Time was so fleet, as he’d said.
So she leaned forward. “I love you, Marcus. Forever. Come what may.”
If she’d known what those words would unleash, perchance she would have…said them before.
Marcus growled and put a firm hand to her nape, crushing her lips. His other palm cupped her rump, pulling her so close, and she moaned as she felt her body sink into his muscle.
Kisses roamed her throat, sleeves falling to his demand, teeth grazing and tongue laving.
And then her view upended as she was tumbled backwards upon the bed, Marcus looming over her, chest rising and plunging in ragged bursts of breath.
“If you wish to greet dawn unravished, Charlotte,” he rasped, “then you have this one moment to leave the room.”
She reached out a hand and trailed it down his chest, stomach and to where his breeches betrayed his arousal. He caught her fingers.
“This one moment,” he repeated through gritted teeth.
“At this moment, Marcus, all I want is you.” She allowed her eyes to wander his face, chest and lower. “I want you so much it hu–”
Words were smothered with his lips, passionate and intoxicating.
Her bodice was tugged down, laces unknotted, stays unfastened and flung aside, but Charlotte was aware she was no buxom girl and she sought to cover–
“No,” he snarled. “Hell, you’re so beautiful.” And his mouth trailed to her breasts, her bashfulness dissipating beneath his ardent touch.
Skirts and petticoats were likewise discarded but the unfairness of her state of undress brought her to her senses, and she yanked at his shirt, tearing it from the band of his breeches.
“Too much damn material,” she groused, but Marcus laughed and tore the thing over his head.
Oh.
His chest was beautiful – a classical statue at a museum that she’d once stared at far too long – and she pressed her palms upon him, fingers spread in possession.
A grunt emanated before he twisted, discarding boots and breeches with curses and clonks.
And then he was there, above her, hands sliding down her body with such reverence that breath failed her.
“Please,” she whispered, and his hands sunk betwixt her legs, palm grinding and fingers pressing as he kissed her throat, stubble abrading and heightening her every sense.
Fever.
A fever coursed within her that wove and writhed, and just as it soared, his hand was replaced by…something more demanding.
Insistent.
Persistent.
She cried out as he thrust.
“Charlotte…” Her name was growled, eyes fierce and impassioned.
It felt both strange and wondrous.
She shifted; he groaned.
And then he lifted on forearms, stared into her eyes and thrust again.
Her breath hitched.
