And like she’d been trained as a serving girl, Colleen plumped her breasts and leaned down, presenting her bounty.
Max ran his nose around the velvet pucker, inhaling the dusky scent of heat and woman. He circled the beaded nipple with the tip of his tongue. With one hand planted firmly on her bottom, he skimmed the other up her spine. His fingers rolled over smooth streaks of wax, broken up by the silky heat of her skin. He rested his palm between her shoulder blades, pressing her lower, and sucked her nipple between his questing lips.
Colleen jerked her hips, her body searching for relief, and Max was right there with her. He knew he should take the time, slow things down, suckle her until she begged for him to end it. He wanted to nibble at her lower lips, drink from her sex. Taste every inch of her skin, caress her, take deep, long strokes into her body. And he would.
But not now.
Right now, he needed release. Needed to find it with this woman who’d helped him erase the filthy memories with fire and wax. Let him forget for a couple of hours just how depraved human nature could be. The horror of the man’s suicide was the faintest of memories. Max’s need was all-consuming.
Hands on her hips, he brought them together. Rough. Hard. Every jolt set her breasts to bouncing. Every slap of skin on skin made him burn. A tingling heat built in his groin. He tried to ignore it, wanting this to last forever. Each time he bottomed out, the cutest little squeak passed her lips, but it wasn’t enough.
He rolled, putting her to her back and staying between her thighs. Grabbing her hands, he pressed her palms flat against the headboard. “Hold on,” he growled. As much as he liked Colleen’s bouncing up and down on him, this was the position he liked best. A woman spread open below him. Taking what he gave her. Digging his knees into the mattress, he found his leverage and pounded home.
Her breasts still jiggled with each drive, and he filled his mouth with a soft globe. Her heartbeat pounded beneath his lips, her skin growing hotter. She wrapped her legs around his hips and arched into his touch. The heels of her boots dug into his arse.
So. Fucking. Good. Grabbing the top edge of the headboard, Max lifted his head, watching Colleen squirm beneath him.
“Oh, dear God,” she whispered. “Please, oh please, oh please …” Eyes wide, she implored him. “Faster,” she whispered.
He didn’t know if that was possible, but he would give it his all. Using the headboard as leverage, he slammed into her. His sweat dripped onto her left breast, and he licked it away. He tried to empty his mind of the picture of her, tried to stave off his impeding release. But even when he closed his eyes, Colleen swamped his senses. Her scent, her feel. He could see her as clearly behind his eyelids as he had with eyes wide open, so he gave in and looked his fill.
She thrashed her head from side to side, her sheath tightening around him like a velvet fist. If he could just hold on. One. Moment. More …
His grunts matched the rattle of the headboard against the wall. “Come now, love. You have to come now.” The need for completion bordered on pain.
Turning her face into the pillow, Colleen slid her finger between them. His next thrust bumped into the back of her hand, pressing it hard against her clit, and she went over with a cry.
Her muscles clamped down, sucking at his cock, triggering his release. With regret, he pulled out of her clutching heat and rocked against her belly. String after string of his sticky seed jetted from his cock, splashing across her softly-rounded stomach, and Max groaned at the exquisite relief.
He fell forwards, his nails clawing down the headboard as he collapsed onto the mattress. He turned slightly, keeping his weight off of Colleen, but keeping her body pressed close. He felt the slickness of her sweat, the stickiness of his release, smear across his stomach, and didn’t care. He was content to lay where he was.
Colleen, however, was not. After her chest stopped heaving, she wiggled out from under him and scooted to the side of the bed. Pulling the half-full bowl of water onto her lap, she took the cloth out, and wiped her body down, spending quick attention to the vee between her legs.
Much of the wax had scraped off on the coverlet, but streaks still covered her back in a medley of red, blues, and whites. He smiled. It rather did look like a Union Jack. He scratched at the largest patch, and the blue wax peeled off in one large, satisfying piece. “Rubbing you down is my job. Give me a chance to catch my breath, and I’ll lick you clean.”
“I’m fine.” Her voice was a harsh rasp.
Max pursed his lips. Rolling onto his hip, he wrapped an arm around her middle and pulled her around to face him. “What’s wrong? Was I too rough?”
Her face turned pink. “No. That part was fine.”
Max took the towel and bowl from her and set it next to the pillow. He might not be the world’s best lover, but usually a woman liked to cuddle up to him after sexual relations. A sigh of contentment never went amiss. And a word or two of praise was always appreciated. But Colleen was a working-class woman. Who knew how they reacted?
“Talk to me,” he said, his voice brusque. He cleared his throat and tried again. “If I did something wrong, I want to know.”
Her blush deepened, and her adorable freckles looked almost purple. Pulling her legs up to her chin, she wrapped her arms around her shins. The toes of her leather boots dug into the sheets. “You aren’t the one who did anything wrong.”
Max’s stomach clenched like a blow had landed. He took a deep breath. “You haven’t done anything wrong, either.”
“Haven’t I? My husband’s only been dead six months. I’m sorry, but this can’t happen again.” She rested her cheek on her knee. “I should still be in mourning, not traipsing around like a common Florence.”
Max ground his jaw. “There was nothing common about what we did. And nothing wrong with it.”
“Of course, you wouldn’t think so.” Rolling off the bed, Colleen hurried to her clothes and pulled her shift over her head. The threadbare cotton did little to hide her form.
Max planted his feet on the floor. “What the deuces do you mean by that?”
“You own and utilize a Venus club.” She arched one auburn eyebrow. “A little bed-bouncing would be of no account to you.” She crossed her arms, the hem of her shift riding the tops of her thighs. “I wasn’t brought up that way.”
