Page 36 of Scandalous Desires on a Summer Morning
A sharp, breathless cry was torn from her throat as he filled her, stretching her, the pain sharp and jarring. He stilled, allowing her body to adjust, to accept the intimate invasion, his forehead damp against hers.
“Sebastian,” she gasped, her fingers clutching at his shoulders as though to anchor herself against the tide of sensation.
He pressed a tender kiss to the corner of her mouth, his breath unsteady against her skin. “I’ll make it better,” he murmured, the promise low and rough before his lips traced the trembling line of her jaw.
His hand delved between their joined bodies, his fingers unerringly finding the swollen, sensitive bud that ached for him. The first deliberate stroke against that hyper-sensitive flesh drew a sharp, guttural moan from Maryann’s throat. He rubbed it again, and again, a relentless, focused friction that sent sparks of lightning through her veins. Her entire body tensed and then began to quake, her hips bucking against his hand, no longer just wanting butneedingmore—needing the release that only his ruthless, perfect touch could provide.
The world narrowed to this single, shocking point of connection, a feeling so profound that it bordered on pain before melting into pure, undiluted pleasure. She bit his shoulder to stifle the scream as pleasure crashed over her senses.
“Please,” she gasped, the word a plea for movement, for friction, for more.
It was all the encouragement he needed. He began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that was both a claiming and a worship. Each thrust was a deliberate stroke, stoking the fever inside her until she was mindless with it. Her nails dug into the hard muscles of his shoulders, which she felt so vividly through his clothes as she met his rhythm, her hips rising to meet his.
The decadent sensations he had wrought with his mouth were nothing compared to this. The night air was filled with the sounds of their ragged breathing, the soft, slick cadence of their bodies, and her broken moans of his name. The pleasure built, tightening low in her belly, a coil winding itself to its breaking point.
“I feel you,” he groaned against her ear, his pace quickening, becoming more urgent. “Let go for me, Maryann.”
A wave of sensation crashed over her, so violent and absolute it shattered her world into a million points of blinding light. Her back arched off the blanket as a raw cry was wrenched from her,her inner muscles clenching around him in a series of relentless, pulsing waves.
Feeling her climax, his control shattered. With a final, deep thrust and a groan of his own, he spilled his seed deep within her, his own release a powerful, shuddering answer to hers. He collapsed atop her, his full weight a welcome anchor as they both spiraled back down to earth, spent and trembling.
For a long while, there was only the sound of their slowing breaths and the frantic beating of their hearts, slowly settling into one tranquil rhythm. Sebastian shifted slightly, not withdrawing from her, but gathering her tightly against him, his lips pressed softly to her damp temple. In the quiet aftermath, tangled together in the ruins of her gown and the warmth of the blankets, Maryann did not speak. She held on to him. This was her choice, and she would never regret it.
CHAPTER 14
Maryann lay on a blanket in the secluded grove, surrounded by the hum of summer—the gentle rustle of leaves above, the distant trill of birdsong, and the lazy perfume of wildflowers wafting on the warm air. Shafts of sunlight slipped through the canopy, dappled gold and green upon her skirt. The morning had been full: lessons with Sarah, laughter by the lake as the little girl proudly swam her first few strokes, then a simple luncheon before Sarah’s nap.
Now, with a rare hour of peace, Maryann had wandered east of the lake, carrying a basket filled with strawberries, bread, and cheese, and a bottle of chilled lemonade. She had left a note for him.
Meet me in the grove east of the lake.
Though her hand had trembled slightly as she wrote it, the memory of last night still shimmered through her like a secret flame: the way he had carried her to her door, kissed her until she’d been trembling and breathless, and then so achingly gentle pressed his lips to her forehead before walking away.
She’d lain awake afterward, wide-eyed in the dark, her heart an unruly drum. This morning, she had seen him only froma distance, walking with Mr. Walker toward the conservatory, his expression focused, his smile easy. She’d told herself not to feel a pang of foolish disappointment. He was the master of the manor. She was his housekeeper. It could never be more than what it already was— a stolen night of intimacy and longing.
“You look so beautiful,”came a deep voice. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
Maryann’s eyes fluttered open. Sebastian stood a few paces away, sunlight catching on his hair and the faint sheen at his throat. He had abandoned his coat somewhere, his sleeves rolled to the forearms, exposing strong, tanned skin. There was something raw and arresting in his gaze—like a man starved.
Maryann’s lips curved softly. “I think summer might be my favorite season,” she murmured, turning her head to look up at him fully.
He smiled faintly, though the look in his eyes was anything but mild. “Are we having a picnic?”
Her own lips curved in response, her gaze bold as it drifted over the linen of his shirt.
“We are,” she murmured. “But I find myself distracted by wicked thoughts.”
His eyes gleamed. “Tell me about them.”
“Last night, I learned your body by touch alone… in the dark. Now, I wish to learn it by sight. I want to see the strength I felt beneath my hands.”
The air thickened between them, warm and heavy with desire. He moved closer, his shadow falling over her as he crouched beside the blanket. She could smell the faint, clean scent of soap and starch and something purely him.
She told herself to look away. She didn’t.
The way he looked at her—slowly, as though memorizing her—made her pulse stumble. She felt his gaze trace the curve of her cheek, the loose tendrils that had escaped her chignon and brushed her skin, the rise and fall of her chest where her bodice had loosened slightly in the heat.
And in that suspended, golden moment, Maryann thought that if she lifted her hand—just a little—he would come to her, and the rest of the world would vanish. Sebastian lowered his weight onto the blanket, wrapped his hand around her waist and drew her close. He kissed her softly, just a whisper of his lips against hers, then rose to his feet and shrugged off his waistcoat and jacket, leaving only his shirt and trousers. The sight of him made her breath falter. His body was lean and sculpted, his shoulders broad, his chest a smooth plane of strength and sun-burnished skin. The play of muscle beneath it was all grace and quiet power, elegance made flesh.
