Page 73 of The Return of the Rake

He gazed down at her, solemn and gentle, pressing forward just a fraction only to withdraw again, repeating the action over and again, each time pushing just a little harder, a little farther.

“Anne?” he asked unsteadily.

She stared up at him and, even in the dim candlelight, she could see his cheeks were flushed, his eyes sparkling with love and tenderness. He was the most glorious sight, and the knowledge that he was hers brought tears to her eyes.

“Yes,” she told him.

He thrust inside her. Anne caught her breath, holding on tight, but the pain she had braced herself for did not come, and her body relaxed by degrees, accepting the strange invasion far quicker than she had expected.

“Anne?” Her name was a question, his voice unsteady with urgency as he held himself still within her.

“Lovely,” she said, hearing a huff of amused relief at her words. She might have laughed, but then he moved deeper and sensation overwhelmed her. Anne glided her hands down his broad back, revelling in the shift of muscle under her palms, the feel of their bodies joined so perfectly.

King groaned, seeking her mouth and kissing her deeply. Anne revelled in the kiss, returning it with all the passion she felt for him.

Her reaction urged him on. He picked up his pace and Anne gasped, her head thrown back, the pleasure so intense she cried out and grabbed at his arms. It was astonishing, the way his desire for her only fed hers for him, the two of them moving faster and with mounting desperation. On and on it went until she was giddy and half mad with the intimacy of it, and force of emotions surging through her.

A strange and remarkable pressure, so tantalisingly close, gathered inside her as King made a harsh, guttural sound that seemed to make her intimate muscles contract around him. Liquid heat burst through her, the exquisite tension intensifying to such dizzying heights she was lost within it. His body was damp beneath her touch, his skin slick under her palms as she held on for dear life. He thrust harder, his rhythm faltering as he lost control. Anne cried out in triumph as King shuddered uncontrollably, spilling himself inside her. She could do nothing but follow, her body pulsing around him as she gasped in shocked delight and laughed despite herself.

“Oh!” she said, gazing at him and helpless to stop the merriment that made her cry and shake her head. Though she felt sure it was exceedingly unladylike and a dreadful reaction to such bliss, she could not make herself stop.

King looked down at her somewhat bemused. “Here I am, shaken to the core by the kind of feelings I’ve never felt in all my life, and you’re having hysterics,” he grumbled.

“S-Sorry,” she managed, forcing herself to some semblance of calm as she snuggled happily against him.

King shifted, lying beside her, and pulled her close.

“I promise you, I never expected anything half so glorious. It was… perfect and wonderful, but it made me so very happy and… and I can’t seem to help it,” she told him apologetically.

“Well, that’s all right, then,” he said, gazing at her as if she was some strange and exotic creature. “I wanted only to please you.”

“O-Oh, you did,” she said wryly. “I think I might not survive if you pleased me any more than that.”

Her dreadful husband looked rather smug at this comment but shook his head. “You’ll survive, I promise,” he said, looking every bit as wicked as she had first thought him as he gave her a provoking wink.

He reached out then, his expression becoming tender once more. “You’re all right? I didn’t hurt you?”

“You didn’t,” she agreed happily as he twisted a lock of her hair around his finger.

“God, how beautiful you are. Your hair is the most glorious thing I ever saw. Like silken flames.”

Anne gazed at him. “What a lovely thing to say.”

“You’re lovely. This entire day has been lovely. The rest of our lives will be lovely,” he said, and with such certainty Anne could only smile and believe him.

“This is a nice house,” she said, filled with content as she gazed around his bedroom. She felt him shrug.

“It is, but we shall sell it. If you wish for a London home, you shall have one, but not here.”

She looked up at him cautiously, surprised that he had made the decision without asking her when he had been so magnanimous about everything else. “Is that decision for my sake or for yours?”

“Both,” he admitted. “But more for my own, if you will forgive it. This house is a part of my past, and I don’t want any part of that brought into the future if I can help it. Do you mind very much?”

She smiled then, shaking her head. “Whatever makes you happy. And I have no desire to keep a house in London. That was a part of my old life too.”

He was silent for a moment, still sliding the lock of her hair around and around his finger.

“You know,” he said, and Anne could tell he was speaking carefully now, choosing his words. “The season you hope will be so successful next year will bring all the fashionable crowd, the beau monde. Eventually, someone will recognise you.”