He was kissing her again, slowly, exquisitely. If he thought to take his time again, she’d be the one dying. “Is it always so frustrating?”
“That’s anticipation.”
“No, it’s bloody well frustration.”
“Does this help?”
This was him entering her, not far, just the tip. “Yes! No-o!”
“Now?”
He’d buried himself deeper. The pressure was so brief and painless, she was surprised enough to ask, “Why didn’t that hurt?”
He grinned. “I think your ah—frustration—took care of that. You were eager to ‘break.’ ”
She lifted her hips to test his theory. What she felt was sublime, exquisite, a tremor starting, growing, teasing deep inside her. “Don’t move,” she gasped.
“Have I hurt you?”
“No! It just feels so, so—oh!”
She held on so tightly she might have choked him, but she couldn’t help it. The pleasure that peaked and burst so unexpectedly was beyond words, beyond anything she could have imagined. And he must have known she wouldn’t mind if he started moving again, because when he did, thrusting deeply inside her, that amazing feeling stayed with her, prolonging the ecstasy.
She caressed him so gently when he lay heavily on top of her. For this one night Montgomery Townsend was hers and she felt very possessive. She didn’t want him to move, to speak, to do anything except breathe heavily by her ear. She’d worn him out? It certainly seemed so, until he raised his head and she saw him grinning at her.
“Who warned you it was going to hurt? You spent your formative years away from your mother.”
“Actually, my mother was the culprit. She was eager to get that particular conversation over with. I think I was only eleven, the twins only ten, when she sat us down to explain the most gruesome aspects of a wedding night.”
“Gruesome?”
She laughed. “At that age, we found any mention of blood gruesome. I recall Layla even cried at the thought of it. Why do you think Kathleen lied to us about it?”
“She didn’t, sweetheart. There usually is a degree of pain the first time, or so I’ve been told.”
“So you’re special?”
“No, you are. But believe me, I had no idea that your own—eagerness—could assuage it. You are, after all, my first virgin.”
Her eyes widened. “Am I really?”
“Yes, and now you have to marry me.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Don’t say I didn’t ask.”
“That wasn’t a question, it was an absurd statement. But I must say you are a superb teacher.”
He caressed her cheek. “As you so brazenly pointed out, that wasn’t a lesson.”
Chapter Forty-one
VANESSA COULDN’T BRING HERSELFto abandon Monty and the delightful way they were cuddling each other. And every time she sat up, Monty tugged her back down, so he seemed as reluctant to part as she was.
She truly didn’t want this wonderful night to end. But the moment she started feeling drowsy she hurried back to her room. She might not have the least regret about getting carried away by passion, but she wouldn’t foolishly allow herself to be caught in his room come morning.
Their parting kiss was bittersweet. At least it was for her, because now that she’d learned Monty’s lessons, she didn’t dare dally with him like this again. She had a Rathban to marry.
