She scrambled onto the bed, staring at the purple velvet canopy, doing as he asked. When she rolled her head to watch him, his clothing except for his trousers was gone, a heap on the floor, and he was sitting in a chair, tugging off his boots. He was gorgeous. His arms ropy, his torso defined muscle. Her mouth went dry at the sight.
When his feet were bare, he stood and unbuttoned his trousers. He glanced over at her, and again held still, his hands curled around the opening to his trousers, providing a barrier to what lay beyond.
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
His trousers came off in one fluid motion, and she shifted onto her side, taking in all his glory. The drawings in her mother’s book paled in comparison to his magnificence as she took in the whole of him. She grinned. “You are... beautiful.”
He laughed. “The way you watch me makes me feel so.”
Then he prowled to the bed, climbed onto it, and took her into his arms, blanketing his body over hers as his mouth took complete possession of hers. He was right. There was something magical about all that lovely skin—his and hers—rubbing and sliding together. It was almost a melding, like they were exchanging bits of each other, and she knew she’d never again be the same, wouldn’t be whole without him.
He cupped her breast, kneaded it, and swirled his thumb around her areola, causing her nipple to pucker and strain toward his touch. After removing his mouthfrom hers and lowering it to close around the turgid peak, he fulfilled his earlier vow. He suckled. She felt like she was composed of thousands of bits of string, and all were being tugged at once, straining and vibrating with pleasure. She brushed the strands from his brow and buried her fingers in his hair.
She loved the way his hard planes fit against her soft curves. They were perfect. She’d known they would be.
As he’d promised in the carriage, he kissed his way down to eventually lick the most private part of her, which she was discovering was also the most sensitive. She very nearly came up off the bed. Her gasp and cry caused him to laugh darkly. “Like that, princess?”
“Yes. Yes. Yes.”
“And I’ve only just begun.”
To drive her mad with desire, want, and need. With each stroke of his tongue, the pleasure ratcheted up and her body tightened a little more, in anticipation of what exactly she couldn’t say. All she knew was she never wanted him to stop. She would gladly spend the rest of her years in his bed with her legs scandalously spread, creating a haven where he could feast to his heart’s content—and hers. His fingers began working in tandem with his mouth, and the pleasure intensified until she was convinced she would die of it. But what a lovely way to go.
Suddenly she was screaming his name, begging him to stop, urging him to continue. A wave of ecstasy took her under and lifted her to the heavens, bowing her back. He drove himself up to her mouth, againtook possession of it, capturing the last of her cries, holding her tightly as the cataclysm rocked her, and her body trembled from the force of it. She could taste herself on him and was overwhelmed by the wonder of all he’d done to her, all he’d given her.
He trailed his mouth to her ear. “I want to be inside you.” His voice sounded strained, as tight as his muscles felt beneath her fingertips.
“Yes.”
He rose up. “Stop me if it hurts.”
Only she knew she wouldn’t. She wanted him buried deeply inside her, wanted the joining her mother had told her about, the bond it formed, the connection it created. She wanted him. Needed him, all of him. To be hers, all hers.
He pushed in. Her body welcomed him. She ignored the discomfort, already sensing the additional pleasure awaiting her. More than physical, spiritual almost. This was the man with whom she was going to spend the remainder of her life, and they’d have so many more nights like this. His body pounding into hers. Her fingers tracing the outline of his muscles, digging into his buttocks, urging him on.
Looking down on her, he held her gaze as he rocked against her. Her body quickly adjusted, adapted to his rhythm, and the pleasure began undulating through her with his movements. She was crying out his name as he growled hers, his back arching, his jaw tightening, his eyes smoldering.
Breathing heavily, he collapsed on top of her. She closed her arms and legs around him, holding himtightly. She never wanted to let him go. She’d thought she couldn’t love him any more than she already did, but he’d proven her wrong.
She loved him more than ever, this maker of promises, keeper of vows.
Chapter 16
“I want to kiss every inch of you.” His voice was fraught with need, a need I understood because if given the chance, I would gladly kiss every single inch of him.
—Anonymous,My Secret Desires, A Memoir
June 22, 1875
By the time the play came to its conclusion, Regina was naught but a vessel of riotous emotions playing havoc with her ability to think clearly. That she had managed to remain and not run screaming from the theater was a testament to her fortitude. Knightly—the man had no need of other horseflesh, and he most certainly had a knack for winning at cards—hadgiventhis box to Chidding for only one reason: to tormenther.
Every time Chidding brought her to the theater, she would be reminded of her time here with Knightly. The secretive touches, smiles, whispers. And the first time he’d taken her to his bed. Only after he’d returned her home had she realized he’d keptthe green velvet ribbon that had originally secured her plait. A memento. A gift from her.
If Chidding had wanted to surreptitiously graze a finger along her arm or intertwine his hand with hers, she’d offered him no opportunity, because she’d sat there with her hands clutched and her arms against her sides in an effort to prevent her from traveling the path of memories. But, of course, it had proved a futile endeavor. Her posture had stiffened all the more as she’d been bombarded with images of Knightly and all the things he’d done with her, to her, for her. The pleasure. Dear Lord. So much pleasure. Even when they weren’t in bed.
The tour he’d given her of his home that night. The magnificent library, with all its books, the wonder of it—even before he’d lifted her onto the desk and taken her there, standing between her spread legs and pounding into her as her lungs filled with the fragrance of ancient tomes, bound in leather that eventually absorbed her cries.
As the stage curtains were now drawing to a close, following the motions of those observers seated around her, she stood and clapped and yelled, “Bravo!” No matter that she had no idea if the performers were deserving of the accolades.
