“Thank God.” Throat thick with pent-up desire, he straightened to his full height and replaced the brush on the polished mahogany.
She rose from her chair and turned to face him, her beauty robbing him of breath. It wasn’t just that Vivi was lovely, although it was undeniable that she was. Rather, it was the fact that his self-imposed isolation was finally at an end and that somehow, miraculously, she was allowing him back into her life. Willingly, and not out of a sense of obligation or duty.
He understood that her acquiescence didn’t mean that everything between them would return to the way it had been before, but this was a step in the right direction, and one he was damned thankful for. They could find their way together. Being her husband, being with her, freed of the mantle of guilt he’d been wearing for so long, was new to him as well.
Court laced his fingers through hers and led her to the bed. When they reached it, he turned her to face him. “You’re certain, Vivi?”
She gave him a nod. “Yes.”
His cock, still half hard from her hand on him in the bath, rose thick and heavy. He swallowed, unwinding the towel from around her as if he unwrapped a present, for that was what she was to him. A gift he didn’t deserve, but one that was his alone. His to savor, to protect, to love. The old guilt threatened to rise, but he tamped it viciously down.
His period of mourning his best friend was done, and he had to believe that Percy would understand had he still been here. Court couldn’t deny his heart any longer. He’d been in love with Vivi for years, and for years, he had kept his distance, but the time for that was done.
Her towel fell from his limp fingers as he gave himself a moment to drink in the sight of her, flushed from the heat of their bath, her wet hair glistening in the lamplight. Her breasts were full and high, her curves made for his hands. He had never seen a more inviting sight.
She gave him a small smile, surprising him by hooking her fingers in his towel and tugging. “My turn to look my fill.”
He allowed her to do as she wished, the towel dropping to the Axminster and joining hers. The trail of her hands over his shoulders and chest, the wonderment in her gaze, had his prick pulsing, and he was already leaking. Court caught her fingers before they could venture any farther.
“On the bed, sweetheart,” he said. “I want to make love to you properly.”
Vivi didn’t protest. She lay down on the bed, holding his stare as she held her arms out to him. With a growl of pure, animalistic need, he joined her, guiding her legs apart so that he could settle himself between them. He was instantly distracted by her pink, glistening cunny. In the frantic moments of the boathouse, he’d been too moved by emotion and blinding need to take note of much more than her scent and how good it had felt to be deep inside her, claiming the woman who had always been his. He intended to take his time now, to savor, to make this night even more memorable than their first.
With a hand that trembled with suppressed emotion and desire, he caressed her inner thigh, lightly at first, just above her knee. Then higher, to where her beckoning heat called him. And though he had pleasured her earlier on the picnic blanket at Lynwood Castle, touching her now was every bit as heady. She was wet and sleek and hot, the scent of her, soap and musky woman, rising to tease his senses. He slicked her dew over her pearl, playing with the swollen bud until she made a low sound in her throat, hips pumping against him.
And suddenly, he couldn’t wait. He replaced his fingers with his lips, kissing her, then lightly flicking his tongue over her as she moaned and writhed under him. The taste of her was on his tongue—sweet and musky as her scent—and fucking hell, he couldn’t get enough. He sucked and licked, devouring her, lost in her as he leveraged himself on a forearm and grasped her hip.
Above him, his name emerged from her as a strangled cry.
“Court.” She made a sharp inhalation of breath as his fingers returned to her, finding her entrance and slipping inside. “Oh yes. Please.”
She was drenched, the tight walls of her cunny clinging to his finger as he pleasured her with his tongue. He sank inside to the hilt, enjoying the sensation of her wrapped around the lone digit, her inner muscles clamping down hard. Being inside her again was going to be so damned good. He could scarcely wait.
But he wanted her to come first. Wanted her helpless with desire, writhing and ready and even wetter than she already was. Teasing her with the very tip of his tongue as he sank a second finger deep inside her, Court looked up. She was glorious, pupils dilated, cheeks pink, full, kiss-stung lips parted, her hair a golden tangle around her on the pillow.
He left her clitoris for only a moment to murmur, “Watch me make you come.”
And then he was a man intent again, kissing and licking and sucking, fucking her with his fingers. Rubbing his beard against her folds and inner thighs until she was squirming and gasping. Curling his fingers inside her and giving her bud a little nip.
“Oh dear heavens, I’m going to… It’s too much,” she said, gasping when he probed deeper, faster, sucking hard as he did so. “Court…”
Her words trailed away. He was intent on wringing an orgasm from her. He applied himself with renewed vigor, his rhythm finding the time of her dancing hips, his tongue and lips working over her until even he was thrusting his hips, grinding his aching cock into the mattress in an effort to stay his impending orgasm.
Her body bowed from the bed, and she clamped down on him as her release tore through her. He lingered as long as he dared, lapping at her with languid licks, loving the taste of her on his tongue, the way she thrust herself against his face like an offering, his fingers gliding in and out of her, wetness trailing down his wrist.
Until he couldn’t wait another moment and withdrew, aligning his body with hers. His cock was slick from his seed, but he rubbed it through her folds in quick strokes that had them both moaning at the sheer pleasure of the sensation. When they had made love in the boathouse, she’d been a virgin. He had caused her some pain, he knew, and he’d be damned if he hurt her a second time. He wanted her prepared, ready. Grasping himself, he ground his cock head against her clitoris, torturing them both some more as he sucked one of her dusky-pink nipples into his mouth.
She opened her legs wider in wordless invitation. One he accepted, guiding himself to her cunny. She felt so good, beckoning him with her heat and her wetness. Like home. Like his. Like everything he’d ever wanted and hadn’t dared to claim.
He thrust forward, her nipple popping from his mouth as he let out a groan of pure, unadulterated pleasure. Her body clamped down on him, threatening to force him out. So he thrust again, deeper, not stopping until he was seated to the hilt. He was inside her, surrounded by her, and the need to come was already roaring through him like a wildfire.
“Oh,” she breathed.
“Ah God, Vivi.” He stayed as he was for a moment, struggling to regain control, kissing the curve of her breast. “You feel so good.”
Better than good. What a stupid, insufficient bloody word to describe the euphoria soaring through his veins. Nothing had ever felt better, nor more right. He was exactly where he belonged.
“You feel wonderful,” she murmured, clinging to him as if she feared he would go if she released her hold on him.
