Page 87 of Beyond Scandal and Desire
Slowly he moved up her body reminding her of a wolf that had scented its prey.
“Dear God, but you’re beautiful when lost in rapture,” he rasped.
She smiled, laughed. “I’m a wanton.”
“A gorgeous one.” Resting on his elbows, he kept much of his weight off her as he lowered his head and took her mouth.
She could taste herself on his lips, his tongue. Scandalous to allow him such intimate liberties, certainly not something she’d ever imagined a man might do with a woman, and yet why shouldn’t he when she wanted to kiss him everywhere, as well?
He shifted his hips, and she was aware of his nudging the damp area where he’d just feasted. Instinctually she lifted her hips to him, felt him poised at the opening.
“Stop me if it hurts,” he whispered near her ear before taking her lobe between his teeth.
Only she didn’t. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. He stretched her, filled her. His sigh was low, dark, drawn out. She gloried in the sound.
“Christ, you feel so good,” he ground out. “Velvet. Hot, molten velvet.”
“You feel good, too.” She buried her face against his chest.
He laughed, but there was warmth in it, joy, happiness. She reveled in this moment when he seemed without cares, wanted more of them shared with him, a lifetime’s worth.
He began to withdraw.
She dug her fingers into his buttocks. “Don’t leave me.”
Looking down on her, he grinned. “I’ll come back.”
And he did, over and over, his hips pistoning, hers rising to meet him. He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, all the while thrusting, thrusting . . .
Her body tightened, the sensations began to build again. As he rode her, she held him close, with her arms, her thighs, her feet. Their movements became frantic, fevered, fierce.
“Come for me again,” he urged. “Aslyn . . . Aslyn . . . come with me.”
And she did. Her cries mingled with his groans as he tossed his head back and pumped into her so deeply that she thought he might have reached her soul.
Panting hard, he buried his face against her neck, breathed in deeply. They lay for the longest time, not moving, slick with sweat, catching their breath. She loved the weight of him resting lightly on her, raised slightly on his elbows. He kissed just below her ear.
Then he stiffened, growled. “Damnation!”
Panic surged through her. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”
He lifted his head, held her gaze. “I’ve never done that before, never not been sheathed or not withdrawn before spilling my seed.”
“Oh.”
“You felt remarkably good. I lost my senses.”
He’d grown flaccid, but he was still there. She squeezed. He groaned from the pleasure of it, shook his head.
“I want no bastards, Aslyn.”
“Oh.” It seemed the only word that remained in her vocabulary as the significance of what he was saying hit her. He might have done more than spill his seed. He might have planted it. In her womb. “It only takes once?”
“It can.”
He didn’t sound particularly happy about it. She had mentioned her desire to marry him, but he hadn’t proposed. “Well, that would certainly create scandal for me, wouldn’t it?”
He rolled off her. For all of a heartbeat she felt forlorn at the loss of his nearness, before his arm came around her and he drew her up against his side. “So would marrying me.”
