“I… I want—” she panted.
“What do you want, Anastasia?” he grunted, holding on to his self-control for as long as it was possible.
“I want you, Benedict,” she panted, as he made a beckoning gesture with his finger. He had found the spot that made her breathing quicken and her skin flush red.
Benedict did not stop rubbing her clit and thrusting a finger into her until her panting became louder and her inner muscles clenched around him.
“You are such a good girl, Anastasia,” he praised, watching her squeeze her eyes shut as she took in the pleasure of her orgasm.
He spread her, then, even as she tried to clench her thighs to keep the pleasure in.
“I am right here,” he soothed.
He hovered over her, letting his hands hook under her knees. Oh, she was ready, but it did not mean that he could be a brute about it. He slowly positioned the head of his cock, nudging herentrance. His eyes were on her glazed ones as he entered her inch by inch until he was seated in her. Her sharp exhale and a stifled cry confirmed her inexperience. For a moment, he froze. He tried to keep himself still. She was tight and hot around him, gripping him. He needed a moment to process the sensations before he started moving.
Benedict waited for Anastasia to adjust, peppering soft kisses over her forehead, cheeks, and lips, until her eyes opened once more. Her green eyes stared back at him, full of wonder.
Benedict moved slowly at first, taking cues from her face. He took a deep, measured rhythm, and she met him stroke for stroke. Her inner walls gripped him with every thrust. He had to hold on to every bit of his control not to take his release.
She felt good. But he knew she tasted delicious, too. He leaned down to capture one nipple in his mouth. He lapped it with his tongue, swirling around the hardening bud, making her moan louder. When he sucked it hard into his mouth, she cried out.
“More,” she begged, as she gripped his shoulders.
Her plea broke through his restraint. His hips took a different rhythm as he pounded faster and harder, the rhythm more urgent. His body had taken complete control as he drove into her over and over, the slap of their wet skin adding to the sounds of their grunts and moans.
Anastasia was no passive lover. She met his every move, her hips rising to meet his thrusts. Her legs locked around his waist, not letting go, pulling him deeper.
There were no more words between them. Just moans. But they were enough to tell him what to do, how to roll his hips over hers. He slid a hand to where their bodies were joined and foundthe slick nub at her center. He circled it with his fingers even as he continued to thrust.
Then, there it was.
Her back arched off the grass as her climax tore through her once more. Her eyes widened with surprise as she cried. Her inner walls clenched around him, letting him feel the waves of pleasure that racked her body, milking his length. Her face. Her moans. The way she gripped him. They were enough to send him over the edge as he released himself into her, deep, hot, and pulsing.
For a moment, they stayed joined, with their foreheads pressed together. It was not merely a physical release. There was a tender connection. He was sure of it.
Benedict pulled out gently. Then, he rolled to his side and embraced her. It was difficult to let go after that connection. However, ever the pragmatist, he rose and dressed himself and Anastasia in their wet clothes before carefully lifting her and carrying her against his chest.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked, with a small, sleepy smile.
“To your bed, Anastasia,” he replied. “You cannot fall asleep here by the pond.”
“Do you still find me infuriating?” she asked through kiss-swollen lips. “What do you think? Answer well.”
“I believe that you can guess that I still find you infuriating,” he teased back. “More than ever. But I also find you the most entrancing woman I have ever met.”
Chapter 22
“He loves me,” Anastasia whispered to herself.
The events of the night before lingered like an insistent phantom pressure in her mind and on her skin. She was no longer in the pond, the chilly air battling with her heated skin. Instead, she was in her bed after waking up from a satisfying slumber.
Her conviction was absolute. She had not only fallen in love with Benedict, but she was certain that she had witnessed him fall, too. The beautiful thing was that it was a love that was born not out of security, as she thought it would be, but of recognition. She had never felt that kind of passion and ferocity before. The best display of this love was his willingness to discard his rigid rules and do something so out of character for him.
Benedict had abandoned his rules when he had made love to her under the moonlight, even when their skin was still wet from the pond. She used to think that he would only make love to a chaste wife after a respectable duration of courtship and a wedding that the most influential of thetonwould have attended.
For a moment, she felt a pang. There was truth in those thoughts. Then again, why would he abandon his rules if not for the woman who undid him?
Benedict was now hers. He had seen the real her and he had still chosen her. Still floating from her pleasant thoughts, she dressed quickly. She chose a blue muslin because of her buoyant mood and because the color reminded her of the pond. Suddenly, the house felt alive.
