Page 76 of Christmas Comes to Little Valentine

“Oh, you are wicked!” she complained, laughing and breathless. “Truly, truly dreadful!”

Laughing with delight, he decided to be merciful—this time.

She gasped and jolted so hard beneath him that he had to hold her still.

“Do you still think me dreadful?” he asked in a low voice.

“Yes,” she said, the word little more than a breath of sound. Nat glanced up to see her arms flung out on either side of her, clutching at the bedclothes.

“And what about now?”

“Wicked!” she exclaimed. “Dreadfully wicked, oh!”

Smiling, Nat dedicated himself to pleasing her with single-minded enthusiasm, a task in which he revelled. He responded to every slight sound she made, guided by her soft sighs and moans, discovering her as she discovered this pleasure for the first time. She cried out as he slid a finger inside her and Nat held his breath as his own needs became ever more urgent, reminding himself this was for her. His turn would come and as impatient as he was, he could wait. For now he wanted to revel in her discovery, to please her, love her until she was mindless, until she needed him as desperately as he needed her.

Every time she came close, he slowed his touch until her desperation subsided, only to start over, adding fuel to the fire, urging the heat to blaze higher and hotter, until there was no going back.

She came, grasping at the bedclothes as her body shook and bucked and it was all Nat could do to hold her still, to ease her as the waves crashed over her, but the tremors did not cease, continuing to ripple through her slender frame until at last she was trembling and sated, gasping for air.

Nat stared at her, astonished and delighted. Good Lord. That had gone well.

He hurried to his feet, wincing as his knees protested having been too long in one position, but he ignored them, too desperate to rid himself of his clothes. He threw his coat down on the floor in a manner that would have made Jenkins hand in his resignation had he seen it. Nat did not care. He almost strangled himself in his haste to tug off the blasted cravat, before tugging his shirt over his head.

Desperate as he was, he paused for a moment to regard his wife, who appeared to have expired on the mattress. Her lower half was still exposed, her skirts bunched up about her waist, her legs dangling off the bed. Her head was turned to one side, her arms flung out wide. Had she fainted?

“Meg?”

He reached out and stroked her cheek and her eyes opened, smoky grey meeting his and then drifting down over his bare chest. They darkened, giving the appearance of storm clouds gathering as she gazed at him. She did not speak, but lifted her arms, an invitation he was not about to refuse. With fingers that refused to work as they ought, he rid himself of the rest of his clothes and climbed onto the bed.

Meg sat up, her previous incapacity disappearing as she saw him naked for the first time. After a moment of hesitation, she reached out, a tentative finger touching his nipple. Nat bit back a groan, so desperate that he felt the touch jolt through him like he’d been hit by lightning.

“Meg,” he whispered, pulling her into his arms and realising with frustration she still had her dress on. Not to worry. Too late now. He didn’t have the patience to wait.

Nat kissed her, sliding his hands into her hair and wishing he’d taken the pins out—later. He’d do that later too. He rolled her onto her back.

Meg gasped as he thrust into her and Nat winced, remembering he’d been supposed to be careful. He stilled, though the effort to do so felt like torture.

“Darling,” he said, though trying to form words in his lust-addled brain was not the easiest task. “Hurt?”

“No,” she breathed, pulling him closer. “Not at all.”

Nat let out a sound of relief and reminded himself to breathe. It was not a simple thing to remember, especially not when he looked down and saw her gazing up at him, such trust in her eyes, such adoration.

“I love you,” he managed, and kissed her.

Any remaining tension in her dissipated at his words, and she became pliant beneath him. He almost wept with relief, for he was beside himself with the desire to move. Lifting his head to see her reaction, he eased out of her and thrust inside again.

She gasped, her eyes flying open to stare at him.

“Better?” he asked, delighting in the wonder he saw in her expression.

“Yes. Very… Oh! Oh!” she sighed and closed her eyes, her head thrown back and the urge to kiss her neck was too sweet to deny.

“How lovely, don’t stop… Oh, those Greeks knew what they were talking about,” she murmured.

Nat laughed, helpless with love and desire. She was everything and more, more than he could ever have dreamed of wanting, let alone having. He revelled in the little noises she made, whispered sighs and soft moans as her hands moved over him, exploring with surprising boldness, delighting in her discovery of him and holding nothing back.

Try as he might, he could not make it last forever. Too soon the crisis was upon him and, though he never wanted it to end, there was no way he could resist. She felt too good, it was too wonderful, too perfect to fight against, and so he rushed on, nearer and nearer. But he wanted her with him, wanted them to fall together. So he slid his hand between them, seeking out the hidden place and caressing, circling, and praying she would hurry.