She yielded everything she had to him.
Her husband.
He gave a rough laugh against her hair. “You make me feel like a boy again,” he said, and she pressed a clumsy kiss to his shoulder. “Ready to spill at a moment’s notice.”
She pressed herself more firmly against him, rising to meet his thrust. He hissed between his teeth, and she thought she saw stars. His breath shuddered, and her thoughts splintered as he pinched her nipple. Another moan slipped free, and he made a noise of appreciation.
“I want to—” He palmed her breast, his other hand at her waist, as though he wanted to drive into her deeper still. There was an urgency to his movements now, control fraying. “Evie,” he groaned. “Evie, love, I’m not sure I can last much longer. Do you think you can—”
Could he be talking about her climax? “Again?”
“An . . . advantage ladies have over gentlemen.” He gave a strained smile. “Can you?”
“I—I don’t know.” She didn’t think so, as wonderful as it felt. There was not the same coiling tension that his mouth had brought about.
Capturing her in his arms, he rolled them both, positioning her so she lay on him, knees braced against the bed.He eased her into a sitting position, guiding her until all she had to do was roll her hips for him to be everywhere she needed him. He exhaled sharply and brought his hand to the apex of her thighs once more. His thumb brushed against that sensitive nub, and she had to brace herself against his chest as she tried to coordinate her movements. Her body knew what she wanted—more of this.
“No matter,” he said, eyes glazed. “It’s—not uncommon for ladies to require . . .” At the next roll of her hips, his breath caught. “This.” He stroked, small circles. “Is this where you need me? Tell me, Evie.”
“Yes. There.”
He nodded, concentration written into every feature as he watched the point where their bodies joined. When she looked down, seeing his hand there, the sight was the most erotic of her life. That image alone made the tension wind tighter inside her once more. A coil of heat building in her lower belly. An impossibility, she had thought, but he worked her tirelessly, seeming to know what she needed before she did.
Her breaths came in short gasps, and she moved on him faster, chasing that sensation, needing it.
Charles closed his eyes, every muscle tensed. “Evelyn,” he groaned.
“Just a little longer. Just a little more.” She ground against him, so close now, so close, so close.
“Evelyn.”
“I just need—” She just needed a little more, and she understood that as far as it was in his power, Charles would seek to give it to her. He would allow her the space to take her pleasure, and he would hold off on his own to allow her that.
There was a wildness in her, something base and starving, that had her pressing his hand more firmly against herself, the other hand cupping her own breast—how odd to touch her own body in this way. But there could be nothing wrong with something that felt so good.Could not.
Underneath her, Charles’s muscles locked, a groan ripping from his lips, and he opened his eyes, looking at her with something akin to desperation. “Evie, I don’t think I can—” His jaw clenched and his eyes rolled, andshe watched pleasure wash across his face. His body jerked underneath her, and she kept going, kept rubbing herself as he spilled himself inside her.
The sight of Charles coming undone so thoroughly underneath her brought about her peak, her climax shuddering through her as she bucked. His hands remained on her waist, holding her as she, too, fell apart.
By the end, she felt so exhausted, so boneless, that she slid off him and into the welcoming circle of his arms. Charles kissed her, at once chaste and adoring. “Welcome to my bed, wife,” he said, sleepy and teasing all at once. “I have wanted you here any time since the age of seventeen.”
She snuggled closer. “Liar. You were never interested in me then.”
“Who’s the liar? I had eyes, Evie, but my daydreams were about a certain young lady with dark hair and serious eyes, who indulged me and my foolishness far more than she ought to have done.” His fingers trailed along her upper arm as he considered. “I imagine my parents can blameyoufor the wildness of my younger years. If it were not for your indulgence, I may never have—”
“Charles. I will not take the blame for your poor behaviour.”
“Quite right, Pidge. But I do believe after that odious boy tried to kiss you, I began seeing you as a lady rather than the girl I used to play with.”
“Julian Trowbridge.”
“I despise that you still know his name.”
She laughed. “You fought him for me.”
“I would do it again—and worse. Could he not see that you disliked having him close? And to do that?” His arm tightened around her waist. “It took youyearsto accept me, and that Trowbridge thought he could kiss you after a handful of walks in the garden?”
“And yetyounever tried to kiss me, Charles,” she said, running the pads of her fingers along the rough underside of his jaw. “You ought to have done.”
