“You are doing so well, Honora. You feel so good, you feel…” He sheathed himself to the hilt, grinding the base of his cock against her as she found her breath, panting gasps spilling from her lips with every possessive stroke of his flesh through hers, sweat slicking their skin.
“Christ, you feel likemine,” he groaned, pressing a kiss to her jaw, sliding his arms beneath her and cupping her shoulders from below, pulsing up into her with short ragged thrusts that dragged a low moan from her throat.
And then she felt it. A bloom of erotic heat deep inside, the relentless churn of his cock teasing it from an ember into a flame.
She widened her legs, lifting her knees and rolling up into him, chasing that sweet, hot pleasure as the pressure in her hips clamoured for more.
“Yes,” he growled, nipping her shoulder then pushing up, gripping her waist firmly as he thrust into her again and again, her head falling further over the edge of the bed with each rough shove until Honora was clutching the sheets for purchase, hair flying around her face and throat raw from her cries as pleasure cascading over her like a molten waterfall.
With a hoarse shout of satisfaction, Silas plunged deep, flooding her with warmth as he spilt his seed into her, pumping every drop into her with slow, languid rolls of his hips, filling her up until it spilled out over her thighs.
With a growl, he hauled her up into his arms, the rush of blood from her head making her dizzy as her legs straddled his hips and he cradled her against his chest.
They fought together for breath as Honora closed her eyes and wrapped her arms tight around him, feeling his shaft pulse slightly inside her as their bodies cooled.
Finally, Silas pulled himself free, a trickle of warmth the only evidence of their transgression.
He lay Honora back on the bed and padded to the washstand, wringing out a cloth and bringing the cool muslin over to her.
Without a word, he wiped her chest, her belly, and the tender place between her legs, walking back to the basin gloriously nude. Totally unashamed.
Honora felt like she was floating on a warm sea of satisfaction, watching her lover as he returned to the bed and tucked himself behind her.
Seventeen
Silas ponderedthe mystery that was a woman’s heart as he strode back towards the clearing sheltered amongst the trees across from the ornamental lake.
Honora had decided that a picnic would be a pleasurable way to pass the time, and they had spent a languid afternoon feasting on summer fruits, cheese, and dainty sandwiches, drinking sweet wine and languishing in the shady glen.
It was a selfishly hedonistic interlude, considering what they had left behind in London, but Silas couldn’t say no to Honora, not when she was so clearly enjoying herself.
He had made no secret of his intentions towards her, but even four gloriously wicked days later, the lady had still not given him her answer.
Perhaps it was only fair. Why should she agree to be his after a few short days of bliss? Silas needed to earn the right to keep her by his side, and he intended to do just that.
Every day at Althorpe Hall with Honora had been a revelation, a reminder that life together could be on their own terms. For the first time, Silas imagined that he was not, in fact, doomed to repeat the same mistakes his parents had.
It was abundantly clear that Honora was nothing like his mother, as much as he had loved her. Honora did not need anyone else to see to her happiness and certainly did not sit around waiting for Silas to bring her to life, like a hothouse plant waiting for an admirer.
If anything, she was a whirlwind of joyous energy, flitting from one interest to another like a glorious butterfly.
His mother had pined away for a life that would never be hers. But now, if anyone was in danger of pining for another, it was Silas.
Honora was as indomitable as a summer storm, rushing through the house and shaking it from its morose slumber with her effervescent laughter and innocent exuberance.
The staff suddenly walked with their heads held high, practically falling over themselves to see to her every whim. She had turned the manor into something alive, lived in.
A place where voices echoed in the halls and footsteps carried without fear of displeasing the master.
She had woken up the old house, and Silas along with it.
Made it feel whole, lived in, for the first time. It hardly resembled the cold tomb of his childhood at all.
Silas wished he could make Honora understand that it was far more than lust and duty behind his offer to bind himself to her.
Rather, it had become clear to him that it was something he had never dared to hope for, let alone imagined with Honora.
Silas stepped out from the trees, the breeze cooling the damp skin bared at his throat. He had long since discarded his cravat in the heat and now he rolled up his sleeves as he walked towards their picnic tableau.
