Page 37 of Four Promises to Love

If this is just the preface, what will the climax look like?

She wanted desperately to know. Luckily, he was ready to show her. He brought her hand to his dripping tip, coating her palm with his pre-seed. With their fingers entwined, he guided her in a hard, slippery stroke. All the while, he watched her with an intense gaze as if he were afraid she might bolt. As if this fellow, who was a veritable buffet of virility, needed reassurance.

Stirred by his vulnerability, she said, “I like touching you.”

“Then give me more. I want your hands all over me, Finn. Like this.”

He grabbed her free hand, molding it to his stones. She learned what aroused him, handling those pendulous weights as she pumped his shaft. When she got the hang of things, she slapped his hand aside. At first, he looked amused—then he dug his fingers into the mattress as she worked him with her fist. She did it with focused dexterity while playing with his sac. He clenched his jaw, his chest began to surge, and she knew he was on the brink when the tendons on his neck tautened.

“Finn.”

His growl of desperation made her heady.

“Do it,” she said. “I want to watch.”

Carnal delight flashed in his eyes. Then he came with a roar, the pressure and abundance of his release taking her by surprise. A drop of seed caught the corner of her eye, dripping warmly down her cheek. Hastily, she redirected her aim and watched in amazement as he covered his stomach and chest with creamy streaks.

“Sorry,” he said between ragged breaths.

“I’m not.” She breathed in the scent of his satisfaction. “That was splendid.”

“Splendid, hmm?” His smile had a wicked curve that knocked her heart against her ribs. “Not too messy?”

“I don’t mind a mess,” she said honestly.

“In that case.”

He dragged her over him, ignoring her squeak of protest. Skin to skin, the proof of pleasure slippery between them, they gazed at each other.

“You’ve found the right fellow,” he said and kissed her soundly.

Eleven

Dawn was starting to filter through the trees as Finn made her way home. She had decided to take the path through the woods to avoid the main house. The last thing she needed was to be seen creeping off the estate after a night of debauchery. While Owen slept, she’d dressed hurriedly, borrowing his frock coat to hide her disheveled state. The garment was huge on her, yet wearing something of his made her heart go pitter-patter.

Don’t be a fool, Finn. It was just one night. It meant nothing.

Nonetheless, she couldn’t stop the silly grin from spreading over her face. Last night, she’d finally learned what real passion was—why people bothered having lovers. Truth be told, she’d begun to question the necessity of Jimmy’s presence during their encounters. While she fully admitted to having a hot-blooded nature, his groping and sloppy kisses had left her wanting. Meeting his demands had felt like work, which had made her think…and thinking, she realized, was the antidote to desire.

With Owen, she lost herself in a way she rarely allowed herself to do. With him, it wasn’t even a choice. His intensity demanded her full participation—and she loved it. Loved being lost in the moment with him.

Yet a moment was one thing; losing sight of her mission was something she could not allow. The strength of her attraction to Owen did not absolve her of her duty to Iris and the Hawks. The gang needed her, and she would not let them down. Luckily, she had managed to grow two plants—make that three—from one seed. She’d apologized to Owen, enjoyed mind-shattering pleasure with him, and wrangled an invitation to Bottoms House.

After they’d gone several rounds—the man had stamina as well as skill—they’d lain on their sides facing one another. As if they were lifelong friends rather than new lovers. Dreamily, she had thought that she could gaze at Owen forever. He’d looked sleepy and content, his eyes a dreamy cloud-grey. His face had so much character, despite his age…

Wait a moment.

“How old are you?” she’d blurted.

He’d smiled lazily. “Shame on you. Tupping a fellow senseless without knowing his age.”

When she narrowed her eyes at him, he laughed.

“I am nine-and-twenty.” He tucked a tress over her ear. “How old are you?”

She hesitated, remembering the role she was supposed to play. She’d already shared too much. Maybe she ought to present herself as older and more sophisticated…but she didn’t have the heart to lie.

“Four-and-twenty.”