“This isn’t how Mother described it.” Her voice was partly muffled by the bedding.
“I hope not.” How was it possible that his voice had her yearning for more of what he was doing behind her—which was decidedly depraved and nothing she’d ever dared imagine.
He dropped on top of her again and this time, his smooth chest pressed all along her back.
“Tell me to stop at any time and I will.”
She nodded.
This was it. The moment she’d wondered about for most of her adult life and also a moment most ladies feared.
Quite helpless, and having nothing to do with her hands, Bethany clutched at the counterpane the precise moment his member pushed between her legs. So very different than what he’d done before. His instrument was soft and hard and hot as it slid inside of her. It ought to have felt invasive, and yet she arched her back, wanting him deeper.
“So good. So perfect.” His voice floated from behind her even as his hands gripped her hips. “God, Bethany.” He withdrew some and then moved forward again.
The sharp thrust happened quickly and was followed by a flash of pain, but she didn’t cry out. It wasn’t acute, and she didn’t want him to stop.
He was gone, for the pulse of a second, leaving her empty and wanting, and then he pushed inside again. A slapping sound as he buried himself, deeper and harder than before; touching and stroking something inside of her that had white lights flashing behind her eyes.
She pushed her bottom up to meet his thrusts.
“Just like that.” He increased his pace, his hands practically lifting her off the pillow. This felt hot and tasteless and unbecoming, and she wanted to give herself over to it completely—over to him.
“Please, Triston!” His name escaped without conscious thought. Was that her, begging? “Please!”
“Take it, sweetheart. Take it. So damn good.” Frenzied ramming. Slapping sounds. Pain from where he grasped her hips increased until, with one last thrust, he lifted her up and off the pillow, holding her against him, groaning.
Barely aware of liquid heat from his seed, and then pulsing, Bethany’s own epic pleasure sent her spiraling into the stars and then landing again on the soft mattress.
All of his weight settled atop her, but she didn’t care. If she died right now, she would know at least that she’d experienced the best life had to offer.
Chapter 22
Your What?
Bethany turned her head, eyes closed, and burrowed deeper into the pillow. Every muscle in her body ached but in a pleasant way. When Triston had tucked himself against the back of her and they’d both fallen asleep, it was almost as though she’d been reborn. At the very least, she’d discovered a person inside of her she’d never known existed.
She reached out but her hand met only empty bedding. She was alone now. She’d awoken the moment he moved away from her to climb out of bed but had feigned sleep.
Because allowing him such liberties in the dark of the night was one thing, facing him afterward in the light of day, quite another.
Where had he gone at the break of dawn?
“Are you awake, My Lady?”
Bethany opened her eyes. The room was mostly darkened but only because the drapes were heavy and pulled closed.
“Polly?” Bethany stretched but then quickly covered herself with a sheet.
“His Lordship ordered a hot bath drawn for when you wake.”
“Where is he?” But of course, her maid wouldn’t know.
“His morning errands.” Polly drew back the curtains and bright sunlight flooded the chamber.
His chamber.
“He certainly rises early.” Bethany grimaced.
