He caught her cheeks in his hands, crushing his mouth down on hers. “Don’t say anything,” he murmured as he kicked her door shut, reached behind himself to lock it. “Please don’t say it. Just…let me. Let me.”
She nodded against his seeking mouth, and desperation took over. She clawed at his jacket, he pulled at the buttons along the back of her gown. They stripped each other down in a few moments, their mouths never parting. He pushed her toward the bed, lifting her on the edge. She wrapped her legs around his waist, driving her tongue into his mouth as he lifted his cock into her waiting sex.
They both shuddered, and at last their mouths parted. His face was just millimeters from hers and she stared into his dark eyes as he thrust a second time. Over and over, their gazes locked, he took and took, she gave and gave. He didn’t want to the words she had to say and so she told him how much she loved him with her body. That same body sang with sensation as a result.
But after immeasurable time had gone by, he pulled away from her, leaving her empty and bereft. But it wasn’t for long. He urged her back on the bed and joined her there. She expected him to settle between her legs, but instead he propped her pillows up against the carved headboard and sat there. He motioned to her.
She stared because she realized what he wanted. Her astride him. She hadn’t thought there were more…ways to do this than the way they’d first done it. But the idea of riding him, well, that was certainly titillating.
She crawled up his body. He caught her hips. Wordlessly he positioned her above him, then reached between them. His fingers swept across her entrance, teasing her clitoris, and she shivered with powerful pleasure. He rubbed the head of his cock back and forth against her, stimulating her, until she whispered his name and ground down.
He slipped inside of her with no resistance, and she gripped her thighs against his as she rose up and crashed back down. Waves of the ocean over him, reaching and reaching. He cupped the back of her neck and their mouths tangled again. His kiss was gentler now and she ground a bit softer in response, drawing out the need, the desire, the sensation, for as long as she could.
But soon it wasn’t enough. Her body refused to go slow, she ground harder and faster, feeling the sharp edge of ultimate pleasure build on the horizon. She had to catch it. He gripped her hips, his neck straining as she fought for what she wanted, dragging him toward it.
When she caught it, it was more powerful than anything she’d ever felt before. She dipped her head back, jolting over him as she opened her mouth for a silent scream.
He lifted into her, his mouth finding her throat, his hands cupping her backside and continuing to grind her over him as he extended her pleasure for moments, hours, days, years. None of it mattered anymore. All there was was the man beneath her and their hearts and bodies tangled.
She felt him edging toward his own release. His thrusts grew harder and faster, his fingers dug deeper into her flesh. At last he rolled her onto her back, pounded a few times and pulled out, moaning her name into her neck as he came between them and then gathered her closer, kissing her with the same desperation they’d started with.
And how could he not? After all, he might have made love to her again. He might have poured some piece of himself into her and she back into him. But dawn would still come.
And the future was still a desperate, dark, painful question.
Elizabeth was sleeping. Curled partly into his body, her hand gripped into a loose fist against his chest, her body only half-covered by the sheets, she slept. She’d earned the sleep, after all, after the night they’d shared.
It was wrong of him to take it. In a few hours, he might be dead. And that was why he’d done it. To burn this one good thing into his mind and heart and soul, even if he didn’t deserve it. So that he could hold it as the last thing just in case he’d vastly misread the situation he’d find with Gareth.
He traced the lines of her shoulder with his fingertips, the curve of her breast, the smooth skin of her sides. She smiled in her sleep and cuddled a little closer.
She’d wanted to talk to him about the duel. About…about her heart, he thought. He’d seen that in her eyes. But he’d distracted her, making love to her over and over and over again until she collapsed, weak against him, and slept.
Was that a cruel trick or a kind one? Perhaps both. He’d thwarted one need but fulfilled another. Now it was almost dawn and he had to leave her. Perhaps for a few hours. Perhaps forever. And he didn’t want to.
He loved her. He knew it even if he’d been too afraid to name it until now. Too afraid to claim it. But he could no longer argue against it, so it sat there, an undeniable truth rather than a question. He loved this woman, and the very idea that he might never see her beautiful face again was painful beyond measure.
He leaned down and kissed her. She lifted into him, whispering, “Morgan.”
“Shhh,” he soothed as he moved her arm from his body, tucked the covers around her and left her bed. “Sleep now.”
Her smile faded and her expression grew troubled, even in slumber, but she didn’t fully wake. Good. Because if she did, if she pressed and questioned and confessed—and he feared she might—walking away might be impossible. And it was the only way now. The only right thing to do after a lifetime of doing the wrong thing.
Like taking her.
But no, he wouldn’t consider that wrong. Itwasn’twrong. He wouldn’t sully it by telling himself it was. She needed what he’d given. He’d never taken more than she had to give in return.
He dressed swiftly and then crept to her door. He had an hour at most before he had to be ready to face Gareth Covington. He needed to change and filter away the many fears and regrets that clouded his mind.
He needed to ready himself. And so he turned at her door and gave Elizabeth a long look. And knew it might be the last one. So he held that image close as he returned to his own chamber and the preparations he had to make within.
Chapter 20
Light filtered from the east as Morgan finished preparing his horse. Dawn would fully break in a quarter of an hour, perhaps less, and they needed to get on the road to meet with Gareth at the arranged spot on Brighthollow’s property.
He turned to urge his brother, Brighthollow and Donburrow to get on their mounts—and froze. The duchesses were standing on the step, saying their goodbyes to their husbands.
And Elizabeth. She had her hands clasped before her, her shoulders back and one would have never known that she’d had no sleep the night before. She was so utterly, perfectly beautiful.
