Page 161 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

She gave a low, shocked gasp deep in her throat and felt his mouth smile against hers.

‘You see,’ he said, ‘how beautiful you are to me? How much I desire you?’

She felt a thrill go through her, primitive, and raw. Against the pressing evidence of his arousal, how could she deny any longer what she so longed to accept? And suddenly, her body was answering his. She felt her breasts flower against the tightening wall of his strong chest, his hands on her spine crushing her to him as he continued the sweet, unbearable wooing of her mouth with his. She felt desire, arousal, excitement thrill through her, her breath quickening. Without realising it, her hands had gone to his back, fingers splayed, kneading at the muscled contours beneath her touch. Again without realising it, her stance widened, so that she could feel the full force of his desire for her. Moved her hips against his in an age-old instinctive motion, glorying in the effect on him. On her.

He gave a low, smothered sound in his throat.

‘God, Eleanora—no—’

He drew away from her and she sought, with that same raw, primitive impulse that was quickening within her, to draw him back again, but his strength was too great for her. His hands slipped from her waist, back to cup her face in his strong fingers, mouth lifted from hers, eyes still gazing into hers.

Her own eyes were dilated, helpless and wide, clinging to his. She said his name—filled with all she yearned for…

Yet still he held back. His expression changed, eyes searching.

‘This must be what you want—only you,’ he said.

She did not answer. Not in words. Instead, slowly, deliberately, she lifted her hands to draw his away. Then lifted her mouth to his again…

* * *

He kissed her, deeply and sensually, giving himself now to what was burning between them, what he would—could no longer draw back from. Then, in a single motion, he swept her up, carrying her indoors, laying her down upon the waiting bed. Swiftly, roughly, he pulled his clothes from him, tossing them aside. Then turning to her.

‘Show me your beauty, my so beautiful, beautiful Eleanora. Show me all your beauty.’

She was resting back against the pillows and in the dim light he saw her cross her arms to lift off the tee shirt she was wearing, then slide the gathered skirt from her. She was looking at him—looking at him looking at her—and he could not have looked away had an earthquake shaken the room.

Her hands went around to her back, leaning forward slightly, to unhook her bra, slip it from her, drop it on the floor. Her breasts were engorged, and at the sight of them his arousal strengthened. Her hands dropped to the waist of her panties. He stepped forward, coming down on the bed beside her.

‘That is for me to do—’ The growl in his voice was primitive.

She lifted her hands away. Her eyes were held by his, her breathing shallow, but she did not say a word. Deliberately, slowly—achingly slowly—he let his hand go to where hers had been. Easing his fingers between the cotton material and her silken skin, letting them glide along the contours, slide further down, into the vee of her body. He heard a low groan in her throat, and smiled. Let his fingers glide further still, into the secret feminine folds that were moistening to his touch even before he started his caresses…

‘So beautiful,’ he said again, his voice husky.

He could see her eyes start to glaze, her weight sinking back into the pillows, see her bared nipples straining. He lowered his mouth to her breast, letting his lips, his tongue, play with her, resting his elbow to take his own weight beside her as his body half covered hers. Her hand was gripping the bedclothes and that low, helpless moan came again as slowly, inexorably, he caressed her intimately. Readying her for his possession. His mouth moved to her other breast, laving it with his arousing ministrations that aroused him even as they did her. Hunger rose in him.

He felt her thighs slackening more, made to move his own body over hers. But first—

With a rapid movement he discarded the last remnant of what concealed her from him, lifting his hand away from her now, sliding it under her waist and dropping it on the floor. Lifting her hips to his, his mouth from her breast.

For one last, long moment his eyes gazed into hers. His blood was drumming in him, blinding him, hunger for her consuming him. Her arms had come around him, her hands splaying on his back, restless now. He heard her say his name again. Heard the hunger in it which answered his own. Her hips were straining upwards, thighs parted, grazing against him, exquisite and unbearable.

He framed her beneath him, rearing over her. Her back arched, head thrown back, hips straining upwards to catch him, take him. Possess him.

She was ready for him, absolutely ready for him. And he…oh, he could wait no longer.

He thrust into her, dimly conscious, belatedly, that he should be gentle with her. But it was beyond him; he was beyond anything but the devouring urgency coursing through him, to meld their bodies, fuse them into one.

She gave a cry, and for one stricken moment, in what was left of his consciousness, he thought it was one of distress.

Then, like a tsunami, he felt her pulse explosively around him, drawing him deeper in, fusing him to her like molten metal, searing them both. He heard her cry out again, and then he, too, was surging unstoppably within her, his release absolute…

And hers, oh, hers did not cease. He felt her pulsing around him still, her head thrown right back, her hands clutching at his shoulders now, thighs straining. It went on, and on.

And then her body was no longer pulsing, but shaking, trembling, and her voice was not crying out, but sobbing. He caught her to him, clasping her, embracing her, her body still trembling in his arms. His body, slackened now, pressed down upon her, too heavy, he realised, so he shifted to his side, taking her with him, folding her against him, his hand going to her hair, tousled and tumbled, smoothing it, hushing her, soothing her, calming her…

Slowly, slowly, her trembling eased, the sobs in her throat fading, but still he held her, limbs entwined, cradled against her. Fatigue was sweeping over him, but he would not, could not, let her go, even as she quieted against him. Her hands were twined tight around his body, clinging to him, and he could feel her heart beating against his. But both were quieting now, easing now. With a last effort of will, he drew the bedclothes over them both, and then, with her no longer trembling, no longer sobbing, he cradled her still, and smoothed her hair, and softly, so very softly, kissed her tear-wet mouth and gave himself to sleep.