But it was hers to give, not his to take.
She lifted to the tips of her toes and touched soft lips to his, her hands finding the back of his head, her fingernails a light scrape across his scalp. Goose bumps lifted across his skin as he found the small of her back and pressed her up against the length of his body, deepening the kiss. Still, no words had passed their lips, but their bodies knew what to say.
All at once, tentativeness transformed into greed. She was pushing his coat off his shoulders and unknotting his cravat. He was blindly searching for the buttons of her bodice and sorely tempted to rip them off when they refused to give way. She’d become frustrated with the buttons of his waistcoat and had no such qualms, one button flying into the grass, another plunking into the stream.
He couldn’t remember ever feeling this frantic need for a woman, to have her touch upon him, to have her flesh made one with his. Through the gray superfine of his trousers, her fingers traced the hard length of his manhood. He sucked in a sharp breath.Help him.
As she fumbled about the closure, he had her stays unbound and the chemise over her head before removing his own shirt. Her gaze fixed on the view before her, and her fingers went still. “I never knew men of flesh and blood looked like you.”
And he understood at once something he’d liked about her from the very beginning.
This woman didn’t see him as a duke.
But as aman.
It mattered.
The suspicion entered that he might more than like this woman.
Even if she didn’t know how to operate the closure of a man’s trousers. They would be here all day—completely, frantically unsatisfied—if he left it up to her. So, he did the only sensible thing and brushed her fingers aside before finishing the job himself. Then he gathered her in his arms and laid them both down onto the blanket.
Stretched beneath him, golden curls tumbled about her, she was a vision. Only her stockings and slippers remained. Today, they must go. He would never forgive himself if he went another day without seeing those perfect legs unclad.
Stockings flung away, possibly into a tree, he skimmed up the long length of her legs with fingertips and tongue, savoring the taste of her, the sun illuminating pale skin through the dappled canopy above. Her fingers wove through his hair, tugging at him until they met eye to eye, him above and she below.
“I can’t wait a second longer,” she whispered. “I ache for you.”
Her arms wrapped around his neck, and her legs around his waist, snugging her body against his, her taut nipples poking against his chest, her sex slick against his cock. Her eyes drifted shut, and she moaned, liquid and languorous, as she moved against his hard length. Her movement a tease…apromise.
He couldn’t take anymore. He took his length in hand and guided himself to the entrance of her sweet, wet quim.
I ache for you.
He knew he must take his time. With one long, possessive stroke he took her, watching her face wince with a tiny shard of pain, then blossom with pleasure, as he filled her, inch by deliberate inch. She gasped. She groaned. He remained steady, even when she began moving against him with unpracticed movements that drove him wild for her.
Sensing that she’d adjusted to him, he found a rhythm with her. Her inhalations deepened and her groans lengthened and her grip tightened on his arse, her legs splaying wider, demandingmore. Her honest craving for him lacked artifice or pretense. The sincerity of it snuck past his defenses and touched a place inside him he didn’t want to exist. He and Amelia, together, wasn’t a flat, soulless coupling. It held depth and dimension. It might be something worth holding onto.
His weight supported by a forearm to the side of her head, his other hand reached beneath her bottom and lifted so her hips now angled up.
“There’s more of you?” she asked on a gasp, even as a wicked smile tipped about her mouth.
He chuckled, continuing to deliver stroke after intentioned stroke.
“Oh, Tristan,” she cried out, and gratification soared through him.
His mouth found the crook of her neck and licked. A long, animal moan escaped her. His tongue trailed lower, hungry for the taste of her—lavender…salt…woman.
He reached beneath her shoulders and brought her so her breasts met his mouth. The woman had the most perfect, little breasts. He couldn’t get enough as he kissed, licked, and sucked them, encouraging her to become her wildest self beneath him. She’d gone mindless with abandon.
His, the primal beast within him demanded…claimed.
Her eyes squeezed shut, and she bit her bottom lip between her teeth, her movements becoming more focused. She was seeking release.
He could give it to her like this, but there was another way he wanted to experience her.
Using what little willpower that yet existed inside him, he pulled from her. Her eyes flew open. “What are you doing?” she demanded.
As he moved down her body, he smiled up at her. “You’ll see.”
