He stroked her there, lightly at first, with the pad of his finger. She whimpered and bucked against him, and she said his name, over and over, as he slipped first one finger and then another inside her. As he pumped them, slow and deep, while he licked her. She was beyond speech by the time she came, only sweet pleading sobs that made him want to spend in the goddamned sheets.
He had meant to make her come again—had meant to go more slowly—but his world had shrunk to Winnie and her breathless little gasps and the fevered clench of her body around his fingers, and he had to—he had to—
He was above her, pressing against her, whispering, “Tell me you’re certain, Winnie, promise me,” and she was sayingyesandplease,and he was lost. He worked his way into her—sweetandhotandmoreandmore—a slow patient entry and withdrawal that nonetheless had him near to shattering.
“Tell me if you need me to stop,” he said.
“Don’t stop.”
He took her at her word. He moved in her, and her head tossed from side to side, her hair sweaty and tangled and spilling in waves over the sheets like a fortune of gold. She was beautiful—and he loved her—and he wanted this to be good for her—and, God help him, he wanted to come.
“Can I—try—” He slid one hand beneath her knee and pulled her leg up. The angle shifted, and he came even deeper into her on his next thrust. He groaned and pressed his face against her neck. “Oh God, Win. Tell me if it’s too much. Tell me—”
“Not too much,” she gasped. She hooked her leg around his waist, and he thought he would lose his mind—his fantasy, Winnie in her stockings, her legs wrapped round him—so much better than he could ever have imagined because it was real and because she wanted him.
He shifted his weight to one arm and brought his hand down between them, touching where they were joined and watching her face. Her hips jerked erratically as he moved over her clitoris. Her heel dug into his back.
“Want to watch you,” he said. “Been dreaming of watching you come on my cock—ohfuck—” Her body had jerked at his words, the walls of her sex tightening around him.
He tried to think. She liked his rhythm fast and almost too hard, she liked his fingers inside her when she came—she liked this, he could tell she did, her wordless sounds going raw and frantic, and he could not spend inside her, hecould not—
Her thighs trembled when she came. Her hips worked convulsively, her face flushed and her lips parted on the sweetest cry he’d ever heard.
He withdrew half-desperately when her shudders slowed—fisted his cock and squeezed, groaning at the slick feel of her arousal coating him. He stroked himself, a handful of hard, quick pulls, and then his orgasm was upon him, his seed spilling on Winnie’s thighs in a hot rush that was bliss, that was relief, that wasmine mine mine.
When he got his breath and his wits back, he used the tail of his discarded shirt to clean his spend from her skin. He slipped loose the ribbon of her garters and kissed her there before he peeled the stockings off. With his palm he followed their path, all the way down, slow and soothing.
He pushed his thumb into the arch of her feet, first one and then the other. Her soft exhalation gave him a different kind of pleasure, a Winnie-at-her-ease pleasure, a satisfaction that came from having contented the woman he loved.
When he judged her near to sleep, he moved back up to lie beside her, drawing the linens over them both.
She would be sore. It was not yet evening—he could ring for a bath for her. They had plenty of time before the duchess’s ball.
But not now, he thought. He would allow himself this luxury: to feel her long body next to his and not to move just yet.
When she spoke, it was with her eyes still closed and her fingers curled into a lock of her sweat-dampened hair. “We can lie.”
He had no idea what she was about. “What do you mean?”
“To the courts,” she said, “for the annulment. We can still lie. They do not have to know that this… that we…”
His blood ran cold.
He had thought—
You,she’d said.I want you.
He’d thought she’d meant… everything. The marriage, the earldom, his great idiotic bleeding heart. He’d thought she’d wanted it all.
But she had not said that, had she? It had been his own foolish hope, his own blinding need for her.
“We could,” he said, “yes.” He felt as though he had ice in his veins, sharp jagged crystals. He did not know how they did not shatter as he sat up and let the linens fall to his waist. “That’s… what you want?”
He had promised her. Whatever she wanted, if it was within his power, he would give to her.
Even if what she wanted was her freedom. Even if what she wanted meant he could give her nothing at all. Not even himself.
She didn’t say anything, only turned on her side away from him in the bed. He could see the long slender line of her back beneath the sheet.
