She shivered in anticipation, and decided it had been too long between kisses. Shameful, really, because with him propped up on his elbows and her perched on her heels, all she had to do was swoop down and kiss him.
So she did.
What was meant to be a simple kiss quickly turned raw, then hungry, then carnal. She fed the flames, let them burn. She needed it to be this way. Needed him to be as desperate to be lost in her as she was to be lost in him. They could forget the outside world together.
Mouth still locked with his, she fumbled with the buttons of his waistcoat. Too many. Far too many. But at last, the final button popped free. He broke the kiss in order to shuck the irritating garment. She took the opportunity to hike the hem of her shift high enough to allow her legs to straddle him. Mmm. This was a much better position from which to remove his shirt. In seconds, the fine lawn had joined the growing pile of abandoned vestments on the carpet.
The soft buckskin of his breeches was now the only fabric remaining between them. She smiled. With her thighs spread atop his, her lips were no longer in line with his.
Her breasts were.
He took one in his mouth. The nipple hardened and reached for him through the damp fabric. He suckled. She latched onto his hair. Her back arched as she pressed his face into her breasts. The movement caused her to slide deliciously against the hard shaft pulsing between her legs. His fingers dug into her hips. Was he trying to make her stop? He gave her bottom an impatient slap. No. He was telling her to do it again.
Gripping his shoulders, she began to rock against him. Slowly. Tentatively. Then again with more pressure, more confidence, moreneedas the whirlpool of desire began to swirl between her legs.
He reached between them and unbuttoned his fall, releasing the hard proof of his arousal. This time, she wasn’t staring from across the room. This time she was stroking that hot naked flesh with her own wet heat. Could he—could she—like this? Simply by rubbing herself against him? His teeth closed gently on her nipple, laved, then nibbled again. Her eyes fluttered in pleasure. Yes, yes, she could. Just like this. Was about to, in fact.
His hand slid up her thigh, squeezed, then dipped between them. Now she was riding the edge of his hand as well as his shaft. She gasped as he slid a finger inside of her. The pad of his thumb caressed her, stroked her, until the threads of her self-control began to unravel.
“M-Mr. Bothwick...”
“Evan,” he corrected, the syllables muffled by her aching breast. His thumb continued its lazy assault, his finger its delicious in-and-out movement.
“Evan,” she repeated blindly, her own words breathless and ragged. “I’m going to... You’re going to make me...”
And then she did, her entire body jerking as her muscles contracted around his finger. She fell forward, panting into his hair. His finger disappeared. He shifted her hips. Something else was pressing against her, something longer, something harder, something infinitely bigger.Thiswas what he felt like. Slick with her desire, his shaft stretched her, filled her. She moaned, clutched him to her.
His left hand splayed against the curve of her bottom, coaxing her to continue rocking against him as his shaft pulsed and slid within her. His right hand slipped between them, his knuckles rubbing against her sensitized flesh in the most delicious of patterns.
Her nails dug into his shoulders, but not because she wished for him to stop. She would die if he stopped. She wanted to keep him there, hold him to her, deep inside of her, forever. His thighs flexed beneath her as his shaft filled her again and again. Her legs clenched around his hips as the intoxicating pressure began to build once more. He suckled her. Squeezed her. Stroked her.
She cried out as his thumb’s inexorable caresses coalesced with the heady fusion of their bodies. Her muscles spasmed. Joyfully, desperately. He didn’t stop rubbing with his thumb or driving his shaft into her until the last of the contractions.
He rolled them over as one, their bodies still locked together. She twined her arms about his neck, wrapped her legs around his hips. He captured her mouth with his. His body tensed and flexed as he slid in and out, faster, harder.
Susan’s body thrummed.Thiswas life. This was love.
Her hips rose and fell in rhythm with his. She hugged him with her arms. Clutched him with her legs. He never stopped kissing her, never stopped the delicious thrusting that was even now building the tension in her womb. His breathing came faster, as if he sensed she was about to crest again. As if the knowledge brought him to the edge of the same precipice.
Her head fell backward as her body contracted around him. He waited until the last of her contractions, then jerked to the side, dousing her hip with hot liquid. He collapsed half on top of her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. His eyes fluttered shut. He cuddled her a little closer.
Despite his weight, she smiled to herself as she hugged him to her. He felt warm and strong. And… a little sticky?
She frowned. Why had he—and then it hit her. Of course. He’d withdrawn at the last second so as not to fill her with his seed. To make sure no bastard children would result from their illicit liaison.
Bloody hell, she’d just had an illicit liaison.
Chapter 36
To say Miss Stanton didn’t take the aftermath well would be an understatement.
Susan, rather. Or not. She’d bade him address her by her first name in the heat of passion, but if the horrified expression draining the blue from her eyes was any indication, Evan was about to have that privilege revoked.
“What have I done?” she said, her voice nearly wheezing with horror.
He rolled aside to let her breathe.Lovemakingdidn’t seem the response she was looking for, so he tried for a bit of levity. “Some call it the featherbed jig.”
She disemboweled him with her glare.
