She lay still a moment, concentrating on every swirl and stroke of his thumb. The heat in her veins increased again, until she gave a sigh and pushed her hips, only to realize he had been slowly pressing deeper as she whirled away. Tristan seemed mesmerized by it; his long hair had come loose and hung over his face as he stared at the junction of their bodies, but Joan could almost feel the heat of his gaze, so she looked, too. It was shocking, and somehow arousing, to see his hand against the pale skin of her thighs, his fingers parting the curls between her legs, his flesh sliding one thick, hard inch at a time inside her...
“Almost ...” His voice was strained and guttural. His touch grew a little rougher, making her jolt and gasp as new bolts of excitement shot through her. As she flung her head back and drew up her legs beside his hips, he surged forward, driving himself fully inside her.
Joan trembled. She felt so full, so stretched, it seemed she would split apart if either of them moved. Tristan seemed to be under some similar perception; for a long moment he just gripped her hip with one hand, his other hand tense on her mound, and let his head hang down as he struggled to breathe.
Finally he lifted his glittering eyes to meet hers. “Now you’re mine,” he whispered. “My gorgeous, lovely Joan.”
Still holding her, he began to move, rocking back and forth, in and out, slowly and gently at first, but growing more urgent. The sense that she would be torn asunder disappeared; now she didn’t want him to leave her, and hooked her legs around his hips to urge him back, ever harder and deeper. He teased her with his fingers and nipped at her breast with his teeth until she writhed frantically beneath him.
“I want,” she gasped. “I want—I need—” Something was building inside her, something frightening and vital and so, so close...
“God!” He closed his mouth around her nipple and suckled hard. His hips surged against her relentlessly, driving his hardness deeper, retreating, then filling her again. His fingers encircled that aching kernel of sensation and pinched it so firmly she thought she would go blind from it, and then something inside her broke, finally releasing the tension in a crescendo of waves that seemed to pull every muscle in her body tight. And as the taut urgency drained away, Tristan let his weight fall forward, gripping her to him with a harsh groan as he bore down on her and she felt him swell even larger inside her.
“That—that was a climax, wasn’t it?” she whispered a moment later, her arms locked around him.
He gave a huff. “Not just any climax. God in heaven, I thought I would fall unconscious.”
She stretched in instinctive female satisfaction, liking the way he caught his breath and pressed his hips against hers, as if he was as reluctant to part from her as she was from him. “So it’s not always that way when you make love to a woman?”
“It has never, in all my life, nor even in my imagination, been like that before.” He kissed her, long and slow, as if they had all the time in the world. “And it was only your first time.”
She blushed. “Will we do that again, then?”
“Repeatedly. Until I learn every last thing that makes you wild.” He grinned, the lazy, relaxed grin that burrowed straight into her heart. “But not tonight.”
“Oh. Oh!” Her mouth dropped open in alarm as she abruptly recalled where they were. “We could be discovered at any moment!”
He shrugged. “Unlikely. But we should return before anyone misses you.” With one last kiss he pushed himself away and got to his feet. Joan sighed as their bodies separated, but then giggled at the sight of Tristan with his trousers around his knees and his shirt hanging loose.
“Idle wench,” he said in amusement. “Here.” He pulled up his trousers and buttoned them, then pulled a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and gently pressed it between her legs. “Does it hurt?”
She shook her head. His face eased, and he ran his palm once, just lightly, over her woman’s place—what50 Ways to Sincalled her quim—before he helped her up.
“It’s much more enjoyable to unfasten your dress,” he murmured as he redid her buttons after she tugged her corset and shift back into place.
“I suppose that must be one’s penance for being wicked during a ball.” She smoothed her skirts, hoping they weren’t horribly wrinkled in back. He laughed quietly, adjusting his own clothing, and she turned to the mirror over the fireplace to repair her hair. Thank goodness Polly had put it in a simple knot tonight; she would have been betrayed at once if she’d had to contend with braids and ringlets.
“Were we wicked?” He put his arms around her as she fixed the last pin. “Are you racked with guilt?”
Joan blushed. “No. At least—well, probably not as much as I should be.”
He regarded her seriously in the mirror. “How much would that be?”
The blush crept down her throat. “I suppose that depends on what comes next.”
This was the moment. He had remained by her side for all to see, all evening long. He had declared himself mad for her. He had called her gorgeous and bewitching and darling. He had made love to her and said it had been incomparable. Now was his opportunity to fall on his knees and swear his heart was hers, to beg for her hand in marriage, to begin a life of devoted happiness and contentment.
“Joan! Joan!” Evangeline’s frantic voice broke the pregnant pause. Before she or Tristan could speak, there was a furious rattling of the knob, and a moment later the door flew open and her aunt almost fell into the room, with Sir Richard close on her heels.
“Oh my,” cried Evangeline, clutching one hand to her heart as she spied them, still in each other’s arms. “Oh my God—Richard—!”
“What the devil are you doing?” that gentleman asked Tristan in an ominous tone.
Tristan looked down at her. Joan looked up at him. “What does it look like?” he asked.
He didn’t say anything else, though the whole room seemed to be waiting for something. Joan began to feel a prickle of unease. Had she misinterpreted ... ? Or misheard ... ? Surely if he loved her, he could still confess it...
“Joan—Joan, come with me right now.” Evangeline sounded on the brink of tears. “We have to go.”
