He pushed into her again, more carefully. It didn’t hurt so much now. He stilled as her body welcomed him. Then gently moved inside her. Even this small movement had her on tenterhooks, building a fire within her.
“All right?”
She nodded and held onto his shoulders.
The urgent question in his eyes faded and with a low growl, his mouth crushed hers and his thrusts grew faster.
It no longer hurt. She reined kisses on any of his skin she could reach, breathing in his masculine aroma and tasting the salt of his clean sweat. Her hips rose up to meet each thrust in an innate, implicit rhythm, faster, until he groaned and withdrew to spill his seed on her thigh. Panting, she held onto him, loving the weight of him, and the new sensations of pleasure and tenderness and sated desire.
Anthony rolled away. He grabbed his pantaloons and withdrew a handkerchief from the pocket. “You surprised me. I didn’t hurt you did I, sweetheart?” He wiped his spill from her and himself and his handkerchief came away bloodied.
She smelt herself on him and shivered. Shook her head. How incredible and intimate it was, the weight of his body on hers, him deep inside her. In truth, she’d wondered at the explosive intrigues that swirled around her in Paris. Now she understood what drove people to take such risks.
His brows came together in a concerned frown. “I confess I didn’t expect to find you an innocent.”
“Well, I’m not anymore.” She turned her head away and fought an overwhelming urge to cry. Not from sadness or loss, she’d abandoned her dream of a contented marriage years ago. More a sense of completion. As if by making love to him she came to understand her own needs.
He took her chin and turned her head back toward him. His serious brown eyes gazed into hers as he traced her swollen bottom lip with a gentle finger. “Why now? Why me?”
“It is inconvenient for an actress, and my life is complicated.” It sounded unconvincing even to her ears. She didn’t want to lie to him. Not now. Oh, why did he turn out to be so caring? She would have little trouble lying to some men she’d met, but this was too hard.
“I don’t understand. Tell me.”
It was impossible. She shrugged, breathed deeply as conflicting feelings surged through her: shame and confusion. But not regret. She understood the absence of regret because their union had seemed so right. She reached up to trail a finger over his sharp jaw because she couldn’t help touching him. “I’m glad it was you.”
He kissed her breast. “I am truly honored. A very lucky fellow.” He jumped to his feet and reached down for her hand. “Come to bed. Next time will be better, I promise.”
She followed him into the bedroom with a sad little smile. He would sleep in her bed now although he’d not wished to before.
She reveled in the blissful warmth and safety of his body close to hers and fell asleep. He awakened her with a kiss and she saw it was near dawn, the sky outside lightening to gray. “I must go soon.” He tossed back the sheets, leaned over her and trailed kisses down her body, pausing to give due attention to her nipples with his tongue. She clutched his head and moaned as they firmed under his touch. Warmth pooled between her thighs.
She wanted him again, admitting to herself she was now a hopeless case. Insatiable. His breathing quickened, and his eyes took on that heavy look she now recognized, which was enormously appealing and sent a thrill racing through her.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, hesitating.
She shook her head and drew him close.
He was right. They’d become more familiar with each other’s bodies. Confident and relaxed, she learned what made him groan, and delighted in it, becoming bolder with her hands and her mouth, displaying her body in wanton pleasure. With his clever mouth and tongue and fingers, she became convinced she would die from pleasure.
After he left her bed, she lay there wondering at how perfect their union had been. She’d come to London prepared to dislike him, even to hate him. Instead, she liked him a good deal. Infatuation? Possibly, he was everything in a man she wished for. She had sensed that from the first. But they would never meet on an equal footing. And in time, he would come to loathe her. She must guard against growing too fond of him. But in this blissful moment she pushed those thoughts away. She rolled onto her back and touched herself between her thighs where she was sticky and a little sore, then stretched her legs over the soft feather mattress. It was as if she floated, her muscles warm honey. Remembering it all with a moan of delight, she snuggled down beneath the covers.
Anthony would be with her again after tonight’s performance. She’d count the hours. But right now, fatigue claimed her, and she refused to face what must lie ahead. She closed her eyes.
