“No,” Cecily said. “He did not. I would almost wish that he had, though. For when he… consummated our vows, he did so as though it were a nasty chore.”
Upon these words, she buried her face into his chest. Was she embarrassed? Ashamed? Surely, she had nothing to be ashamed of. His cousin, however, deserved to be drawn and quartered.
“Surely not, love. Perhaps you are merely remembering his words from later and attributing feelings that were not there?”
But she shook her head in denial. “Oh, no, last night I realized it when we were together. That was why I cried. I realized how very different your lovemaking was from what I had experienced that night.”
Stephen lifted her chin up and studied her eyes. “You wish me to wash it away? To obliterate it?” Feeling as though he ought to make one more protest, he asked, “Is that not what I did a few moments ago, in this very bed?”
She smiled. “That was lovely. But it was not the act of lovemaking really, was it?”
Enjoying her naiveté, Steven kissed her on the temple, and then on her closed eyes, and then around the gentle curve of her cheek. “It was a manner of lovemaking,” he finally whispered to her. “But I do take your meaning.”
Tilting back her head, her lips parted and her eyes dilated, Cecily brought him to full and complete arousal when she whispered to him boldly, “I want you to die in my lap, Stephen.”
He needed no further reassurances.
Cecily did notunderstand how she could ever be so bold. It was as though there was nothing she would hide from him. Nothing sheneededto hide from him. Thinking these words and Shakespeare’s use of them caused her to smile to herself.
“You ought not to laugh, my love, when you are about to be swived.” Stephen was both touching her and kissing her in the most surprising places. It was amazing the way he could multitask while making love to her. He was like a one-man band, everywhere at once, causing all of her bells and whistles to go off.
“Not laughing at you,” she said throatily. “Well… thinking about Shakespeare, actually.”
At this, Stephen stopped and looked at her with a startling amount of consternation on his face. “Good Lord, if you have the presence of mind to contemplate the Bard right now, then I’m obviously failing miserably at this obliteration you seek.”
She then placed her hands on both sides of his face and kissed him, closed mouth on the lips. “Not failing. I was just thinking about…” She let a smile come into her eyes. “Nothing.”
As understanding dawned, the look of consternation was replaced with one of agreement. “Oh, well,” he said. “If that’s the case, then perhaps I’m not such a failure after all.”
“I cannot imagine you failing at anything you’ve set your mind to,” she said and then moved her hands down to flutter over his flat, taut abdomen. She loved the feel of the soft tufts of hair on his chest tickling her own naked skin. In such proximity to him, her senses were surrounded by everything that was Stephen Nottingham. She took advantage of their closeness to explore and learn for herself.
There were no promises between the them. There never would be. Therefore, she must make the most of these moments. Her heart rejoiced and yet wept in sorrow at the same time.
She pushed the sorrow away. There would be plenty of time for that later.
He smelled of leather and sandalwood and something clean, a soap. The textures of his skin and hair were markedly different from her own. His skin was not as smooth as hers, and it was darkened from the sun. He had calluses on his hands, reminding her that he did not live the life of most gentlemen.
Feeling a need for even more closeness, she arched her body into his.
Stephen responded byputting his hands under her and pulling her hips against his. Skin against skin, a part of him bemoaned the fact that he had finally gone over the edge. This situation between Cecily and himself and Flavion had warped him into a madman.
For what other reason could there be for the fact that he was on the brink of making love to his cousin’s wife? In his cousin’s home, no less?
And then she was twisting and writhing against him, her breaths coming short and fast. “Please.” She urged him on, her long luscious legs wrapped around his thighs. She opened up to him as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Relax, love,” he said in between kisses. With no further hesitation, he pushed at her opening and slid into her wet and silky warmth.
Rather than giving him reason to pause, she demanded more, rocking against him, lifting her hips and pressing her head back into the pillow. Bursting with his own need, Stephen wasn’t sure how much longer he could hang on.
And then he stopped even trying.
Her nails clawed at his back, and her inner muscles clutched at him from inside of her body. This was no longer a carefully choreographed lovemaking. It was something all its own, like riding a giant wave in the ocean. Feral instinct and unchecked desire took over, and he became a man unleashed. Stroking and rocking, he brought them both to a fevered pitch.
She clung to him as though he were her only lifeline in the middle of the sea. “Stephen,” she said in a combination of wonderment and uncertainty. “Stephen.” Their bodies slid against each other, slick from their own sweat.
As he felt her begin to shudder, Stephen gave up any last vestige of control and pounded relentlessly into her, higher, deeper, harder. She met him thrust for thrust. And finally, with a shudder of his own, he abandoned his last vestige of control before collapsing. As the final clutches of his climax faded, he realized he’d done the unthinkable.
He’d released his seed inside of her.
