“What do you need?”
“More,” she said, the pleading in her voice embarrassing even to her own ears.
He quickened his pace and she moved her hand to her mouth, biting her flesh to keep herself from moaning.The pleasure was all-encompassing, never-ending, thrumming over her skin.
“Beatrice, ah,” he said, “I don’t think—I don’t know how much longer I can last.You are so tight and sweet.Fuck.”
“No, please, I need you.I need you,” she begged.
He stilled for a moment, catching his breath.
And then he began moving again, his features contorted with pleasure, and she felt her release nearing.
But she had no idea how she wouldn’t scream.
“Don’t worry, my love,” he said.“I’ve got you.Let go.”
“Oh, Thomas,” she sobbed.“Your cock is so good.You’re so good to me.I love you.”
The last she had not meant to say.It had just come from her lips, unbidden.
But it was too late.
She had said the words—and she was coming, crying out.
He put his hand over her mouth as she did so, stifling the sound.
Once she had gained her self-control, he jerked back, withdrawing from her and spilling all over her thighs and pussy.
When she looked up at him, his amber eyes burned into her.
“Did you mean it?”
“Yes.I do.I do love you.”
He gathered her in his arms.“Thank fucking God.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
When Leith wokethe next morning, Beatrice was still sleeping.He eased out of the bed, not wanting to wake her, but needing to stretch his own legs.
She loved him.
And she had told him so.
He needed to walk, to reflect, to glory in this unexpected victory.He was too excited to lie in bed—for he felt an entire future unfolding before him.
It was not an acceptance of his proposal, of course, but it was a step closer.And, from a sentimental view, it perhaps meant even more.
Leith pressed a kiss to Beatrice’s sleeping head, quickly dressed, and left the room quietly.
He was prepared to walk in the fields, or at least the gardens, but he was stopped on the stairs by a manservant.
“Letter for you, my lord,” he said, handing him a square of paper.
He saw quickly that it bore Monty’s seal.
His gut began to churn.
