“But Quint,” she said, holding him off with one hand, “your career means everything to you. You must go back out there and tell that reporter—”
“No, Catie,” he said, his finger brushing over her lips, “I meant what I said. As for going back out there, I’m perfectly happy exactly where I am right now.”
Quint wrapped a hand around his wife’s waist and tugged her against him. She was warm and supple in his arms, and he could not resist bending to taste the exposed skin of her neck.
“So sweet,” he murmured against her ear and felt her shudder. “I wonder if you know what I’m thinking at this moment.”
“Perhaps I am thinking the same thing,” she said, pressing herself against him.
“Oh, God, I hope so.”
He took her mouth with his, delving between her warm wet lips, tasting her hungrily. He tried to be gentle, but his need was too great. And she was having none of his tenderness tonight. Her hands tore at his coat, and then, when she could not remove it, her fingers tugged at his hair, bringing his mouth down on hers.
He removed his coat for her, and then her hands were inside his shirt, her touch heating his skin even further. His hands inched up her waist, cupping her breasts, and then fumbling with her gown and her stays to free her flesh for further exploration.
“My, but you did that rather easily,” she gasped, as his thumbs brushed over her erect nipples.
“I have a confession.” He dipped and laved a tongue over one pebbled nub. “I am rather eager to be inside you.” He closed his mouth over one breast and kneaded the other with his hand.
“I think . . . I feel . . . the same.” Her voice was breathless with need, and she arched against him, pulling his hair to keep his mouth where she desired.
When sampling her flesh with his lips was no longer enough, he reached under her skirts and stroked her thigh. Her skin was silky smooth under his fingertips. As he inched higher, she moaned in his ear. Her moans turned to gasps as his fingers penetrated the juncture of her thighs. She was already wet for him.
He plied her flesh with expert strokes until her breathing rasped against his temple, and then she tugged on his hair, and he looked up at her.
The corridor was dark, but she had a mischievous smile on her face. “Let me show you what I am thinking,” she whispered, and with one hand she reached out and stroked his hard length through his trousers.
He threw back his head and closed his eyes, reveling in the pleasure of her touch. Her fingers were uncertain at first, slow and cautious, but then, with encouragement, her strokes grew bolder and longer. And then with a flick of her fingers, she freed him from his trousers, and her hand touched his bare flesh. He stifled a growl in her neck and pulled her hard against him.
Lifting her off the ground, he swung her toward the door, and pinned her against it. Her skirts were an encumbrance for only a moment, and then he felt her warmth against him.
“Wrap your legs around me, sweetling,” he murmured in the peach-scented curls at her ear. “I’ll hold you up.”
She did as he commanded, and with slow, cautious movements, he entered her. But once again, she thwarted his best attempts at gentleness. She moved against him so that he filled her far more quickly than he’d intended. And God help him, but he loved the feel of her around him.
He withdrew and thrust again, trying once again to keep his movements gentle, but she tugged at his hair. “Harder, Quint. Faster.”
He could not argue with that dictate, and he plunged into her, hearing the thunk as her body pushed against the door. And still she urged him on, her words frantic in his ear, her hands tugging at him, her body taking and demanding as eagerly as his own.
Her cries became louder, drowning out the thunk of the door and the orchestra music above that. She was riding the tide with him. He could feel it in the way her legs tensed, the way she threw her head back, the tiny ripples as she clenched and released around him.
“Quint. Quint,” she gasped. “Yes, yes.”
And then he was flying with her. He was part of her, and they fell down the waterfall together, tumbling over and over and over until he could barely catch his breath.
When he finally landed, her moans were a ragged echo in his ears. He held her as long as he could, his arms cupping her bottom, holding her close to him. She held him as well. Her hands clutched his back, her fingers digging into his shirt. Finally, he pulled back and began to set her down. But even when he released her, his arms did not stop shaking. He was trembling from the experience of being with her. He’d never given so much to a woman, never been with a woman who seemed to want him as much as he wanted her.
He glanced at her, and even in the dark he knew she looked debauched and disordered. And how was he to walk out of this door with her? They’d emerge in full view of all their guests, and what they’d been doing would be patently obvious.
“I suppose we must return to the ball,” he said, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.
She nodded. “I suppose we must, but I’d rather stay here with you. That was”—she paused, obviously looking for the right word—“amazing. I did not know that could happen when you were inside me.”
Quint frowned in puzzlement. “What could happen?” Then he remembered her contractions. “Oh, that. Yes. You might have known before if I was not always so eager with you.”
“But you were eager tonight.”
He pulled her close and hugged her. “I’m always eager with you. But I promise that from now on I will take more time. I want you to feel pleasure every time I’m inside you.” He whispered the last and felt her shudder.
