Not in a way that would prevent her from making love with him again.
She moved her hips, bringing him deeper. “No.”
He thrust his finger in and out and drew a circle around her nipple with his tongue. One more press of his thumb, and bliss seized her. She contracted around him, sparks shooting through her as she came undone.
He kissed his way back to her mouth, and then he was completely wedged between her thighs, pinning her in place, the weight of his body familiar and warm. She held him to her tightly, her hands learning the contours of his back. Smooth skin pulled taut over so much muscle. Such barely leashed strength. His lips found hers, and he kissed her tenderly, poised over her on one forearm as those clever fingers of his continued their work, playing over her greedy flesh and making her quiver and writhe beneath him, desperate for more.
When she thought she could not stand another second, his fingers were gone, replaced by the smooth, blunt tip of him. As he had last night, he rubbed himself up and down her seam, teasing her as he coated his cock with her wetness. A moan slipped from her.
And then, he was at her entrance. His hips moved. The thick length of him thrust into her in one smooth motion. There was a slight sting as her body grew accustomed to this still-new intrusion, much larger than the one which had preceded it. But she was impatient as he held himself still, her hips rocking into his. Her hands reached for his bottom, pulling him nearer.
He tore his lips from hers to kiss her cheek and nuzzle her throat. “Patience, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Patience? She had none. Every part of her was raging for him to move. To go faster. Deeper. Harder. Was he not feeling this same excruciating torture?
She wrapped her legs around him, urging him on.
At last, a word escaped her. “More.”
Yes, that was what she wanted.More.More Hudson, more kisses, more friction, more pleasure.
He groaned and sucked on her throat. With another thrust, he was all the way in, his cock throbbing deep inside her. As it had last night, the sensation of him fully sheathed, their bodies joined, filled her with a dizzying combination of wonder and pleasure. He felt so good inside her, but now she knew that the only feeling better than having him inside her was movement. That was what she needed, what she wanted. To make love.
Her hips rocked into his with a mind of their own, spurring him into a rhythm. He gave her what she wanted, thrusting in and out of her as she tightened around him. She recalled the way he had separated himself from her almost completely before, watching the place where they connected, the raw desire on his face as he had done so. This coupling was different. He was a heavy weight upon her, his body anchoring hers to the bed in a primal way as he claimed her thoroughly.
Their skin was damp with perspiration, bodies straining as one. His fingers glided over the place where they connected, finding that highly sensitive bud and rubbing her there in fast, precise measures. The next burst of pleasure took her by surprise, overwhelming her swiftly. She clung to him tightly as he increased his pace, stroking into her again and again until his body stiffened, and he withdrew.
This time, he spent into the bedclothes at her side, holding his cock in a tight grip as he closed his eyes and surrendered to the force of his own crisis. Her breaths ragged, she lay there admiring him, all the lean, slashing angles and planes. The dark beauty of his ruggedly handsome face.
And it was then that she realized the opportunity to guard her heart had already passed. She was in love with the man she had married.
* * *
When Hudson had been a veryyoung lad, he had invented a game to occupy his thoughts and time. None of his siblings had lived long enough to become a playmate for him, and he had often spent a great deal of time alone while his mother slept or his nurse was distracted. The game involved the pursuit of a cunning villain, who would have performed some manner of misdeed, and led to Hudson chasing the imaginary criminal through the house. On one such occasion, before his mother’s death, he had been running in the parlor, and he had broken his mother’s favorite vase. It had shattered into dozens of shards on the floor.
He had gone to confess, guilt eating at him, the shards stuffed into his pockets. She had been furious with him. The vase had belonged to her mother.
Careless, stupid boy, she had said, and cuffed him on the ear.
It had been the only time his mother had ever done him violence, and he had never forgotten either the moment the vase had fallen or his mother’s reaction.
The premonition of the same mistake arrived that morning just after breakfast when the butler informed Hudson that Chief Inspector O’Rourke had arrived to see him. Elysande had wanted to accompany him for the meeting, but he had denied her. This was his particular battle to wage.
Last night, he had been reckless.
This morning, he had been careless.
Making love to Elysande was wrong when he did not yet know what would become of the investigation into Maude’s death. Although he had not spent inside her, there remained a risk of pregnancy, and he had no wish to leave her with a child should he be imprisoned for murder. He needed to take greater care with his actions. To ensure nothing ill would befall her.
To protect her.
O’Rourke awaited him in the small receiving room with its threadbare rug and window that overlooked the street below. Hudson steeled himself for the interview ahead as he crossed the threshold.
A sergeant who had been promoted in the wake of Hudson’s withdrawal from the Yard, O’Rourke was eager in his desire to prove himself. Hudson had known that, but he feared now that he had underestimated the man.
“I hope I have not intruded upon your breakfast, Your Grace,” O’Rourke said with patent insincerity.
His lip curled.
