Savage intensity roared through his blood. His tongue dueled with hers in a war dance worthy of the indigenous peoples he’d heard tales of in the colonies. The control he so proudly possessed scattered on the briny breeze. She angled her head and he delved deeper, devouring her softness, wondering how he could have possibly believed he could live without her.
Heat soaring between them amplified the scent of her. He leaned back and ripped the flap from his breeches. He pushed her to her back and raised over her. His cock strained toward her.
Her hand flattened against his waistcoat. “Wait.” She hadn’t spoken loudly, but the word blared at him.
On shaking forearms, he stilled above her, shocked at his regimented mastery. It deserved a medal on par with his one received from the Admiralty.
“I should, er, like to, er…”
The clouds shifted back over the moon, shielding her features, but he was filled with a sudden lightness. “To touch?” His voice strained.
“Well, to be frank, yes.” Her bluntness sent a shot of fired excitement through his blood. It was something to be respected… explored.
He fell next to her on his back. He croaked out a laugh in ragged pants. “Please,” he invited. “As you can see, I’ve taken the liberty of dispersing with the buttons on my breeches.”
The bottom of his shirt flapped in the wind, cool against the heat of his skin. If he was ever cold again, he would think of this very moment. Her hand lay gently against his abdomen, all fire, sliding up beneath his waistcoat.
“Your skin is smooth,” she said. “Do married people always do this with their clothes on?”
“I hope not,” he returned.
Her fingertips brushed the flats of his nipples and his chest rumbled with stark hunger. “I think I would like to dispel with clothes for activities such as these,” she murmured.
He let out a low moan and ripped open his waistcoat and jerked at his cravat, nearly strangling himself.
“Let me help.” Her very calmness almost sent him into a fit of vapors. But then those cool fingers wrapped his length and she gasped.
“Rebecca,” he groaned.
Velvet lips touched his stomach. Her nose tickled his skin, the tip of her tongue raised bumps. “Did I hear you say that you loved me, Your Grace?” She lifted her head. Her hair teased his skin, and she tested her hold on him, cupping his ballocks. His hips lifted from the ground.
“Yes.” His growl turned into a gravelly sound he didn’t recognize.
She released her hold on him and launched a whispery attacked with a single fingertip along the length of him, then down. “Do women do to men with their mouths what you did to me?”
“Not respectably,” he choked out.
“I’ve never been considered all that respectable,” she said.
He lifted, resting back on his elbows, to see her shadowy image leaning low over him. The swipe of her tongue lashed against the tip of his cock.
She glanced up at him, her teeth flashing in the gloom. “It doesn’t look as if it would fit, Your Grace.”
The time for laughter had passed. “Oh, it will fit,” he bit out, grabbing and pulling her across him. “Pull up your skirts.”
“W-what.”
“Do it.”
Slowly, she did as he commanded.
“Straddle me.”
“Straddle you?”
“Don’t be obtuse, Rebecca. Put one leg on the other side of my hips.” The raging inferno of her core engulfed him. “Now lower your body to mine. Just rub yourself against me. You feel how wet you are?”
“Y-yes.”
