All her nerve endings fired. She was so swollen that the fit was tighter than she remembered ever feeling. Flames erupted from every tiny spot he touched, rolling up through her, igniting everything in its path. Her breasts ached, her nipples stabbed the air, her hands clenched. Despite her awkward position, her hips rose against him, and she keened once before the explosion darkened her vision.
He thrust again and again. The ecstasy did not abate as it raced through her body, burning her, on and on.
“Ah, yes, my little peach. Come for me.” His thumb touched the bundle of nerves already throbbing, and a new wash of fire exploded from her belly to behind her eyes.
That was the last thing she felt.
Chapter Four
Robert might not be able to read women’s intentions or thoughts or even most of their actions. But he prided himself on reading their bodies and strumming them like a harp.
He’d never been athletic and still had no idea what had prompted Evan Gardner, the most popular boy at school, to befriend him. He’d never be the best-looking man in the room, even without Evan present. That did not mean he could not be the best lover in the room, even if no one knew.
This was his secret skill, giving a woman the most pleasure she’d ever experienced. The girls at Sarah Potter’s fought over him. Rarely did he choose to focus his skills on a member of the Ton or even one on the periphery, like Beth Jenkins.
He’d been unable to resist her luscious curves, though. Evan’s party gave him an opportunity for a short-term affair. He would not invest his feelings, he would not be hurt when she inevitably wanted to find someone more comfortable in social gatherings, more handsome, simply more. This dalliance had an end date built in when the party concluded in a few days.
His enjoyment of Beth’s softness and responsiveness had been so fervent, the intensity of his focus helped stave off his need for release. Even when she was spread open and at his mercy, he’d wanted to slow down, to savor this feast before him.
Only when she begged and cried for release did his mind register his rampant need for her. He remembered to protect them both from pregnancy and then…
He was home. No woman had ever fit him so perfectly. Her flesh gripped him but gave way generously. Her body’s lubrication, still sweet and salty on his tongue, helped him slide in to join pelvis to pelvis.
She arched as he surged, meeting him.
Lava flowed through him, gathering at the base of his spine and in his bollocks. Holding there, he felt her contract around him, milking his cock. He thrust through it, hoping to elongate her pleasure, gritting his teeth against his own. Then he succumbed to his body’s demands, unable to stave off orgasm any longer. Both fire and relief shot up his spine as he pulsed against her contractions, groaning.
“Here, you can do more.” He narrated for himself as much as for her. Bringing his thumb to her most sensitive spot, he pistoned his hips faster, chasing his pleasure as hers mesmerized him.
Holy hell. He could not form words or thoughts beyond that phrase. He’d never before been left speechless by passion. It was rather disconcerting.
He hung over her to catch his breath, braced on his hands. As he came back to himself, he realized she had passed out. From pleasure, he hoped.
Pulling out, he set the French letter aside on his handkerchief and, without fastening his breeches, began undoing the buckles on the leather harness she wore. He knew from prior testing that muscles stiffened after too long in his contraptions, and while passion would mask that, the discomfort kicked in afterward.
He massaged her thighs as he lowered them.
She murmured and her eyelids fluttered, but she remained lax.
Once the whole contraption was off, he turned her to recline along the length of the settee, covering her with a quilt from the bedroom. Then he fastened his breeches and stood to search for his whisky.
He lifted it to drink and rang the bell for a servant to bring tea to restore her. Such a bold young woman would not need smelling salts, just tea and a few moments to recover.
Returning, he perched on the edge of the settee and stroked her cheek with a knuckle.
Her eyes flickered open and focused on his.
“Whisky? I’ve rung for tea as well.”
“Yes, please.”
He offered her glass to her, waited while she sat up and sipped, trying to ignore the blanket falling away from her magnificent breasts. His cock twitched in renewed interest, but he ignored it, knowing she’d had enough for the night.
“Are you quite all right?”
“Ha.” She barked a laugh. “No, I’m not ‘all right.’ I’m amazed, satiated, and ever so slightly disconcerted. That was the most—” She seemed to search for the word. “—intense experience of my life. ‘All right’ does not begin to cover it.”
He was grinning by the time she was halfway through, pleased with himself and her response.
