Page 52 of The Courtship Trap
“Harry,” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his voice a low, rough caress. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
But she did not.
She could not.
Instead, she lifted her face to his, her fingers splaying against the hard planes of his chest.
“I do not want you to stop,” she whispered.
A muscle ticked in his jaw, as though he were barely holding back.
Then, with a soft curse, he captured her lips once more, and the world fell away.
Their mouths met in a heated clash, their bodies pressed flush against each other, skin against skin. Harriet clutched at his shoulders, nails digging lightly into the taut muscle beneath, overwhelmed by the strength coiled in his frame, the unyielding warmth of him.
Sebastian deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping along hers with a slow, devastating thoroughness, as if he were committing every taste and sigh to memory. She gasped into his mouth as his hands traveled over her, tracing the delicate slope of her waist, the curve of her hip, pulling her against his naked body as though he could imprint her onto his very being.
His skin was a furnace against hers, as he lowered her onto the thick rug, and Harriet felt as though she were being laid upon an altar. Revered. Worshipped.
Her breath came in shallow gasps as he loomed over her, propped on his elbows, bracing his weight so that he did not crush her, though she almost wished for it—to be utterly consumed by him. He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, his fingers warm and gentle, in stark contrast to the fierce hunger in his eyes.
“You are …” He exhaled roughly, as though words failed him, and instead, he lowered his head to taste the delicate skin just below her ear, his lips branding a path down her throat. Harriet arched into him, tilting her chin back to grant him better access, her fingers sliding into his thick golden hair.
Sebastian groaned against her skin, the sound reverberating through her as he pressed kisses along her collarbone, then lower, following the curve of her body as if he sought to map every inch of her with his lips. One of his hands drifted down, skimming the length of her thigh before hitching it over his hip, pressing her open beneath him.
Harriet gasped at the contact, at the sheer intimacy of it, heat pooling low and insistent as Sebastian’s grip tightened on her leg. His forehead came to rest against hers for a moment, grounding himself.
“I have dreamed of this,” he admitted, his voice rough with need.
Her heart twisted. “So have I.”
For a brief moment, he stilled, his breathing heavy, his body pressing into her deliciously.
Then, with a raw, whispered curse, he shifted, preparing to claim her fully. Harriet felt the blunt tip of his hard length nudging against her dripping womanhood, slickened with her desperate need to feel him enter her, to fill the aching void.
Then he nudged forward, before thrusting in one powerful stroke to seat himself inside her, and Harriet gasped with the overwhelming sensation, bucking against him in a plea for more. Sebastian took his time, measured and patient, although his jaw was firm and his face strained to reveal the depths of control he was mustering.
He rode her, thrusting in and out until Harriet was overwhelmed once more, arching beneath him in mindless pleasure. And as she neared her peak, she felt the instant Sebastian lost control, his thrusting more frantic as he sought his own release.
They reached it together, his deep groan mingling with the muted shriek she pressed into his muscled shoulder as they rode the waves of passion to its final destination, before collapsingtogether in a panting heap of tangled limbs and sweat-soaked tendrils of hair.
CHAPTER 11
As morning light doth chase the night away,
Your love dispels the darkness from my day;
With every dawn, my heart anew doth sing,
For you, my love, are life’s eternal spring.
The New Ladies’ Valentine Writer (1821)
DECEMBER 19, 1821
Harriet awakened as the pale light of morning filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over her bedchamber. A deep warmth curled through her limbs, the lingering sensation of last night’s intimacy wrapping around her like the heavy coverlet. She turned, reaching out instinctively, eager for the solid warmth of Sebastian beside her. But her searching fingers found only cool, empty sheets.
Blinking, she propped herself up on one elbow, pushing her tousled hair from her face. The remnants of the candle they had burned low the night before sat in a pool of hardened wax, its feeble light having long since extinguished.
