Even now, they were doing this together. This giving, taking, and sharing…
Because, of course, he would pleasure her as well. Making love was about procreation, showing affection, and indulgence, and she realized that it was that simple to some.
But this, now, was more than that.
In this primitive act, her soul ironed onto his.
Emerson knew exactly where to touch her, temporarily robbing her of her thoughts. She hummed, sucking and sliding, and then her bones turned to jelly as she felt that moment—that instant she sent him out of his mind.
Because he thrust deeper, so deep it scared her. And then deeper.
But she trusted him.
And relaxing her throat, her heart swelled at his exclamation of completion. Caught in a startling climax of her own, Priscilla swallowed his seed.
* * *
For how long—seconds? Minutes? Priscilla lay across him. And she nearly purred at the feel of his hand on her head.
She should be mortally embarrassed and humiliated. But she wasn’t.
“Sweetheart?” Emerson’s voice cut off her thoughts. “Are you all right?”
He shifted, sliding out of her mouth.
By society’s standards, she’d just committed a mortal sin—against herself and also against all that was good and proper.
And yet, she lifted her head and met his gaze steadily.
His eyes glowed with satisfaction and affection, his skin was a little flushed, and his mouth was parted. All in all, he looked a little dazed.
“I… you.” He smiled and then tilted his head. “But I don’t understand.”
“What is there to understand?” Priscilla pushed herself back to sit on her heels, still kneeling before him. Were his cheeks hollower than they’d been that day at the lake? Were those shadows of worry etched beneath his lovely eyes?
“Have you given yourself to some other man?” Genuine curiosity sounded in his question more than anything else.
“I’m not a virgin.”
Six years had passed, and yet this was the first time she’d ever spoken the words aloud.
Her sister-in-law had asked—after all that happened with Lockley—and Priscilla had lied.
Because in the end, the truth hadn’t mattered. When gossips got wind of Priscilla’s abduction, she’d been ruined already.
“Is that why you keep refusing me? Because whether or not you’re a virgin doesn’t matter to me.”
Speechless. Emerson Huntington, Earl of Hardwood, left her speechless. Rather than choke on the words she needed to say, she dropped her gaze and adjusted her gown to cover herself.
“Are you in love with him? Have you promised yourself to another?”
It was the closest any of it was to the truth because Allison insisted she loved her father’s footman.
And although Priscilla ought to have pounced on that idea as an excuse, she couldn’t lie to him about this. Not now. Not after today.
“He’s dead.”
“He is the man you feel responsible for?” Emerson spoke softly as though afraid she’d bolt.
