Their moans mingled and her head slumped as he commenced a languid motion, rousing and searing, hands at her hips and breath upon her nape.
It was tight, like this, tight and exquisite, and as his hand slid the chemise aside to hold her breast, she flung her arm to his nape, the slow shallow plunder a maddening possession.
More, she wanted more, so she ground against him, felt his stubble at her shoulder, eyes devouring her arched breasts, and she felt beautiful and wanted and desired.
“Hugh…”
He lunged, hand at her waist, steadying her as he pressed deeper, his pace intensifying.
She kept hold, cried out as his hand now delved to her heat, heard a growl in her ear and wished this would never end just as much as she wished for the flames to consume her.
And they did, fire devouring, fusing her to Hugh and all that he was. She slammed her eyes shut to the exquisite bliss she never wished to be without.
Teeth grazed her shoulder, a deep thrust, a muffled grunt, and Hugh tumbled into the fire also, his broad frame shuddering over and over.
Amelia savoured it all, allowed the bliss to undulate and flow.
Little by little, the pitter-patter of rain began to resume in her ears, the fire crackled and the bedchamber settled back into shadowed focus.
Hugh still languorously thrust but his laboured breath eased and his grasp upon her slackened.
Yet she wished to hold onto this moment forever, to return to it when the future loomed unknown – Amelia Lambert had been desired and wanted for who she was and this memory would always be hers.
As she pushed at the crumpled chemise encircling her waist, a giggle emerged.
“Let’s get rid of that,” a gruff voice proclaimed and before she could so much as lift a buttock, it was yanked over her hips and flung none-too-tenderly across the room.
“I’ve only five chemises to my name,” she grumbled breathlessly.
“That’s five too many as far as I’m concerned.” Hugh leaned over to seize something from the bedside table, and in the dimness of night, she could make out the whiteness of a rose.
He trailed it over her neck, brushed her lips with its silken petals, and in the crimson light of the fire, she could discern dark eyes caressing her face.
With breath hitching, Amelia reached up and slid her hand into his, fingers entwining, the rose crushed between their palms, its heady scent all encompassing.
“Don’t let go,” she murmured. “Don’t ever let go.”
And his mouth descended.
