He held them in his hands, rolling her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers as he jerked into her, attempting to prolong the moment. But it had been so long since he had last made love to her, his ballocks had already drawn tight. Her cunny was still quivering around him with the force of her release, and he would join her soon.
It was inevitable.
As inevitable as this moment between them had been.
He had tasted how much she wanted him in her kiss on the road days ago. Though she continually resisted, though she retreated and clung tenaciously to her insistence that they would be divorced, here was definitive proof unlike any other. Nell was half-disrobed, grinding down upon him, her head thrown back, eyes closed in ecstasy.
Love for her burst open inside him, blossoming like a tightly furled bud in the summer sun. He had held himself in check for days, but today, that restraint was gone. As the storm raged outside, it mirrored the feelings inside him.
Again and again, he thrust into her. Just when he could not hold on another second, he sealed their lips with a kiss. His hips left the chair as he jerked into her. Hard and deep. He spilled as he thrust his tongue into her mouth, claiming her in every way he could. His release was a torrent, flooding her, filling her with his seed.
Some selfish part of him hoped he got her with child. If she were to have his babe, she would never leave him. But he knew it was an unworthy thought even as he rocked beneath her, the last of his mettle leaving him. He had no wish to stake his claim in such fashion. To trap her.
But what had just happened could not be undone. He collapsed against the chair beneath her, boneless. Weightless. Mindless.
Thankful.
So bloody thankful.
What power she still had over him. Power unlike any other woman before her. Power no other woman could ever exert. She was the only one who held his heart in her hands. Distance, time, hurt—nothing could alter that inescapable fact.
She was like a sorceress, and he was helplessly, happily in her thrall.
She broke the kiss first, tearing her mouth from his, her breathing every bit as ragged. Her eyes were wide, glazed, her lips parted and swollen from the savagery of their kisses. Her cheeks were flushed from pleasure, her damp hair clinging to her face in golden wisps.
“This cannot be repeated,” she said.
No four words, strung together in the Queen’s English, could have infuriated him more. Nor ended the stupor of lust and love infecting his mind more efficiently.
“Yes it can,” he returned. “And it will.”
She shook her head, her expression turning stricken. “No, it cannot.”
Nell scrambled off his lap, settling her skirts back into place, tugging furiously at her corset and chemise. He remained where he was, the echo of his release still throbbing in his ballocks.
“You are ignoring the obvious, my love.” Grimly, he watched as she struggled to right the wet fabric and cover herself.
Her breasts jiggled quite temptingly. Difficult to imagine his mouth and hands had just been adoring that satin-soft, creamy skin and now she was attempting to hide it from his view.
“I am stating the obvious, rather than ignoring it,” she corrected him coolly. “Will you not at least make yourself decent?”
His cock was already half-hard again. Curse the woman. He gripped himself just to spite her, stroking slowly. He was still coated in her dew and the remnants of his seed. If she wanted to challenge him, she had chosen the wrong time to make a stand. This would not wash. There was no way she had not felt the intensity of their joining.
“If you do not like what you see, then look away,” he told her curtly. “There is nothing more natural than a husband and wife being intimate. What we just shared was long overdue.”
Her gaze settled upon his cock, and the effect was instant.
His erection jutted forward.
“Jack!” Her tone was scandalized, but she did not remove her stare.
Because she was not nearly as unmoved as she would like him to believe. He did not fool himself—Nell wanted to be unaffected by him. She did not want to long for him. She did not want to ache for him. But shedid. She did, and he knew it, because he felt the same way about her.
“I could say the same for you, darling. You are hardly decent yourself, with your pretty bubbies still on display,” he pointed out, wanting to find his way beneath her defenses once more.
“You are a scoundrel.” She spun about, presenting him with her back as she continued to struggle with the gown and undergarments he had obliterated in his frenzy to have her.
She regretted what had just happened.
