“Diana, I can’t…I’ll—” he stammered, his fingers moving to push her away.
She ignored them, sucking harder and faster instead, and he let out a heavy cry before he exploded. She took every thrust, greedy in her desire for his salty-sweet taste. And only when he flopped back, his breath hard and uneven, did she allow him to pull free.
She smiled at him, spent with pleasure. Her own body still hummed with throbbing, wet desire, but seeing him brought to his knees was oh-so very worth it.
She moved to lie beside him and his eyes came open. “Oh, you think you’re finished, do you?” he asked, his tone utterly wicked.
She cocked her head. “I think I finished you, Your Grace.”
“Not by half,” he said, and caught her arms. He drew her up as he inched down until he lay flat on the bed. She expected him to pull her to a kiss, but he didn’t. He moved her farther up his body, until she straddled his chest.
“What would I…” she whispered, understanding at last. “Won’t I crush you?”
“Oh, what a way to go,” he drawled, and tugged her farther until she was positioned over his waiting mouth. She gripped his headboard with both hands and gasped as he parted her folds and licked her gently. Then not so gently.
She ground down, riding his tongue, finding pleasure with every taste, every stroke, every moment that proved he knew her body and what it wanted and needed. The fact that he did made it easier for her to let go. To let him, and when she did, the pleasure that had begun to build the moment he pressed his tongue to her exploded and she convulsed over him, jerking as she clung to the headboard and moaned his name over and over.
Finally she collapsed to the side, rolling into him, feeling his arms come around her as she continued to feel the ripples of sensation fading through her entire body.
He said nothing, at least at first. Instead he just combed his fingers through her hair, a gentle, rhythmic motion that helped her slowly come down from those heights of release he inspired every time he touched her.
She had no idea how much time had passed when she propped herself up on her elbow and looked into his handsome face. “You’re doing so much better, Lucas.”
A shadow of a smile crossed his face. “Judging my performance, and with such…enthusiasm,” he teased. “Makes me think I have to prove myself to you again.”
She laughed and swatted his chest lightly. “It was not a judgment of your performance,” she said. “I meant that I can see how much more easily you are moving, how much less pain reflects on your face with some actions you take.”
He shrugged his good shoulder. “I know you’re right. I cannot say that I am not still frustrated by what I cannot do. I do see that there is more and more that I can. But it is hard not to…not to be the man I once was. Not to know if I ever could be again.”
She nodded and reached out to trace his jawline with her fingertip. “I can only imagine how difficult that is.”
“But my recovery is due entirely to you,” he said.
Heat flooded her cheeks and she turned her face. “I don’t think entirely.”
“Well, I take full responsibility foryourrecovery,” he said.
She glanced back at him. “My recovery? What are you talking about?”
“You burned yourself almost two weeks ago, and look.” He caught her hand and lifted it up, showing that the little burn was long gone. “It is all thanks to me and my magnificent doctoring skills.”
She couldn’t help but laugh, though the fact that he had brought up the topic made her mind turn to that day in her kitchen and how he’d mixed the poultice she had required, then wrapped her sore hand. “I have actually thought of that day often,” she said. “But not because of your superior skills.”
“You wound me, madam,” he said. “I hoped I had a future and you have dashed my hopes.”
She shook her head. “You tease, but I’m certain if you applied yourself to study that you could become a good physician. A surgeon’s duty is all about detail and you pay attention to those in spades. Which leads me to a question.”
He nodded, and the teasing was gone from his demeanor. “Of course. What can I answer for you?”
“That day you tied the wrap on my hand in a very special way.”
He nodded. “Yes. It was special.”
“How did you learn that technique?” she asked.
A shadow crossed over his expression, and he leaned back on the pillows and stared at the ceiling for a moment, like he was gathering his thoughts. Like this answer was more complicated than she’d thought it would be.
“When I woke from my injuries, it was almost twenty-four hours after the attack,” he explained slowly. “I wanted to get up and get to work, but when I tried I was crippled with pain and unable to bear even a little weight to stand.”
