She felt him ease her down farther, and the head of his cock pressed into the part of her that was wet and throbbing. She whimpered and tried not to move, though every instinct in her body screamed to press down, to take him inside in one long liquid thrust downward.
“Mattie,” he said, and then made a harsh sound. He shifted himself down, away—no,she thought, andplease, please—and then shoved back up into her, a groan tearing itself from his chest. “You are—ah—so tight—”
She was shaking from the effort of holding still as he worked himself into her channel. His cock filled her in slow, deliberate thrusts, and she made incoherent sounds, fisting the sheets at his sides. His hands held tight to her hips, holding her in place as he plunged into her from beneath. She turned her face so that her cheek pressed against the hard plane of his chest, and she heard the thunder of his heart.
His thrusts increased in tempo, his breath sawing in and out unsteadily. With every thrust, her body bounced above his and her clitoris rubbed against him. She felt release—again, somehow—circling, drawing closer, tightening her limbs.
“Harder,” she begged. “More.”
He did as she asked, his chest rising and falling rapidly against her cheek, his cock pounding up into her.
“Need you,” he said. “Need you so bad, Mattie.”
White lights flickered at the edge of her vision. Pleasure and need and sweetness and demand were all she knew—Christian’s cock filling her, stretching her, his hands fastened to her hips, and her sex clenching hard around him as she found her release again.
She was still shaking when he withdrew with a desperate groan, trapping his cock between their bellies and jerking up against her. She felt his spend, coming in hot waves between their bodies. His fingers dug harder into her flesh. Her name was in his mouth, a helpless rasp against her hair as he came.
“Mattie,” he said. “Matilda.”
She kissed his chest as his fingers slowly loosened, and then she found the curve of his shoulder and touched him, petted him in gentle strokes. She listened to the frantic pace of his heart slow. She kissed him again, and a third time.
It was so lovely to touch him. It was dizzyingly sweet to give him this affection, and to have him hold her while she did so. She loved the soft breaking of her name, the whispered endearment no one had ever used but he—all the ways he made her feel precious to him.
One of his hands went to her hair. He cupped the back of her head, then lightly trailed his fingertips down her neck.
She was damp with sweat and sticky where their bodies touched. She was going to be sore; she thought she might have bruises on her hips in the morning.
And she’d never felt such happiness, such slow, melting pleasure.
“Stay,” he said. “Will you stay?”
She trailed her fingers down his arm until she found his hand. His palm was loose and open, and she slipped her hand into his. He clasped her fingers tightly, and she shut her eyes against the joy and trepidation that filled her.
He had not said,Forever.But nevertheless, she nodded against his skin. “I am not going anywhere.”
Chapter 17
The wintry sun poured in through the small window and lit Matilda’s hair. Christian spread the curling ends over her freckled shoulder and watched as the sun turned the tumbled mass from red to glinting copper. It was cold outside—November in Northumberland—but he did not feel it. Matilda lay sleep-warm beside him and the flame-bright strands of her hair tangled round his hand.
She had not yet awakened. He touched one freckle on her shoulder and then another. He thought he might count them. He could spend all day here, Matilda naked in his bed, enumerating every freckle on her body with his finger and the tip of his tongue.
If he lost count, he could start again. He would not mind.
They’d woken once in the night. He’d found himself wrapped around her, just as he’d been in the inn, only this time he did not pull away. He’d touched the slope of her belly, then emitted a frankly embarrassing whimper of pleasure when she’d pushed her delicious arse back against his arousal.
She’d felt his erection, of course, and made a sweet little sound that settled somewhere in his chest. “I thought older gentlemen were meant to need longer to recover.”
He’d tilted his head up and closed his teeth over the curve of her ear. Then he’d lifted her leg, settling her knee over the top of his thigh. “Mm. It’s true. I’ll need half the night, at least.” He stroked from her knee all the way up to the crease of her pelvis. He kept his touch light, teasing. “How shall I fill my time?”
She’d arched her back then, and he’d bitten back a groan. He’d touched the soft skin above her mound, then dipped lower in a quick circle. “I’m sure I can think of something.”
He thought he could fill his time just that way for the rest of his natural life.
He was at twenty-nine freckles just on the back of her when she stirred and then turned over suddenly. She seemed instantly alert. Her eyes were clear and bright, a blue-sky blue, a midday-in-June blue.
Now,he thought.Now is when you say it.
He opened his mouth and tried to form the words. He wanted it to be right. When he asked her to stay, he wanted her to know that it was not because of the sexual intercourse—as shatteringly pleasurable as it had been—or out of some misplaced sense of honor. He loved her. Helovedher, and he trusted her, and he was almost brave enough to trust himself.
