Oh, that was conquest.
At least in this moment.
And this moment was all that mattered as she angled her hips to receive more of him and meet him stroke for stroke, his equal in this tupping. He wasn’t the only one able to deliver pleasure.
He subtly pulled her hair so she arched back. “Delilah,” came his voice in her ear. “I’m almost there.”
“Oh, yes,” she returned, the now-familiar sensation coiling in her sex. “Faster,” she demanded, meeting him stroke for stroke.
He accommodated, but not as deeply, somehow intuiting what she needed—what would get herthere…faster.
Then release was breaking upon her, making her cry out, and behind her, both of her hips in his hands, he followed, shouting his release to the sky above.
She collapsed forward onto her elbows, and his movements, inevitably, slowed, the ragged in and out of his breath at her back. Though they’d…tupped…not unlike animals, she suspected—or perhaps like humans desperate for each other, came a more generous thought—she experienced connection. From her body to his, yes, but somewhere else, too.
A place that channeled deep enough to cause a dull ache inside her chest.
Was it possible that Ravensworth had connected to the place that beat faster at the merest thought of him?
It was a possibility that wasn’t as troubling as she would’ve once supposed.
*
Had he trulytupped Lady Delilah Windermere like a common strumpet?
That was Sebastian’s first thought as he reentered his body.
And had she truly enjoyed it?
That was his second thought.
Then he turned her around, met her thoroughly sated gaze, and knew the answers to both questions.
Yesandyes.
“We’ll eventually make it to a proper bed,” he said, striving for a note of levity.
No responding smile found its way to her swollen, kiss-crushed lips. Instead, she stared at him with uncharacteristic seriousness. “I think…” She was weighing her words. “I think I might like you.”
He blinked. “Youthink? Youmight?”
Truly, Delilah… What was he going to do with her?
He reckoned he could tup her again.
She looked amenable to suggestion.
He snorted.
Actually, he knew precisely what he wanted to do with her.
But it wasn’t something he could demand.
It was something he needed to ask.
And she needed to agree.
He buttoned the fall of his trousers, deciding he should be fully dressed for what he was about to say. “You seem to enjoy, erm—” He cleared his throat. He might’ve started all wrong. Perhaps it was a trifle inelegant to tell a lady that her sexual appetite resembled that of a wanton—though a compliment.
