“It’s not that,” he managed, through tightly gritted teeth. “You could getpregnant.”
She pushed herself up on her elbow. “No. I’ve just finished my courses and you can spill on my stomach.” When he looked startled, she waved an impatient hand. “You’ve noideahow much information I’ve gleaned from my courtesan friends in Covent Garden.”
There is, Wolfgang reflected, even as his arms tightened around her, even as the silk of her naked skin fogged his head with pleasure,only so much a man can take.
He rolled her over and his brain whited out.
Three fucking years to think of this, to trynotto think of this.
Three fucking years of yearning, and his imagination wasn’t even close. Especially not when her sweet hands were skimming along his sides, lighting up his nerves, one by one. Lighting him on fire, because it wasCharlotte, and he was caught somewhere between heaven and—
“Wolfgang?” she said, alarmed, as she reached the massive scar on his hip.
Yes.
Right.
Herstoppingwas the worst pain of his life.
“Gunshot. Waterloo. It went clean through.Carry on!”
But Charlotte had other ideas. She pushed him on his back and he let her, because the sight of her naked breast above him, the most gorgeous blackberry-tipped weight just beyond the reach of his mouth, was a torture he was more than willing to endure. When her mouth touched his scar, Wolfgang nearly leaped from the bed.
She lifted her eyes to him, and they were filled with drunken wonder and… accusation?
“You never said.”
“Flesh wound,” he growled again. “It’snothing.”
“But—”
“Charlotte, you could cut off my fucking leg right now and I wouldn’t notice.”
Wolfgang pushed up onto his elbow, ready to take control, but—
“No! Stop—lie on your back. I want to explore.”
Well, thought Wolfgang as he fell back against the mattress,it’s not the worst way to die.
He grabbed the sheets and held on for all he was worth as Charlotte, up on her knees by his side, her bare skin licked by candlelight, her thundercloud hair billowing down her back, ran her hands once more over his stomach, over his chest, making little cat noises of pleasure as she explored. One of those soft, clever hands reached lower still and her eyes went wide and wondering as her thumb brushed over the ridge—
Wolfgang had Charlotte flat on her back in less than half a second. He notched his cock up against her center and watched her lashes flutter with pleasure. “Christ, I—you’re sure?”
Her mouth curved. “Certain.”
Wolfgang would rather have stabbed himself than hurt her, and yet he was the one who hissed, almost in pain, as he dipped in the first inch. His lungs worked as if he were galloping into battle.
Charlotte’s eyes shimmered. “Please, I need more.”
He slurred her name and pressed slowly forward, the pressure inside flaring intolerably, shuddering at the effort not to move too fast. His spine was a column of steel as she began to twist and rock, and only when he was certain that she was frantic—that she was slick, wet and swollen—did he cup her ass and drive in once, slow and hard.
Helpless sounds spilled out of her mouth and so he drove in again.
Again.
Again and again.
A tidal wave was surging toward them, an ocean rising with vast power, sucking them up high on a crest. Charlotte broke first, and her shocked, grateful cry was too much for Wolfgang. He pulled out just before he cracked in half and tumbled down into the deep, drowning, his lungs crushed by the force of all he felt.
