“This is a good thing. It will help in easing the way.” He was panting. Thankfully, she was as well. “I can feel you throbbing against me. I’m going to touch you now, darling. Don’t be frightened.”
“I’m not,” she whispered.
“That’s it. Back and forth.” He eased his finger to the apex of her curls and pressed.
Her rapid pants quickened, and her body shuddered over his with her quick release, but he was far from done.
“Keep going, back farther. Now forward. Lift, just a little.” His cock followed her movements as if it were a magnetic force. She moved back and he used his hand to adjust his cock. “That’s it, darling. Bring me your heat. Lower your body, slowly now. The first time can hurt.” Of course, it was her first time. But would he care? No. She was worth all the tea in England. The sugar in Barbados. The land in America. He gripped her hips to guide her. “Breathe, darling.” And forced himself to do the same. Perspiration gathered above his lip and along his hairline. His thumb migrated back to the apex and her body swallowed his cock, halting at the barrier.
“Sebastian?” Panic etched her voice.
“It’s all right, love. It’s all right.”
She lifted slightly.
“I love you, Rebecca.”
His words startled her, and she slipped, coming down hard. She drew in a sharp intake.
He froze, holding her hips in place. He throbbed within her, and he quelled the instinctive urge to move.
“I-I think I’m a-all right,” she said on a shaky breath. “I just need to—” She moved.
“Oh, God.” He flipped her to her back and drove hard and deep. Three strokes and he was ready to howl at the moonlit clouds. His mouth covered hers, his tongue following hers in a furious chase as he grinded against the top of her sex. “Come with me, darling.”
“Harder,” she whispered. “Harder. Sebastian…” Her voice trailed in a high-pitched squeal just as the brilliant lights exploded behind his eyes.
The velvet enclosure sheathing his pulsing cock beat in ancient rhythm with the rise and fall of her chest.
He buried his face in the crook of her shoulder as he sprawled across her.
“If we were to marry,” she breathed against his sweat-damped chest, “is this something you would require often?”
“Not if,” he growled against the column of her neck. “When.” True to his risk-averse nature, he offered a carefully crafted answer. “Perhaps I wouldn’t require it, but I would certainly desire it.” He shifted off her and tugged at the cloak beneath them. “What the devil is under this coat?”
“My dagger, I expect. It’s in one of the pockets.”
He sat up and dug around and found the offending protrusion. He tugged it out and held it up. “This is not a dagger,” he said.
She rose too. “Oh, that. It’s a catapulting device. The dagger is in the other pocket.”
He leaned over and brushed his lips over hers. “You didn’t answer my question.”
She rubbed her nose against his chest like a kitten, curling up for a nap. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Sebastian. How can I not, when I love you so dreadfully much?”
She saidyes.His heart thudded painfully against his ribs. “Well, I shall great take pleasure in changing your ‘so dreadfully much’ to ‘so very much,’ Your future Grace.” And he slanted his mouth over hers again.
Thirty-One
Sebastian studied his wife’s catapulting device with a jaundiced eye.
“It’s not that difficult, Your Grace,” Oliver said. He knew it was Oliver. Not because Owen was standing a distance away with Rebecca, but due to the calculating glint in his eyes. Oliver was much craftier than his twin.
He shot the boy his most ducal glare. “You believe you can do better?”
Oliver snorted. “Certainly.”
Sebastian shrugged and started to hand it over but stopped from relinquishing it completely to Oliver’s possession. He covered Oliver’s hand with his, staying him momentarily. He glanced up, watching his wife kneel on the ground next to Owen and Duke—the dog—across the expanse of the flower covered meadow.
