Page 87 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
He came up out of the water, pulling her with him. He stepped out of the tub, then assisted her out. He dried her, his actions tender but quick before he roughly ran a towel over himself.
When he was done, he lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the room, took her to the bed, tumbling her onto it, following her down, once again exploring her as though he’d never set eyes on her before.
He worshipped her with hands, mouth, tongue. He nibbled on her lobe, her neck, her shoulder, her breasts, lower.
He was right. If he’d done this with her before, she’d have not forgotten. She’d have not forgotten the heat, the passion, the groans. She’d have remembered the feel of his skin gliding over hers as he moved lower, the sensation of velvet rasping over her as his tongue swirled over her most intimately. She’d have remembered crying out as he took her on a journey of pure, unadulterated pleasure. She’d have remembered the smug look of satisfaction on his face when he rose above her, a look that should have angered her, but only endeared him all the more.
A man who made promises and kept them.
Yes, if she’d ever been with him before she’d have remembered.
She’d have remembered him filling her inch by slow inch. The weight of him, the fullness of him, the way her body closed so tightly around him. The deep groan he uttered as he buried his face in her hair.
Yes, she’d have remembered.
He lifted himself up, captured her gaze, and began to rock against her, long, slow, deep thrusts. Until the pleasure once more began to mount. She could see the strain on his face, the strain in his arms. He lowered his head, took her mouth, the tempo of his movements never faltering. His taste was somehow darker, richer now. He was darker, more passionate.
Breaking off the kiss, he began to move faster. Rubbing her hands over his back, over the dragon, she lifted her hips, met him on equal terms. Their breathing became labored, their skin slick. Pleasure exploded through her. She cried out his name, heard him growl hers as he slammed into her one last time, his body trembling, his jaw clenched.
Keeping his weight off her, he pressed his forehead to hers, their breathing calming, even as tremors of pleasure continued to undulate. Lethargy crept in, and she thought she might never move again.
She also knew that she would never ever forget this night.
Rolling to his back, bringing her up against his side, Drake knew he would never forget this night. The fire in her, the passion. Dear God, she was his dragon.
Hearing her soft snoring, he realized she had gone to sleep. Reaching down, he managed to snag the blankets, pull them up, and tuck them around her.
Never in his life had he known a woman like her. Never in his life had he wanted a woman as much as he wanted her.
Closing his eyes, he relived the sight of her as she was revealed to him, a gift to be unwrapped and savored. The feel of her in the water, the wonder of her touching him. The journey to the bed. The madness that followed.
The taste of her, the scent of her.
The readiness of her when he had slid into her...
She was tight, God she was tight.
Yet he had slid into her unimpeded. The truth dawned sharply and without doubt.
Lady Ophelia Lyttleton had not been a virgin when he took her.
Chapter 21
It was late morning by the time she awoke, while he’d not been able to sleep at all. Various scenarios regarding his discovery had run through his mind. One being that she was in love with someone, that Drake had taken her when she had given her heart to another. Perhaps she’d been running off to be with him, eloping even. Maybe there had been a tragic accident. Somerdale had said she had numerous suitors. Had one caught her fancy?
She smiled at him, the impish smile that he loved, that caused his chest to tighten. “Good morning,” she said sweetly.
“Morning.” There was no point in asking her, because she wouldn’t remember if she loved someone else. It was more imperative than ever that she regain her memories.
She rolled to her side, flattening her breasts against his chest, reached up, threaded her fingers through his hair, and guided him down until her mouth could capture his. His resolve threatened to dissolve like sugar encountering a cup of hot tea. He loved the straightforwardness with which she came to him, the feel of her sleek skin pressed to his. He loved her sighs and moans, the way she shifted and eased her knee between his thighs.
Dear God, but he ached to toss her onto her back, slip inside her, and stay there for the remainder of the day, the week, his life. It was possible she might never regain her memories. He could move her to the country, let her shelter animals there, visit her as often as he could—
But it wouldn’t be enough. He wanted her every day, every night. He could not settle for scraps, although it was quite possible that he already had. He never should have taken things this far. He never should have given in to temptation. He thought he knew everything about her, when in reality he knew nothing all.
Pulling back, she studied him as she trailed her fingers over his face. “Why are you scowling?” she asked. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, God no.”
