upon his brow. “It is no fault of yours. Fate has put us where we are for a reason. I suppose in time, we will understand why. But, as I was saying … the thing I miss most about Oakmoor is the freedom I had there. To be able to ride and shoot and wear breeches … to laugh and let it echo down the corridors. I am not always myself when I act as a governess to someone else’s children, because to fill such a role, one must become an idea, a position, not a person. But, this, here with you, tonight … it made me feel more like myself than I have in years, and I want you to know that I will never forget it.”
Sinclair rolled onto his back, taking her with him so she lay draped over him, one elbow propping her up, her hair enclosing them in a golden curtain. He reached up to cup her face, his thumb brushing her lower lip.
