Page 38 of Stolen By the Rogue
He rose over her and looked into her eyes. Dark pools of desire stared back at her, but above them sat a worried expression on his brow. “Don’t you want me to . . .”
“No. Not this time. Maybe later.”
As he set the broad head of his cock to her entrance, Jane almost wept with relief.
So long. So bloody long.
She clenched her fingers to the sides of his hips as he slowly pressed in. He withdrew for a moment, then pushed deep, seating himself fully within her.
“George!”
With his every stroke she began the familiar climb to climax, urging him on with her fingers as she dug them into his flesh.
Drawing her leg over his hip, she opened her sex more fully to him, and George began to thrust hard and fast into her. The room was soon filled with the sounds of skin on skin and Jane’s cries of pleasure.
She crashed through into a blinding orgasm, her whole body feeling like it had turned to heated mercury. There were a few more frenzied strokes before George let out a loud groan and collapsed on top of her.
For a short time, they simply lay in silence in the dark, their bodies still melded together. When George eventually rolled off and flopped onto the mattress beside her, Jane retrieved a blanket from the end of the bed and threw it over them. George lay on his back, wrapping a strong arm around Jane as she snuggled against him and rested her head on his chest.
Listening to the steady, slow beat of his heart, Jane resisted the temptation to make pillow talk. She wanted to preserve this moment, to savor the memory of her and George’s first time together. With luck, it wouldn’t be the last.
Chapter Twenty-Four
They had made love twice the previous night. Yet from the way Jane was behaving, it was almost as if it had never happened. While George was a man used to sexual liaisons with little to no strings attached, he found her demeanor the following morning oddly unsettling. He was the one with the greatest amount of sexual experience, but the fact that Jane had any sort of romantic past did not sit easily with him.
Jealousy was a strange, new emotion to him. He could privately admit to not enjoying it in the least. Who was the man who had taken her innocence, who had also at some point held her love?
And how can I remove the memory of him from her heart?
She was his, and he would be damned if someone from her past would have any place in her memories. Not even a dark out-of-the-way corner.
It didn’t matter to him. Whatever it would take, George was determined to wipe away every last trace of another man from his woman’s life. He wanted Jane’s heart and soul completely for himself.
After venturing out early to buy some chalk, George returned to the house where he
spent over an hour tapping against the walls and floors of the master bedroom before his curiosity and unsettled mind finally got the better of him. With a loud huff, he went in search of Jane.
He found her in the tiny attic.
“About Malta?” he began as he stepped into the room.
Jane was in the far corner, knocking against the wall. Taking a block of the chalk, she marked a big ‘X’ on a nearby wooden beam before coming over to where George stood. “What about Malta?”
This could be awkward.
How did a gentleman enquire as to his partner’s previous sexual encounters? The fact that she was experienced should have been enough. In one respect he was grateful that she was. It meant he hadn’t had to deal with the delicate matter of taking her virginity. He had heard enough rumors of wedding nights and timid brides to know he wasn’t keen on deflowering any woman. But the fact that Jane had had a previous lover was a double-edged sword.
I should have been her first . . . and only.
She shook her head. “You don’t want to know about Malta. You want to know whohewas, and why the devil we didn’t end up as man and wife.”
“Yes.”
* * *
She wasn’t surprised that George had come seeking answers. Those sorts of things were important to many men. And George Hawkins was definitely the possessive, dare she say jealous type.
“Come on downstairs and we can have some of the leftover bread from breakfast as our elevenses. There should be some clean water in the bucket for a tepid cup of tea,” she said.
