She fumbled at the fasteners of his trousers while he plundered her mouth. This kiss was long and deep and almost frantic.
He kept one hand between her legs, still holding her skirt up. She was wet, soft, willing.
“I wish I could see you,” Max admitted. Instead, however, he’d settle for knowing how every inch of her felt. He’d settle for hearing her gasps of pleasure. He’d settle for tasting… all of her.
This time.
Meanwhile, she’d unfastened the buttons holding his trousers up, but she’d also shoved them halfway down his legs, moving them closer to the point of no return.
Walking them backwards, Max steered them away from the door. They bumped into an unused worktable, but it didn’t matter.
The moving pieces of the printer outside provided the perfect cloak to hide their breathy moans and whispered requests.
She succeeded at tugging his shirt up and then, good God. Warm palms gripped his length. “Is this all right?” She gave a tender squeeze.
Dear lord in heaven, she was so much better than just all right.
“Caroline.” Max adjusted his stance to reach her better, and then lifted one of her legs, hooking it around his waist.
One hand around his neck, she helped line him up at her entrance.
If only could think at all, he’d remember why they shouldn’t do this. But he couldn’t think. He could only feel.
“Yes.”
This was madness.
He caught her other thigh, and in one motion, slid inside, lifting her off the ground. He seized her cry with his mouth, and then realized… “I hurt you.”
“No.” She had her arms locked around his neck now, her face buried in his throat. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare.”
Bracing her against the wall, Max lifted, sliding her up and then penetrating deeper. She locked her ankles at his back and after a slight adjustment, they began moving together.
Sex had never been like this. Not this good. This perfect.
This right.
With Caroline, Max could almost feel her soul take over his body, and his take over hers.
Her gasps grew louder, and he covered her mouth with his. He didn’t want to silence her pleasure, he only wanted to capture it.
In the darkness, he could only imagine the swan-like length of her neck, the way her eyes flared when he caught her watching him, and the color of her hair, a myriad of browns with the occasional golden highlight.
All of which he’d memorized but would never tire of seeing.
No one told young women that relations could be like this. No one told young women anything—not anything that mattered, anyhow. If they did, Mayfair’s debutantes would know to be far more discriminating in their choice of husband.
And they certainly wouldn’t go to the altar without testing… this out.
Because Caroline had not felt anything like this when Lord Dankworth tried kissing her. Nor could she have ever imagined all these… feelings.
Both physical and emotional. It was the best she’d ever felt. She’d not contemplate it ending.
Instead, she clung to Max like a drowning woman, sliding her hands inside his shirt, smoothing her palms over sinewy muscles beneath his silky taut skin.
Allowing short hairs to thread between her fingers.
This. This must be the reason she’d been born—to be with this man—like this.
