Page 113 of The Heiress's Daughter
Soft shivers of heat began to ripple again and she moved restlessly against his hand, wanting more, but not knowing what. His fingers, his mouth caressed her…until she was dizzy with wanting, a trembling mass of heated, helpless desire.
She twisted and writhed, her whole body responding mindlessly to his touch, urgent and aching, helpless in the grip of a force she had never experienced.
Tension rose within her until she felt on the brink of…something.
And then his hot mouth closed over her breast. He sucked, hard, and she almost came off the bed as hot spears of ecstasy drove through her body.
She heard a high, soft scream as she arched and shuddered and spiraled into a realm where she’d never been before. Never even imagined.
She collapsed against him, but before she could even begin to gather her senses, she felt him pushing into her; thick, hard, hot. She tensed a moment and he paused, then muttered, “It will be all right. Trust me.” He pushed and she felt a swift small stab of pain, not nearly as bad as she’d expected.
So, that was it. She was no longer a virgin.
She lay still beneath him, feeling stretched, and full, and dazed with wonderment. It was all so strange, a little uncomfortable, and yet it felt so right.
She ran her palms over his body, along his ribs andshoulders, enjoying the feel of his firm, strong body. He felt hard and hot and strangely tense—tense as a bowstring, as if he was holding himself back. From what?
He shuddered under her caresses and slipped his hands between her thighs, where they were still joined. His fingers caressed her there and her body responded, building again to…whatever it was. He began to move inside her, then, rocking, thrusting, filling her over and over in a primitive, exhilarating rhythm. She had no control, just clung on to him, wrapping her limbs around him, carried along with his rhythm as they rose together…spiraling higher and higher…
She heard herself scream again as she shattered around him. As if in the distance, she heard him groan, and with one final thrust, he poured himself into her and collapsed.
When Race came to himself again, it was full dark outside. The moon was in its final quarter and faint moonlight had begun to silver the treetops, letting in just enough light for him to see Clarissa’s face as she slept. His chest filled as he gazed at her sweet face and he reached out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from her face.
Her eyelids fluttered open. It wasn’t light enough for him to see the expression in her eyes. “How do you feel?” he murmured.
She smiled and stretched luxuriantly. “Wonderful.”
He couldn’t restrain himself: he leaned forward and kissed her. She was warm and responsive and kissed him back enthusiastically, wrapping her arms around him and cuddling up against him.
“Shall we do that again?” she asked.
He gave a low chuckle. “Not tonight. I think you might need some time to recover.”
She pouted. “But I feel wonderful.”
He kissed her again, filled with relief that her firstexperience of lovemaking had been a good one. He was more than ready to make love to her again, but with some difficulty he restrained himself. She’d been a virgin. “By our wedding night you’ll be ready to make love several times in a night. But for now, we must practice a little restraint.”
“Oh, very well,” she said, clearly disappointed. “So, I suppose we must leave now.”
“No, it’s early yet.” He gathered her against him and she snuggled happily up to him, twining her limbs around his and nestling her cheek on his chest. They lay together in the faint moonlight that slowly grew, talking of this and that. He told her about the garden his mother had made at his country estate, and how it had been somewhat neglected.
She told him of the plan her new little half sister had made, to go to France and learn to be a lady. And become a painter. And how she was sad to be losing her, but resigned to it because it was what Zoë wanted.
They talked about the house. She didn’t much care about the interior decoration—she was more interested in the garden—oh, and she would want a room where she could make her creams and lotions. But she loved everything about the choices he’d made for the bedroom, and he confessed that he had sought the advice of Leo’s Neapolitan majordomo, Matteo, who had overseen the refurbishment of Leo’s house.
The whole time she talked, she stroked him, rather like a cat. It challenged his restraint—she was still quite an innocent in bedroom matters—but Race felt like purring. To think that this wonderful woman was going to be his wife.
They discussed the wedding and she confided that she would have preferred something small and intimate, but that her sisters and Lady Scattergood and Mrs. Price-Jones were arranging everything and refused to tell her what their plans were. Mrs. Price-Jones stressed that a small wedding would look like a hole-in-the-corner affair, and after all the scandal, it was necessary to make a splash.
“I would be happy to intervene,” Race offered. “It’s your day, after all.”
She smiled and rubbed her cheek against him. “Thank you. It’s tempting, but again I really couldn’t. Everyone’s gone to so much trouble. I’ll just have to endure it—it’s only one day, after all.” She looked up at him, and the look in her eyes made his heart catch. She added, “And now that I know what will be awaiting me—us—at the end of the day I will have something to look forward to.”
He kissed her. She was such a generous soul. He knew she was uncomfortable with crowds, and people looking at her. That would change, he hoped, as she became more confident of her own unique beauty.
“You led me a right merry dance, you know,” Race said.
“It was your own fault. I thought you were a conscienceless rake. Everybody said so.”
