He stood to get the French letter and then, with a sinking sensation, realized that he had none.
He had left his letters in London.
“I don’t have any letters,” he said.“Do you have one?”
“No.”
“Fuck,” he said.
He thought that he would go mad if he couldn’t join with her.It felt necessary to his being.To be that close to her.
Leith had never fucked a woman without a letter.He understood that men found it more pleasurable without the letter, but he had never been tempted to try.He found the act pleasurable enough as it was.
But now the idea of entering Beatrice unsheathed, to feel her heat directly, it made his head swim.It was a mad, dangerous notion.
He considered the alternative.Mrs.Bercine was likely to have at least a few letters, given her line of work, but the idea of waking her for that purpose, at this hour, was hardly appealing.
“I want you inside of me,” Beatrice whispered from the bed.
“I want you, too,” he said, his voice jagged.
“You could withdraw.If you take care, I do not think it will come to any harm.”
Leith was still standing.The early morning light through the window had strengthened and he could see her better now.Her dark hair was strewn over the white bed sheets and he could see the outline of her exquisite, precious curves through her chemise.
If he was going to do this, he wanted to do it right.
“Take off your chemise.”
She stood and obeyed him, letting the garment fall around her feet.Then, she moved back to the bed, staring at him with her mouth and legs parted.
He removed his smalls and then walked towards the bed.
“You must heed my warnings,” he said, his voice low and taut.“I cannot lose control.”
She nodded rapidly.
He crawled towards her.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
He put his fingers to her core.She was wet, but he stroked her until she was more so, until she was gasping beneath him.The thought that his unsheathed cock would soon be where his hands were made him impossibly hard.
Aware of his heightened sensitivity, Leith eased himself into her.
Christ.
He bit his lip to stop the spend that threatened.
She was too perfect, so wet for him, her sheath clinging to him and urging him onward.
“You feel—” he began, and then found the effort to speak threatened his composure.
“Are you well?”she said with a little smile.
“Very.Almosttoowell, in fact.”Her easy smile, her humor, helped him calm his blood.“I have never done this before.”
