Even that morning in church, he’d wanted her. He’d stared at the back of her head, the feeling, the smell, the heat of her controlling his mind.
Now he had her and he wanted his fill.
Portia didn’t want reason, or rules, or strictures.
She wantedhim.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she reveled in the sensation of her bare chest against his as he thrust deeper and deeper into his body.
He made her feel alive. She was on fire. The heat of their coupling threatened to consume her.
She moved with him, and yet found she had her own wants, her own desires, and only he could satisfy them—
A pinnacle of sensation started building insideher. She’d felt it the night before but this was more powerful, keener.
Portia held tight, almost afraid of what was happening to her. This was so good,toogood—
And then she found what she had been searching for. She hitit.
One moment, her body was of this earth and in the next she was part of the heavens. She was a shooting star. She was thesun. She was all that was perfect and wonderful.
Had she thought last night was what the poets praised? She’d been wrong.
Thiswas what they celebrated.
He flew with her as well. He rocked her in his arms as her body exploded into a hundred different shards of sensation. He was buried deep within her and she felt the power of life flow from him to her.
Life.Yes, that was what this was. Portia was finally a part of life. Sweet, valuable, always-to-be-cherished life.
Of course, reality, the part of life she truly belonged to, returned with the cooling of her body’s sweat, and a realization that once again she’d compromised her virtue.
What virtue?
She’d tossed that aside last night.
What she needed to do now was arrange her clothing into some semblance of normal and run from this place and this man as fast as her legs could take her—
“You had better not be having recriminations,” his deep voice said above her.
Portia closed her eyes. She wished she could blame him for her shameful behavior, but she couldn’t. She’d wanted him, and she’d had him.
“I need to go,” she whispered.
“No, you don’t,” he said, his arms hugging her closer. Her legs were still around his waist. “I’m not letting you go anywhere.”
“Please,” she said, her throat starting to close on tears.
He stopped any other pleas she could have made with a kiss.
This kiss was different from the devouring ones of only moments ago. This was gentle, caring, understanding.
Slowly, her resistance vanished. He let her down to the ground and she stood in front of him, almost afraid of what would happen next.
He cupped her face with his hands. His palm was rough. He was no dandy but a man who used his hands, who almost took pleasure in it. He traced her lips with the tip of his thumb.
“You must believe me,” he said, his voice low. “What is between us is different. It’s not how things normally are.”
Was he saying she was different to him from all the women he was reputed to have bedded?
