Yes, he was so good to her and always did what she asked. Except in cases when he knew her ecstasy would be even more heightened by a prolonged, sensual exploration than the rush to climax she begged for. Not that Oliver himself wasn’t prone to a certain furious and wicked hunger, coming upon her in the middle of the day and throwing up her skirts and thrilling herwith a quick, savage coupling in some unlikely place like, say, the harness room.
He blew a stream of air over her spread, vulnerable self. She knew his breath was warm, but against her wet folds, it felt wonderfully cool. But his breath was not his touch. She needed his touch. Would he continue to tease her or would he satisfy her?
Tease, she decided. Because of how he had played with her breasts.
But she was wrong. He did not dally but immediately began to worship her bit, providing firm but gentle pressure with his mouth as his stubble scraped deliciously against her skin.
It was just as she liked, just as she wanted.
“Oh,” she sighed and abandoned herself to the churn of pleasure as her fingers sifted through his ebony locks. “Yes.” She loved his tongue and his lips and all the sensations he gave her with them.
But she was greedy and as her arousal grew, she strained against his strong hands holding her hips down, pinning her to the mattress. She bucked her pelvis up, wanting more, even more, her need intense and overwhelming. Oliver slapped the side of her hip, a reminder he was in control, and she quieted and tried to hold herself still, but she could not for long.
After another buck, he raised his head.
“Are you determined to ride my face, my valkyrie?”
“Oh, Oliver, please, I want to . . . please, let me ride your cock.”
She loved to have him inside her while she was atop him. And she thought he loved it, too.
He gave her one of his rare smiles, and in seconds, he was flat on his back on the mattress and she was astride his narrow hips. She stroked each one of his hip bones with her thumbs and then eased herself down over his hard cock.
Yes.
This joining, this fullness was so right. It was more than pleasure. It was more than creating a child. It was union.
His long arms reached out and his hands ran over her thighs, her hips, the folds at her waist, and settled on her breasts.
She ground herself against him, using the bone at the base of his cock against her nub. He watched her, his mouth open, his gray eyes darkening, and he pulled at her nipples, pinching them.
She moved more quickly, up and down on his shaft, using her strong thighs to power their shared pleasure.
“Henrietta, I . . . I . . .”
He didn’t need to tell her. She knew he was close. She leaned forward and kissed his mouth and then resumed riding him at a fast and vigorous pace, her torso above him, just like he was her mount.
Her husband mount.
“Come for me, Oliver.”
“But you haven’t . . .”
“I will.”
His face smoothed, his eyes closed, and his hips thrust up. As she felt his hot release, she touched her nub and brought herself to a climax that took all her strength in long, sensuous waves of abandon and collapsed her down against him. She shuddered in ecstasy as the pleasure pulsed through her body and he held her in his arms and kissed her hair and said, “So beautiful, my love.”
They lay there for a long time, sated, drowsing.
Only one thing kept Henrietta from sleep. From her position on top of Oliver, she asked, “What did Nathaniel say his bad dream was about? The thing you promised wouldn’t happen?”
Oliver tightened his clasp around her. “He said he dreamed Mama went away and left us alone.”
But thathadhappened. Nathaniel’s mother had left him, against her will and likely in agony, knowing her son would never remember his mother.
Oliver whispered, “He meant you.”
She pulled away and looked into his eyes. “Me?”
