Page 28 of Never Tempt a Widow

Never had she been touched with such genuine, artless desire. With Rowland, there were no pretty ploys and teasing tricks. He knew what he wanted, and now her resistance had collapsed in a heap, he was going for it with all the energy of a virile man in the prime of his life.

She tore her lips away from his for a moment. “Hold me. Lift me.”

His mouth scalded hers with his kiss, and he nipped at her neck. “You are full of demands, Wife. I suppose I should have expected it.”

“Don’t tease. Love me.” She pulled him against her, hard, rejoicing in the feel of his throbbing member against her belly, thick and ready. And then her legs were wrapped around his hips, and her back was against the wall, his hands supporting her under her bottom.

This gave his mouth full access to her breasts, and her head went back as he licked them and suckled at the sensitised flesh, torturing her nipples with his tongue. Her groans encouraged him, whipping him to a frenzy of kissing, covering every inch of her exposed flesh, his hair brushing with aching sensuality across her body.

It had never felt like this before. She was drowning in the moment, her centre pulsating with expectation, with need. When she felt the silk-hot tip of his cock pressed against her, she pushed down to accommodate him. He thrust upwards, and in a single, glorious penetration, she became his. His wife in very truth.

She’d thought nothing could ever eclipse her first time with Dundas. She was wrong. Rowland filled her, moulded to her, penetrated her very soul with his loving. She felt his incredible physical strength flow through her, felt the bunching of his muscles as he eased in and out, puncturing her resistance.

Her jaw went slack, her head tilting to give his greedy lips access to her neck, her shoulder. She squeezed down on him, relishing the thick, hard promise of his manhood, gasping at the rays of pleasure radiating out from her core, sparked by his masculine intrusion.

Release came—quick, selfish, and heavy, and as she sobbed out her satisfaction, he gave a full, deep thrust and moaned out his climax against her mouth. Still, he held her, crushed between his body and the wall, his fingers biting into her buttocks, his head rolling like a man drunk on the finest brandy, breath coming in gasps.

“Husband. Don’t you want to put me down?” She could barely speak. His manhood was still deep inside her, throbbing, making her long for more.

“Wife. I never want to put you down again.”

She grabbed a handful of his golden hair and heard him moan. He replied with a savage bite, quickly turned soft, but teasing a warning.

Still in control of his head, she dragged his mouth back to hers and drank selfishly from his lips. This man was a package of marvels and mystery—she hadn’t known the art of love-making could be so… all-encompassing.

But had she just proved herself the most appalling wanton? She pulled her head back. “Forgive me.”

Startled blue eyes met hers. “For what?”

“For my… wickedness.”

A grin stole across his face. “If that’s wickedness, then let me have my sin again.”

She chuckled. Dundas had never quoted Shakespeare at her. In fact, he hadn’t quoted anything. A handsome, lusty rogue, but one with no poetry in his soul.

“I wonder if I could create some kind of device that would support the woman and ease the pressure on the man. It would sell in all the bagnios and bordellos, don’t you think?”

She repressed what she knew would be an unladylike guffaw. Then she pictured her current position and decided unladylike was perfectly acceptable. Her laughter sent a sensual shudder through them both.

His member twitched. “Ready for some more, Wife?”

“There’s more?”

“There’s always more. But mayhap on the bed this time, where we can be more relaxed.”

When he lowered her to the ground, she feared her legs wouldn’t carry her but she needn’t have worried. She was immediately scooped up, taken across the room, and deposited atop the counterpane. As he leaned over her, his magnificent body slick with sweat and firelight, she asked, “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

The dreamy look on his face vanished, and he clenched his jaw. But only for a moment. “I recall that I once begged you to stay with me and nurse my child. I said then that I’d not pry into your secrets, nor reveal them, and I hold by that promise. I was desperate at the time, but I’m still a man of my word.” He paused, and shadows flickered across his face as a log in the hearth sputtered and flared. “Does my forgiveness matter to you?”

“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate. After the gift this man had given her—which she hoped she might receive again and again—his good regard meant more to her than anything on earth.

Even as he murmured, “Good,” and bent his lips to her neck, the stark realisation hit her.

She had fallen in love with her husband. Happiness now lay within her grasp.

But could she really hope to be that lucky?