Her eyes narrowed in confusion, and she shook her head. “Yes. Don’t stop.”
He obviously needed to be more direct with his questions.
Pushing in a bit farther, he hesitated again as her entire body tensed, resisting the intrusion. This time he simply waited, watching. After a moment, her muscles began to relax, and he felt her opening more to him. He pressed deeper, biting his lower lip. The hesitations were going to kill him.
Rose’s expression suddenly turned from expectant curiosity to a loving desire, and she braced her feet and lifted her hips. Thomas moaned as the move seated him deeply into her, and he pushed her back against the bed. Rose wrapped her legs around his hips and held him as Thomas caught his breath and began to thrust slowly.
“I do not want to hurt you.”
She threaded her fingers through his hair, then stroked her nails down his back. “I will not break. And I want you. All of you.”
He grinned, kissing her deeply, ever more fervently as his thrusts moved faster and harder. She tried to match his rhythm, but her inexperience revealed itself and she finally let him take the lead, stroking his back and following her natural instincts to writhe in response to her own pleasure.
Which was all he needed. Thomas took her, claimed her, using one hand to urge her to another climax just before his own peak hit. He gave a sharp cry as it did, feeling an unexpected satisfaction that his seed emptied into her, as if she were finally, permanently, his.
He murmured her name as he eased out of her, folding his arms around her once again. “Was it painful?”
“No. More... uncomfortable... at first.”
“But it got easier? Are you sore?”
She wiggled against him. “A little.” Then she tightened her hold on him, her face a mask of contentment and curiosity. “We can really do this more than once? Twice?”
He buried a laugh into her neck. “You can. I’m barely conscious. I will need time. And a nap.”
“But you are pleased? Pleased that it’s me?”
The worry in her voice sparked a touch of alarm in him, and he kissed her eyelids, then her mouth. “More than pleased. You are my beloved.”
She released a contented sigh, then stretched. “I hate to do this but I need to, um—” She gestured toward a screen in the corner of the room.
He rolled away from her. “Take your time. I know sometimes women need to... clean things up.”
One eyebrow arched at him as she slid off the bed, bent to snag her night rail, and slipped behind the screen.
With her gone, Thomas felt a wave of pure exhaustion swamp him. The long day, plus little sleep, the anxiety of the wedding, and delays of the breakfast had all taken their toll. He peeled back the covers, which revealed the remnants of their lovemaking, a soaked center of the bed. He pulled the top sheet up over it and tucked it in, then fluffed and piled the pillows in a mound near the head of the bed. He sank deep into them, pulling up the quilted covers back up. He closed his eyes, thinking Rose would join him in a few moments, and felt himself drifting off as sleep claimed him.
Unbidden images swam in his mind, haunting him. A vision of the damage Thomas had left on Roger Bentley’s face dissipated into a smoky image of Katherine Carterton, her plush figure alluring and lurid. He fought to push the vision away, but he felt her warmth engulfing him, could smell her scent, although it was oddly mixed with a higher, floral aroma. She weaved her entrancing scarves around him, draping them over his stomach, his groin, reminding him of the pleasure they had shared, the way she had indulged him. Her whispered voice sounded close in his ear.
“Goodnight, my love.”
He sighed. “Goodnight, Kitty.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Did he justsay...?
Motionless, Rose lay tucked in next to Thomas’s side, trying to deny what he had just muttered. But she could not. The words had been soft but clear.
“Goodnight, Kitty.”
Who was Kitty?
The most obvious answer—a woman he had been thinking about while making love to her—sent a chaotic jumble of emotions through Rose. Anger, pain, betrayal... primarily pain, as her mind tried to argue it through.
He could not have been thinking of anyone else. He was too attentive. Too gentle. Too caring.
He did wrap a sash around your eyes, covering half your face.
