Their mouths met with a furious clash of passion, lips fusing intensely. Her fingers entangled themselves in his inky hair, feeling the sweat and strength of the strands. He was gripping the back of her head with his gauntleted hands and they both laughed when he tried to remove them, entangled, in the silken web.
“I should not have done that,” he said, unwinding a curl from his index finger.
She smiled, reaching out to unlatch his breastplate. In less than a minute, his armor was off and they were both going to work on his clothing, their desire doubling by the second. By the time he removed his breeches, Remington had already removed her filmy robe and was lying on the bed, completely naked, demanding he hurry.
Her eyes raked him hungrily, drinking in his beautiful body. “Gaston, is it possible you have grown larger since we were last together? I do not remember you being quite so… muscular.”
He ripped the breeches free of his feet. “Fifteen more pounds of beef, angel. All I did was work myself ill during the time we spent apart. It kept my mind off you.”
She had not the chance to respond. Suddenly he was on her, their naked skin touching for the first time in months. They had not made love since she had been three months pregnant with the twins, and Gaston’s breath was shaky as his hands roved her newly luscious body. He couldn’t touch her fast enough, tenderly enough; he couldn’t get enough.
Her breasts, so round and plump and engorged, drew his mouth and she moaned softly with the sensitivity. He kneaded her breasts, somewhat surprised when milk dripped forth.
“I am sorry… did I hurt you?” he whispered, concerned.
She smiled, running her finger to catch the drops, and then plunging her finger into his mouth. “What does it taste like?”
He’d never seen a more provocative action; a painful jolt of pure lust shot thought his body. All of his resolve to go slow fled like a puff of smoke.
“Sweet,” he said huskily. “Like you.”
She cried out softly as he suckled her hungrily, low groans of pleasure rumbling from his throat. He kneaded and suckled, finally trailing down her slightly rounded stomach to her satin thighs. His actions were almost rough, firm, and she encouraged him lustily.
“Oh, damn,” he suddenly muttered.
“What?”
His mouth came up from her fleshy mound, his eyes glazed with passion. “I…brought something for us to use.”
“Brought what?”
He looked hesitant, almost at a loss for words. His fingers probed her fleshy lips, stroking her, before he answered. “You almost died with the twins and…Remi, I would rather have no more children. I do not want to lose you, angel, not even for thesake of heirs. We have two sons and two daughters. Our family is complete, I think.”
She looked at him curiously. “No more children? You would not want a son from me?”
He touched her face, his hand shaking. “Oh, angel, a son would be the greatest gift. But I will give it up if it means losing you. Do you understand what I am saying?”
She did; sort of. “But just how do you intend to prevent me from conceiving again? Gaston, I conceived the twins within a few weeks. We happen to be potent together, my love.”
“There is a woman in London who makes pessaries,” he said softly. “She guarantees that it will prevent pregnancy. I paid a good deal of money for them.”
“A pessary?” she repeated. “I have heard of them. What are they made out of?”
He was stroking her thighs, running his hand over her belly. “Coltsfoot. Bayberry. And other things; I did not ask.”
“Where are they?” she asked.
“In my saddlebags,” he laid his great head on her torso.
She raked her fingers through his hair. “You are not leaving to go and get them,” she grabbed hold of the hair, yanking him up sharply to look at her. “Take me.Now.”
He looked hesitant for a brief moment, but she smiled and wrapped her legs about him. He wanted to protest; to bid her wait until he could dress and retrieve the pessary, but the words would not come. He wanted her so badly that he couldn’t wait, either.
Bracing his arms on either side of her body, he arched into her. She cried out softly and he thrust again, shuddering. She was so terribly tight that he swore he was elongating as her walls clutched him, drawing him inward. He thrust again, and again, before he was finally seated to the hilt. Beneath him, Remington was moaning softly with pure pleasure.
They rocked together, pelvis’ meeting with force. Remington’s legs gripped him tightly, her nails biting into his massive arms. She clung to him, moving with him, feeling their heat take flight like a racing fire.
It wasn’t long before they were cresting together, the waves of pleasure rolling over them like ripples on the surface of a lake. The ripples faded, the pleasure blanketing them in a warm glow. Gaston held Remington tightly, his face buried in her hair.
