But not yet. Not until she was so drunk on pleasure she would never feel the pain of his entry.
And so he bent to kiss her belly. Her flesh rippled, and she giggled. “That tickles,” she said, her voice husky from the pleasure he’d given her.
“Not for long,” he murmured, moving lower. The curls at the V between her legs were red as the hair on her head, and he reached to part them, so that he had a tantalizing view of the temptation that waited for him.
She didn’t try and protest or offer false modesty. She opened for him, once again trusting him with this intimate act. He parted her folds, revealing the pink, tender flesh, now sleek and wet. Leaning closer, he breathed warm air on her and watched her hands close convulsively on the sheets beneath her. He opened her wider, breathed again, and then tasted her with the tip of his tongue.
She moaned and arched, and he tasted again, this time probing deeper. She was so sweet, and he pulled back to tell her. But by now her eyes were dark with arousal, and she only shook her head.
He dipped to taste her again, and then spreading her folds so that he could see the tiny reddish nub buried there. He tapped his tongue on it.
She jumped and cried out. He tapped again, so lightly he was not even certain he was touching her. But he must have been because he could see her coming apart. He tapped again, and her hips came off the bed. She offered herself to him, and he took, bringing her to orgasm again.
But this time he did not intend to allow her to come down. Just as he saw her go over the edge, he rose up on his knees and inserted the head of his cock into her. Her eyes opened and she blinked at him.
“I can still stop,” he croaked. God, he didn’t want to, but he could still cease if she asked.
In answer, she rose again, took more of him inside her, and Stephen had to grip her hips to keep from plunging his full length into her.
“More,” she pleaded, attempting to arch again. “More.”
He moved again, felt the barrier of her maidenhead, and paused. A fraction of an inch and she would be his.
He looked at her—at her tousled curls, her bright green eyes, her parted pink lips. She was watching him too, begging him to continue. Closing his eyes, he plunged deeper. Plunged into heaven.
God, she was so hot and so wet. He was ready to spill his seed in her after the first thrust. But he also knew he had hurt her. He felt her tense, and he opened his eyes.
Tears ran down her cheeks, and he leaned down to kiss them away. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“I know,” she answered. “Don’t stop.”
“We should wait. Are you—?”
“Don’t stop,” she demanded, and rose to tempt him further.
Stephen needed little encouragement to plunge into her again. He thrust deeper and felt his own need heighten. Faster and harder, she urged him until he was so senseless with pleasure that he was clinging to her. He hadn’t even climaxed, and already he was crying out.
“I can’t—”
He had intended to pull out of her, to spill his seed outside of her womb so as not to impregnate her, but he found he could do little but drive into her more deeply.
“Josephine—” he began again. She didn’t answer, just tightened her legs around him, pulling him over the edge and plunging him into an explosion of light and sound and exquisite feeling.
Chapter Fifteen
Josie lay in Westman’s arms, listening to the slow rise and fall of his breathing. After their lovemaking, he’d pulled her against his chest and cradled her in the envelope of his arms. She’d never felt so safe or so cared for.
She sighed with contentment. She was tired and sore and wonderfully satiated. She had known it would be like this with him. She had wanted him, and she’d had him, and she didn’t regret it. Lying here in his arms, the zing of the pleasure he’d given her still coursing through her limbs—how could she regret this?
She only hoped he felt the same.
He’d said he didn’t want her, and she’d known it was a lie; but now that her mind was clearer, she revisited those words. He didn’t have to mean that he didn’t want her physically—she had known he wanted her that way almost from the beginning— but he could mean that he didn’t want any more from her. He wanted her body and the pleasure she gave him, but that was all.
And Josie never expected anything more. She’d wanted a man who would treat her as an equal. What would be more equal than taking the pleasure she gave and offering nothing more? That was as much as she offered, after all.
Then why did she feel like she was missing something? She had everything she wanted. She was on an adventure to find her grandfather’s treasure, and she’d finally found a lover. What more was there?
To prove her grandfather innocent of the murder of James Doubleday. She still had that before her, of course.
