“You’re as strong a man as you need to be.” She slid her palm across his jaw. “You’re exactly as strong as I need you to be. Please,” she whispered in his ear. Then licked the lobe. “Please don't deny me. Don't deny us.”
He muttered an oath. But that was the last resistance he gave.
He fisted his hands in her hair, drawing her face to his. He took her mouth in a long, deep kiss.
She sank into him, loving the feel of his arms around her, grasping her waist as though he were scared to let go.
Loved the feel of his tongue, sliding into her mouth, sparring with hers.
There wasn't much about this man that she didn't love.
“This can work,” she said, more to herself than to him. “We can make this work.”
He stood abruptly, gathering her in his arms. His chair clattered behind them. He strode from the sitting room into his bedroom.
He didn’t give her time to look her fill, but she had the impression of sparsity, of heavy wood furniture, the room like the man himself. His masculine scent filled her senses.
He laid her on a firm mattress, following her down, settling himself over her.
His weight was a comfort against her body, his heat warming her straight through.
“Why can't I stop myself?” He trailed his kisses down her throat, pulling the bodice of her gown down to expose her decolletage. “Why can't I help myself around you?”
She had no answer. He had the same effect on her.
He was a man. She was a woman. What more needed to be explained?
She slid her hand up the back of his coat. Ran it along the lines of his muscled back then down, down to grip the firm mounds of his arse.
He ground into her, and she widened her thighs in welcome. His length settled just where she needed when she wrapped her legs around his.
He pulled back, breathing heavily. “Turn over.” Without waiting for her to acquiesce, he gripped her waist and flipped her to her belly. He made short work of the laces of her gown and dragged the fabric down her body and off her feet.
In moments she was bare before him. Bare, and uncharacteristically shy.
She forced herself not to cover her nudity. Her body was different than the current standards of beauty. Her stomach was a bit rounder. Her shoulders too broad.
But she saw nothing in his eyes that reflected disappointment. Only heat could be found in their depths.
Gently, as though she were fine porcelain, he ran the tip of his index finger along the curve of her breast, down her side, over her hip. “You’re beautiful.” His voice was rough sandpaper. His touch as soft as a kitten’s fur.
“So are you.”
The edge of his mouth twisted. He obviously wasn’t used to such compliments.
But he was beautiful to her. All strength, honor, forthrightness. Those were the things that made a man handsome. Those were the things that mattered.
His well-formed body didn't hurt, either.
He shucked his coat.
She tore the cravat from his neck. She ran her hands under his shirt, feeling every inch of him until he groaned, impatient. He pulled her hands away and yanked the shirt over his head.
She sucked in a breath. He truly was magnificent. His past profession had done his body a world of good. And she was the fortunate woman to take advantage of it.
His chest had a generous amount of hair. She ran her fingers through it, loving the feel of the springy curls. Loving his growl as she stroked across the flats of his nipples.
She ran her hand across his abdomen, tracing the faint line of hair that delved beneath his falls. Loosening one button, she reached inside and rubbed the hard length of him.
