She had no timidity about her when it came to any aspect of her life. Her passions guided her, and they’d led her into his embrace. He couldn’t have been more grateful.
Lifting her into his arms, he placed her on the bed and followed her down.
It was wickedly wonderful to be tucked up beneath a man’s body as he stroked and caressed sensitive areas that she’d never before realized were aching for a man’s touch. The underside of her breasts, the expanse of her back, the inside of her thighs, the back of her knees. He was tall with long arms that could reach so much of her without having to stretch. Although it no doubt helped that when he went for her calf, she bent her leg so a portion of it rested against his hip, giving him easier access. They moved in tandem, each seeming to instinctually know what the other required. She’d never known such fulfillment, such an intense sense of belonging with another.
Oh, she belonged with her family, had never doubted that, but this was an entirely different level of acceptance, of discovering where she fitted, and she fit against him perfectly. And she knew that all their encounters from the moment he’d strode into her bookshop had been leading her toward this. Want. Need. Satisfaction.
Every other man she’d met had failed to make her even think about leaping onto a bed with him, but with Matthew the desire had always been hovering, just beneath surface, teasing and taunting. Here, at last, it was coming to fruition.
Once more his hand trailed down her thigh, beneath her knee, back up. Only this time, it went higher, took a detour, and his deft fingers parted her folds, stroked the tender flesh. She relaxed into the passion. She knew how the quest would end and had no reservations regarding where he would lead her.
“You’re so wet,” he rasped. “So ready for me.” He slid his finger inside her, and lovely sensations swamped her. “And so damned tight.”
“Is all of that good?”
She felt his smile against the curve of her neck. “All of that is wonderful.”
Shifting until he was nestled between her thighs, he kissed the underside of her chin, her collarbone, the hollow between her breasts. Then he took her mouth even as he took her body, pushing into her slowly, gently, giving her time to adjust as her body stretched to accommodate him. She dug her fingers into his back, scraped them along his spine. When he was fully seated inside her, she wrapped her legs around him, held him.
He began to move, just short strokes at first, and then they lengthened, coming faster, with more purpose, more intensity. She felt the pleasure begin to swell, from where they were joined, outward to the tips of her fingers, the tips of her toes, even to the ends of her hair. Her cries mingled with his grunts, and she thought no symphony would ever sound as sweet.
Frantically her hands moved over him, over shoulders, arms, back, neck. She couldn’t seem to get enough of him, needed more, as he plowed and she met him thrust for thrust. His mouth never leaving hers, he took the kiss deeper, as deep as her body was taking him.
Every nerve ending, every muscle tightened. An explosion of sensations ripped through her. Screaming his name, she clung to him, aware of his body tightening, his back bowing. He broke free of the kiss, his feral groan echoing around her, as he went still before collapsing on top of her and burying his face in the crook of her shoulder.
Chapter 22
Fancy didn’t know why she was at this blasted ball, striving to prove that Dibble held no sway over her decisions, when ironically she was only in attendance because of her misguided need to demonstrate what required no demonstration. Yesterday her sire had dominated her thoughts and today she’d thought of little else save Matthew and how it had felt to be held in his arms.
She hadn’t seen him since he’d crept out of her residence near midnight, and she missed him terribly. Because no classes were being held tonight, she hadn’t seen him before leaving for the ball, and there had been an unexpected emptiness in her chest. She wanted to ask how his day had gone, wanted to sit in a chair reading with him across from her, wanted to share his meal, wanted his mouth on hers, his hands on her skin.
She was always striving to prove her worth to the people crowded into this grand salon. With Matthew, she’d never had anything to prove. He accepted her as she was.
And she accepted him. His kindness to Dickens. His slipping coins to barefoot children on the street. Embracing her desire to spread reading to those who had never known it. His determination to see her sire imprisoned. His comforting of her during her darkest hours. His ability to reach into her soul and heart to mend the cracks that threatened to shatter all.
Arriving here tonight, she knew she should have been impressed with all that surrounded her: gaiety, stunning gowns, and jewelry. Knew she should have been overjoyed when handsome gents asked her to dance. Within twenty minutes of her arrival, her dance card was filled with the names of lords who wanted to take her for a turn on the dance floor.
As she danced with Mr. Whitley, she realized she wanted more than a gentleman’s interest. She wanted his love. Whether the love came quickly or slowly, all that mattered was that the spark of it was there, so it could blossom into something remarkably fulfilling.
When she waltzed with Lord Wilbourne, she realized she was simply going through the motions, placing her feet where he led. There was no connection, no joy. Certainly, it was entertaining, but it was also lacking. She much preferred waltzing through her shop in the shadows.
She’d dreamed of a night like this, of having attention, of flirting, fluttering her eyelashes, blushing at compliments issued. She’d prepared for it since she was a little girl. Yet, somehow it paled, which made her feel guilty as Lord Wilbourne escorted her from the floor because the gentleman had wasted his time with her. This was not what she wanted. These men were not what she wanted. What she wanted was so much simpler, so much more rewarding: Matthew.
She’d barely taken a breath before Lord Beresford was at her side to claim his dance. “My lord.”
“You’ve been kept quite busy tonight.”
She smiled. A lady always smiled, no matter that her feet hurt, no matter that she wished to be elsewhere and would begin counting the minutes until she could leave. “It would appear so.”
“I know you favor books, Miss Trewlove. I wondered if you’d seen the Collinsworth library.”
“No, I’ve not had that pleasure.”
“Might you allow me to share it with you, rather than claim my dance? His lordship has a rare assortment of tomes I think you’d find intriguing.”
Her smile this time was genuine. “I would welcome a respite from dancing, words I never thought to utter. And you’ve definitely discovered my weakness. I can never say no to perusing books, ancient or otherwise. But is it acceptable for us to go into his library?”
“People wander through it all night. I would be honored to introduce you to it.”
