“Spread your legs wider, sweet,” he whispered, nibbling on her earlobe. “I’m going to stroke you so you’re wet and slick for me.”
She opened her legs to him, her moans growing increasingly desperate as he teased and played with her. When he felt slippery heat gather between her legs, he moved his hips in a small, experimental thrust.
She cried out, but it wasn’t a cry of pain, so he thrust again, gentle still, but even that was enough to make his eyes roll back in his head and pleasure pound through him.
“Finn.” His name was a breathless plea on her lips, and when she met him on his next thrust, he began to move inside her in slow, steady strokes, his fingers still toying with the slick bud between her legs.
A jolt of pure, masculine triumph surged through him when her fingernails dug into his back, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.
“Does it feel good, love?” His thrusts were more frantic now, faster, and he could feel his powerful release edging closer.
“Ah, yes. So good. Please, I want…please.”
“Do you want to come?” He was working her hard now, dragging his fingertip over her clitoris again and again, his hips tight against hers as he thrust his cock into her, then drew almost all the way out before thrusting again.
Her only answer was an incoherent moan. Her head thrashed against the pillow, and then she cried out as her body clenched around him, sucking him deep inside her, and she cried out again, her fingernails biting into his shoulders as her release swept over her.
Finn groaned as the telltale tingling began low in his back, and his spine drew tight, and God, he was going to come, explode inside her—
A guttural moan tore from deep in his chest when his release hit him, his back arching and his legs shaking with the astonishing pleasure. He held her tight against him as his cock jerked inside her, his mouth open against her neck, harsh, panting breaths tearing from his throat as his orgasm went on and on, shaking him like a ragdoll until at last it released him, and he went limp against her.
He didn’t release her when he was spent, but rolled onto his side and gathered her close to his chest, his heart thundering against her back as they both caught their breath.
When they’d calmed and the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire, Finn brushed her hair over her shoulder and nuzzled his face into her neck. “Iris? Are you all right?”
“Mmmm.” She drew his arm into the curve of her waist, a long sigh of sleepy contentment escaping her when he curled a possessive hand around her breast.
He stayed awake for a long time after her breathing turned deep and even, his arms wrapped protectively around her and his face buried in her hair. Just before he drifted off to sleep she murmured something, but her whisper was so quiet he wasn’t sure if he’d dreamed it or not.
I love you. I love you, Finn.
Chapter Twenty
There was nothing but darkness outside Finn’s bedchamber window when Iris untangled herself from his warm embrace, crept across the room and began to gather her clothing.
It proved to be a daunting task.
Coats, shirts, stockings, and cravats were scattered from one end to the room to the other. She stumbled about in the dark, stifling a hiss of pain when she tripped over Finn’s boots and hit her shin against the bedframe. She found her petticoat twisted in her riding skirt in a heap under the bed, and her shirt and cravat were hanging over the wash basin on the other side of the room.
Dear God. It looked as if they’d fallen on each other in a wild frenzy and torn each other’s clothes off as soon as the bedchamber door closed behind them.
Iris’s cheeks heated. In other words, it looked like precisely what it was.
She glanced at the bed and a yearning sigh escaped her. Finn was asleep on his back, his long limbs flung in every direction. The sheets rode low on his hips, and his powerful chest and taut stomach were on display, along with acres of smooth, bronzed skin.
And she’d thought his chin dimple was mesmerizing.
He looked sleepy and warm and utterly delicious, and every feminine instinct urged her to slide back under the covers and wake him by pressing kisses to every inch of that delectable skin, but she couldn’t dally here all morning.
Could she?
No, no, of course she couldn’t. There’d be no end to the uproar if anyone discovered she hadn’t slept in her bed, especially if that person should happen to be Violet, who’d worm the truth out of her before Iris managed to struggle back into her corset.
Wherewasher corset?
Perhaps she’d left it by the bed. She’d just have a quick look, and while she was there it wouldn’t hurt to take one last peek at Finn while he slept, and in any case, she couldn’t leave him, ah…exposed like that. He’d take a chill. She’d just pull the blanket over him, and perhaps smooth the hair away from his face, and then she’d scurry off to her bedchamber.
Iris padded back across the room in her bare feet, her clothes in a bundle under her arm. She stood by the bed gazing down at his peaceful face for long moments, her heart both full and yet aching with a strange melancholy at once. He looked younger when he was asleep, almost boyish, the stern lines of his face softer in repose, and his golden-brown hair lying in disheveled waves across his forehead.
