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The hellion’s temerity!
He lost control.
His long fingered hand lined her soft nape and pulled her to him in a demanding kiss. A sound came to her throat of resistance, surprise and then, oh, pleasure. She faltered, and he invaded those infernal lips with all he had, chasing her, finding her, savouring her. Going insane.
She gave as good as she got and kissed him back, throwing them in candent derangement. He readjusted the angle to ravish her lips to his enormous satisfaction and felt her opening wider to him, transforming him in pure rapacity for the whole of her.
He wanted her dress out. He wanted his clothes ripped. He wanted to pound in her as if there was no tomorrow.
They kissed so fully, they were devouring each other, heedless of anything else. In a swift movement, he pulled her to his lap. Seemingly unaware, she only snaked her arms around his shoulders, her fingers in his hair, pleading for more.
If he did not take care, he would shame himself in less than a minute.
The carriage lurched to a stop. Everything settled to a standstill.
He took her shoulders and put some distance between them. A whimper of protest came from her.
“Invite me in, Annabel.” The hoarse command, his sole resource.
Annabel fought the haze that had taken her over like an avalanche. Pliant, boiling and hungry, she could merely nod.
What else might she do? What else did she desire?
She would never be able to tell how, hatless, hair unpinned, he tumbled with her on her bed. Her riotous ringlets all over her pillows, they kissed more ravenously by the minute. His strong arms around the waist, her feminine parts melted hot and keen on completion.
Vehemence and arousal had embroiled her during the ride home. When he took her nape, she had been in the last shreds of resistance.
Mindlessly, as they continued kissing, she peeled neckcloth, waist coat finally to find his hot skin under the gaped shirt. The marble-like ridge of him pressed her middle over her skirts and she could not wait to take it in her.
He unbuttoned, unhooked, unlaced, unwrapped her until her skin met him still dressed. His bristle scratched her deliciously on her long neck, delicate shoulder and breast, his trousers and shirt abraded her length, sensations mixing and heightening.
His torso lifting, he went on to finish undressing and she followed him kissing him, nibbling him, caressing him as the fabric gave way to his muscled frame.
And then they fell back on the mattress, arms and legs entangled, one more starved than the other, seeking, caressing, suckling, arching, grazing everywhere at the same time. When his bristled square jaw found her centre, she was so far gone that she sobbed his name at once.
She pulled him to her, their eyes meshed in the hearth’s sultry light. He filled her with his rock-hard erection, extracting from her a moan of longing and delectation. They feasted on one another, moving deeper, madder, in torrid sighs and grunts. They gave, they received, they took each other to the brink of agony towards paradise.
Still meshed in each other’s stare, they held it no longer, both surrendered to the wrenching conflagration and rode it with abandoned carnality. He fell on her, as their languorous bodies found repose at last.
The small hours saw them in a jumble of bed covers, pillows and satiety. In a slumber after their intense encounter, they entwined together, holding one another, surrounded by warmth.
Romulus watched Annabel sleep, wild ringlets lining her pillow. The passionate woman was a study in angelical serenity in her sleep.
The previous evening, they had made a gigantic effort to contain themselves while the butler took their hats and coats. She sent him to his rest, the house going finally quiet. In the dark hallway, they gave up the pretence and had grabbled each other in an anarchy of voraciousness that had nearly not made it to her chamber. But when they did… He scarcely believed in the unsurmountable strength of the ardour that overtook them. Their lovemaking so consuming he did not recognise his usually composed self. Still did not.
What mostly baffled Romulus, though, was the depths involved in it. On his part, at least. He had never seen this happen in his life. It had to be daunting. He did not wish to be scared, but he should not deny being intrigued by the way she drove him to the hell fires. In and out of bed.
She stirred with lassitude, her back against his chest. “What time is it?” She whispered sleepy.
“I have no idea.” He answered, as his lips caressed the rim of her shapely ear, lazily.
“Hm.” She moaned and turned to him.
The low fire on the hearth played with her midnight hair, in bluish streaks. She placed a butterfly kiss on his shoulder as his fingers dived in the dark mass of her ringlets.
Their eyes clasped together, a wealth of undercurrents transiting between them. They got lost there for a long time. Seemingly demure, she broke the contact going to the parts of him that did not lie under the coverlet. Her fingers followed, they reached his biceps, a small scar there.
“Is this from war?” She asked, her hand on him.
