Now this was a sight to remember—her breasts, free of the confines of her dress, her shift and her skirts in rumpled confusion, and her white stockings, tied with tight little bows, giving way to peach-colored flesh, and all that invited beyond.
Taking his time, he stroked her folds with his knuckle. Very wet, indeed.
Her mew was that of a lost lamb, anguished and needful. She threaded her hands into his hair. The soft pressure against his neck was all he could take.
Using his lips, he plundered without permission. She gasped, and her knee knocked against his shoulder. She tasted of welcome and warmth. He lost himself to his work.
Her release came fast—too fast. He did not waste time on complaint. Instead, he hooked his arms beneath her knees, and rose, guiding her onto her back. His cock, rock-ready, needed no assistance. Inch by inch, he slid inside. Her limbs remained limp, and her hazy gaze fixed to the place where they joined until he fully disappeared.
This was bliss—the only true euphoria he’d ever known.
Still standing, he withdrew and then thrust—once, twice. Then, he was overcome. He bowed over her body, feeling her stomach, her breasts, even her small pants of air. He released her legs. She hooked her ankles at the small of his back.
He filled her in wave-like motions while planting light kisses on her cheeks, her lids, her ears, her neck—anywhere, really. Soon, his release began to amass. His climax ricocheted in his bones, touching every nerve. A full-body experience—as stimulating as it was exhausting.
He was fully satiated, and still he wanted to beg. What for, he wasn’t sure. He only knew that he’d never, ever experienced anything like Lady Stone.
All this, and he had never taken off his coat.
She unhooked her legs from his back. Reluctantly, he withdrew. She stretched out across the bed like a wanton, her wrinkled morning dress still shoved up her thighs. He touched the satin ribbon that held up her stocking.
“Very nice.” He’d intended to say something more. Something witty and seductive and charming. Nothing penetrated his weary mind. Instead, he ran his nails over her thighs.
She made a sound. A chuckle, perhaps.
“If you can still laugh,” he managed a smile, “I must not be finished.”
She scooched backwards on the mattress, and made an indifferent attempt to smooth out her skirts. Failing, she folded an arm behind her head and sent him a quizzical expression.
“Imagine!” She measured her words as if she had just tasted—and enjoyed—some rare fruit she had expected to dislike. “Fully clothedcoituscan be surprisingly enjoyable.”
He hadn’t thought the term coitus could be seductive. Then again, any word that came from her lips would be seductive. Still, he’d have to expand her vocabulary. Not now, but rather when he could think, probably sometime hours into the future.
He’d been right from the start—her hair did look smashing when strewn across his pillow. He’d done terrible damage to the day-dress, but regretted nothing. And from the look in her eyes, neither did she—her eyes were tired but pleasured, bewildered, and slightly amused.
Sweat-teased curls clung to her temples, and crushed and twisted stays lifted her still-exposed bosom. She made no move to cover herself, not that he minded. If she was comfortable with uncovered breasts, he heartily approved. In fact, he’d have Marie make a special dress. One she could wear when they were alone. How interesting it would be to dine across a properly set table, with Lady Stone in full sartorial splendor, absent only the front of her dress.
He moved his legs to accommodate a rush of blood to his groin. Then, he remembered.
Three nights—and one had already passed. Besides that, he hadn’t dined at a proper table since the death of his wife, and those meals had been taken in excruciating silence.
Then again, he hadn’t slept in a bed, either. Until last night.
Reluctantly looking away, he set himself to rights. Just in time, as well. Mrs. Kent called from beyond the door—a rescue from the uneasy turn of his thoughts. He answered the door, collected the tray he’d requested, then told the housekeeper she could retire for the night.
Now that he had Lady Stone back in bed, he intended to keep her busy—and his mind otherwise occupied.
He set the tray on a bed-side table. He stretched out by her side, and proceeded to feed her, once small slice at a time.
Ashbey had refused to allow her to touch the food. Instead, he cut each morsel into small pieces and used his fingers to bring them to her lips. The experience was as decadent as it was delicious. Then, he caressed every inch of her body with tenderness, as if her flesh were hallowed and he was in awe.
He hadn’t just satisfied, he’d transported.
Made bold by the growing familiarity of his body, she expanded her explorations, too. She learned how to elicit Ashbey’s growl of lust and his sigh of gratification.
And then, she’d learned how to conquer.
Placing her lips around his cock had been strange at first. But she’d loved the intimate connection. She’d delighted in his fierce protest when, with her hands firmly locked on his hips—she prevented him from pulling away before he came. She’d dug her nails into his flesh, moving her mouth until he released an untamed cry.
