He loved her sounds. Every sigh, or a sharp intake of breath, sent a new rush of desire through him. He’d known from the moment he saw her that he wanted her. But he’d never understood, even in that moment of want, how deep his desire ran.
He brushed up against her sex, taking in the undeniable elixir of her readiness. He felt her hips move as he did so, as her body searched for the pleasure she had been too long denied.
“Not yet,” he said, as he peppered her belly with soft kisses. “I promised I would kiss every inch of you. And I’m a man of my word.”
Her fingers tangled in his hair, stroking the back of his neck. He loved the subtly possessive way she’d reached out, as if she was bestowing her grace on him. He kissed his way back down to the mound of strawberry blond hair between her legs. As if she’d sensed his intention, she parted her legs. The moment he put his lips to the side of her thighs, grazing just the outside of her sex, she gave a pretty little sigh.
Soon his tongue explored her soft folds, wet with anticipation of him. Gently, he inserted a finger inside her sex. She stiffened slightly, then relaxed again. With small, steady strokes, he moved his finger, then inserted another, all the while administering his attentions to clitoris. He’d barely touched it when she came, crying out, lifting her hips toward him as the full force of her orgasm moved through her.
He lifted himself up, resting on his knees, stroking her legs as she opened her eyes. Her face was flushed from her climax, but she looked up at him, her brow furrowing.
“What about you?” she asked.
“I wanted you to have your pleasure” he said, eager to assuage whatever cloud threatened to overcome her. It took every ounce of control he had not to spill his seed in his own trousers. “I didn’t expect you to risk yourself for mine.”
“I am used to risk, Beau da Silva,” she said, “I trust you to be careful.”
I trust you.
It was all the invitation he required. He positioned himself over her, finding her opening. Her body yielded to him, and he buried himself in her tight, lush folds. Soon they were moving in a gentle but urgent rhythm, the edge of his own climax coming. He slowed, wanting to make this last. But as he looked down at her, her hair spread out like a fiery halo, her full lips full and parted from their kisses, his body could no longer wait for the rest of him to come to terms with what they were doing.
And more dangerously, what it felt like. It was pleasure, yes. But it was so much more than that.
And that was new.
She cried out a second time, and Beau, sensing his own climax threatening to overtake him completely, pulled out, spilling his seed on the ground.
They laid together quietly for a few moments before rising. For a second time today, he helped her dress. They didn’t speak for a while, both contented with the silence.
“I hope that wasn’t too uncomfortable for you,” he said at last. While he’d suspected she was a virgin, the exquisite tightness of her, and the momentary hesitation on her face as he entered her, seemed to confirm it. “This wasn’t the softest surface to lie upon.”
“It was much more enjoyable than I had imagined actually,” she said.
He couldn’t help but start at that assessment of his lovemaking. True enough, the setting was not quite what he imagined, and he’d imagined their coupling more times than he’d dared count. But all of them involved a bed, or at the very least, a roof.
“Dare I ask what you’d imagined?”
“No, you may not,” she said, blushing again. “And I was reasonably well read on the subject.”
“Now I must know what scandalous books you keep by your bedside,” he said, equal parts aroused and intrigued by the notion of Madeline reading books of that nature. The very thought threatened to make him hard all over again. “You really don’t need to do any more to make me dream about you, but you just keep on doing it, don’t you?”
“There is nothing wrong with being informed about the sex act,” she said. “Though there is so very little about how you feel.”
“This is when the poets are useful,” he said.
“Most poets are male,” she said. “I don’t know that any of them had ever explained that.”
“Maybe you could write a book then,” he said. “For educational purposes, if nothing else.”
She stopped to examine an overgrown hedge, carefully examining it before moving on.
“I would rather spend my time in a place like this,” she said with a sense of conviction Beau found himself envious of. “I’d rather be outside, with sun on my face, working with these glorious plants.”
“Why do you love them so much?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I suppose it’s because I can come to them as I am, and that seems to be enough.”
She was enough for him, he wanted to tell her.
