They lay face-to-face. Mouths kissing, fingers roving. One hand cupped her jaw and the other palmed her thigh, holding her close and pulling her against him.
She enjoyed being touched, he knew. She liked being kissed, and caressed, and pleasured. Louisa wasn’t shy in her desire for him. The hard shaft of his erection pressing between their bellies could not be denied.
He wanted her with an ache that was almost painful.
Giles moved his hands to cup her firm, high, upturned breast. He toyed with the pink tips before tracing his way down her ribs to her softly sloping waist. Her slender hips and slim thighs, which gaped open for him.
Her hands were all over his body. Her lips pressed kisses to his chest. She nipped his throat and nibbled his earlobe. She slanted her mouth against his, drawing on his tongue in a wanton rhythm that soon had him panting and desperate.
He flexed his body against hers. Her knees bent and bracketed his. She arched her spine and pushed up into him, grinding and gripping at him, and chasing the connection she needed until she was pleading—pleading for him to make love to her!
His pulse pounded and his ears rang.
Soon, he too was chanting,“Louisa… Louisa…”
He’d never been much of a lover, but he aimed to please his wife. With his hands and his mouth, he did the things that brought her to the heights of ecstasy. Unashamed, went to his knees for her, worshipping the hot, wet heart of her with his tongue until she moaned, and writhed, and grabbed fistfuls of his hair, holding him where she wanted him until Louisa went taut, breathless, and gasping.
Giles felt a wave of pleasure rising within her. Swelling, crashing, swirling, and finally, bathing her in a warm, breathless glow.
He rested his cheek on her belly, which quivered as she spasmed beneath his skin. He stroked her idly, slipping his fingers through her wetness, and prolonging those tiny tremors of pleasure until she fell slackened and sated against the bedsheets.
“Oh, Giles…” she said, drowsily. Louisa smiled down at him with rosy cheeks, her face flushed from climax. “Tell me again that you’re mine.”
He laughed, for she was a good and greedy lover—in the very best way. He dragged himself up onto his arms. With his free hand, he guided the head of his arousal to her entrance and edged inside. She felt tender, swollen, and pleasure-slick.
“I’m yours,” he told her. “I’m yours, only yours…”
Louisa moaned on every inward stroke. She gasped as he withdrew and twined her arms around his shoulders, confessing that she delighted in every plunge of his flesh within hers. Every buck of his hips as he rubbed at her core.
She was honest and guileless, and each spoken word of praise enflamed him. Giles pumped his pelvis in time with hers, pressing forward and drawing back, over and over again, until he was driven mindless by the hot, tight pull of her with each stroke.
He muttered her name—Louisa! Ah! Louisa!—for there was only her.
Climax raced up his spine. He felt every nerve come alive, and his raw, bestial instinct told him to rush forward, to chase this ecstasy, to thrust inside her and spend his seed deep within, where she was warmest, softest, and relaxed enough to receive him.
Her body was primed for it, surely.
Yet the ultimate act of lovemaking was to deny himself that selfish desire. Louisa had asked him to take care with the matter of conception, and she trusted him to be true to his word. He loved her and respected her, so he withdrew before the moment of crisis.
Her hands cradled his face. Her eyes held his.
Giles cried out as he came. He did not hide from her gaze as he quaked, and rocked, and bellowed his breath. Satisfaction soothed any shame he might’ve felt in that vulnerable moment. There was only peace and bliss in Louisa’s arms.
“I love you,” she whispered.
He sank onto the dampened sheets by her side. His hand sought hers beneath the covers because he found he needed to touch her. For a frightful moment, he felt like weeping.
Giles cuddled close to her, burying his face in the curve of her neck. “I love you more.”
He thought, perhaps, that it wasn’t true. She was the better of the two of them, more loving, accepting, and undaunted in the face of life’s trials. Certainly, she meant more to him than Granborough, than his legacy or even his own life.
He’d been raised to be self-serving, guarded, and manipulative. Love was a weakness, a fault, and a chink in one’s armor through which to be struck. With Louisa, love was a state of being, meant to be nurtured, to be wondered at, and thrilled about.
Oh yes,Giles thought as he drifted into a most satisfying slumber,he loved her more…more than he’d ever imagined possible.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Louisa awoke in the cradle of his arms. The sheets swaddled around them felt warm, soft, and slightly damp from their lovemaking. They’d spent the night exploring each other’s bodies, discovering the places that brought them pleasure, and delighting in their sighs, gasps, and cries of ecstasy.
