She raised herself on one elbow and leaned over him to kiss the side of his face and trail kisses along his jawline. Then she kissed his mouth. Her free hand pressed against his shoulder until he turned to lie on his back.
By Jove, he thought, his interest piqued, she was going to make love to him.
By the time they had reached the bedchamber earlier, he had been so bursting with desire for her—and she for him, he had judged—that he had proceeded without delay to the main feast. She, it seemed, was more disciplined.
She was also as skilled as any courtesan—though no, perhaps that was not quite so. Perhaps it was just that he was very ready to be aroused by her. But however it was, she had overcome the modesty that had caused her to hesitate to remove his breeches earlier. Her hands roamed all over him, stroking, caressing, pausing, rubbing, teasing in all the right places, and her mouth and her tongue and her teeth followed suit.
He lay still for a while, his hands flat on the mattress on either side of him, enjoying the sheer perfection of her touch, marveling at her boldness, at her instinctive knowledge of how best to arouse him without driving him too early to madness. But when she suckled one of his nipples, biting it lightly with her teeth, laving it with her tongue, his hands came up to sink into her soft auburn curls, and he groaned and then laughed softly.
“Mercy, woman,” he said.
She lifted her head and smiled down into his face, her cheeks flushed, her eyes heavy with desire.
“But I have no wish to show mercy,” she said, her voice low and throaty as she brought her lips to his and teased them with the tip of her tongue.
This was beginning to be agonizing.
And then she brought herself right over him, straddling him with her legs, her knees on either side of his hips, her hands supporting herself on either side of his head.
He skimmed his hands down the lovely curve of her back to spread over her firmly rounded buttocks. She had lovely breasts, not overlarge but firm and nicely shaped. He felt the hardened nipples brush against his chest as she lowered her mouth to his again. With the lower part of her body she rubbed lightly over his erection.
Agony had passed its beginning, but this washerlovemaking—he would proceed at her pace.
“Witch,” he murmured.
She raised herself then onto her knees, holding herself above him and biting on her lower lip as she took him in one hand, set him against her opening, and brought herself down on him.
Ah!
She was hot and wet, and her inner muscles clenched about him as she drew him deep.
He set his hands lightly on her hips and drew a slow breath. There was a certain type of agony that was also exquisite, and this was it. He would not spoil it with urgency. He smiled slowly up at her.
“To repeat myself,” he said, “there is nowhere I would rather be.”
She set her hands on either side of his waist, hugged his hips more tightly with her knees, lifted herself almost away from him, brought herself down again, and repeated the motion over and over again. She closed her eyes and lowered her chin to her chest.
Good Lord, he thought, before sensation engulfed him, she was riding him. He let her ride for a while, awash in pleasure and desire, and then his hands pressed more firmly on her hips, and he rode with her for a few minutes until they both broke rhythm, she to press downward, he to thrust upward, both to shatter into fulfillment at the same moment.
It was beyond extraordinary.
It was beyond bliss.
And it was not sex, he thought as she came downward to lie on top of him and he covered them both with the bedcovers. Notjustsex.
It was love.
He had never before seen much connection between the two.
He held her for several minutes, not sleeping, knowing that she did not sleep either, knowing that she was telling herself that this was the end.
It was not the end. If someone cared to bring on a whole regiment of dragons, all of them armed to the fangs with fire and brimstone and other assorted deadly weapons, he would take on the lot of them bare-handed.
This wasnot the end.
This was the end, Susanna thought, her shoulder pressed to Peter’s, drawing some warmth from him as the curricle turned onto the driveway leading to Fincham Manor. Oh, she would quite possibly see him again after today. It was even probable that she would have to go to the ball at Sidley that he had mentioned earlier, though she would not eventhinkabout that yet.
But really today was the end. The end of an affair of the heart that could have no future.Nowwas the end.
