“I want both,” she stated in a rush.
His brow lifted, the cut slicing through it branding him as something other than a duke’s son. “That matches my thoughts perfectly.”
His patient regard giving her courage, she didn’t hesitate, cradling his jaw as she fastened her lips to his. Climbing atop him was quite easy without clothing, her knees wedging beside his hips. Like mounting a horse, only better. She couldn’t believe she wasn’t intimidated by her nudity, but she wasn’t. This man made her feel fearless and free.
The anticipation of feeling him was nothing compared to the reality of his shaft sliding inside her in a slow, molten burn. Inch by inch by inch. He brought the kiss into the production, his hips moving in tandem, rising to meet her downward thrusts, until he was embedded fully. His hand swept her body, cupped her breast, testing the weight of the globe in his palm. “I’ll go gently. Until you’re prepared.”
“I don’t need gentle. I need you.” She wasn’t a virgin. She yearned for what was coming.
The declaration lit a fire beneath him.
She knew what to do, mostly, from imagination more than experience, lifting while he guided. Elemental, really. Her hand went to the flexing muscles of his upper back, clutching as he stroked with tormented moans of pleasure. His touch became urgent, branding her, his need spoken without restraint. With artistry, he drew her leg high over his hip, thrusting deeply as they moved together.
She couldn’t soften the animalistic sounds leaving her lips, streaking past his ear and into the night. The dance was clumsy and wild and wonderful. A cadence found, then lost, then found again. Plunging, cresting, swelling. Bodies bumping. Her nails digging into his skin, his teeth at the nape of her neck. Kisses broken, words frayed and tattered. The air alive with the resonance of their bliss.
The tingling sensation started in her toes and rushed north, taking her breath with it. Close, she was close.
He halted, his grip firm on her waist, his brow going to hers and pressing. Moist skin to moist skin, hot breath to hot breath. “Don’t move. Don’t. Move.” Though his cock shifted inside her even as he said this. “If you do, I won’t last.”
She squirmed, searching, the nub of her sex throbbing, ready to send her off a pleasure cliff. “I thought this was…our first shot. A quick exploration.” Then she glided her mouth beside his ear and sighed inside it, “I’m there, darling. Bring me home.”
He growled and tightened his hold on her. “I can help you…help me.”
She laughed weakly, teasing him, an insane thrill considering what they were doing. When had merriment ever accompanied this? “If you think you know how, Dewitt.”
Panting, he tunneled his hand between their locked bodies, going exactly where he should. The man knew his way, a fact that aroused and infuriated her. Circling the swollen bit of skin, he whispered, “Hold on, Mountbatten.”
So she did, grabbing the bedpost and pulling herself into him, where they thrust in mutual anticipation. Bumping, grinding.
Her climax was dazzling when it arrived, a shuddering storm that seized her, destroyed her. She arched her back, her cry ringing through the darkened chamber, her vision dimming. The ripples continued until she was clinging desperately to him to keep from sliding into a puddle on the floor.
“Shh, sweetness, you’ll bring down the house,” he said and captured her lips.
Seconds later, he trembled beneath her, his release taking hold. Lifting his hips while keeping hers in place, he thrust in long, lazy strokes that sent additional waves of pleasure careening through her.
Lastly, with an oath, he pulled free, spilling his seed between them.
What a wondrous intimacy this is when it’s good, Alexandra marveled, her head dropping to Cort’s shoulder in exhaustion, her breath ripping from her lungs.
When it’s incredible. Devastating. Earthshattering.
How could she live without it now that she knew?
CHAPTER 6
WHERE TWO BECOME ONE, THEN TWO AGAIN
Cort blinked into the sunlight streaming in the window, dawn announcing itself in a burst of gilded radiance. He shoved to his elbow, a fissure of shock racing through him.
He’d slept through the night. A first since Waterloo.
He glanced to the woman curled against him, his heart giving a swift kick that denoted all kinds of horrid things. The sheet covered her, settled just above the plump curve of her magnificent breasts. A tiny tug, and he could have it around her waist. Or even better, billowing to the floor.
Where he’d then be compelled to make time disappear.
This wasn’t good—and varied from his normal routine in a thousand ways. Complicating a one-night affair by staying until morning wasn’t his style.
Awkward farewells were better received, and given, in the dark.
