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“Good girl,” he praised her as her legs stiffened and shook. “Clever Lizzie. Let it happen, that’s it.” He stroked her sensitive little bud until she gave a choked sound and fell back, her face wet with tears and her expression dazed.

He was surprised. For such an uptight little prude, she had reached the peak with surprising swiftness. He’d have to be careful to build her up slower next time, he thought, taking advantage of her relaxed body to slip a second finger inside her.

He grunted, Jesus she was wet. Gloriously wet and tight. Maybe he could even work himself inside her already, he thought, drawing in a shuddering breath. He pumped his fingers tentatively and the sound of her slickness made his head reel. “Open your legs, Lizzie,” he ground out. “I want to see what’s mine.”

She groaned, but her pale thighs fell open, taking his breath away. He shifted down, cursing the fact the lamp was turned down so low. Ah God, he could come just at the sight of her pretty cleft stretched out on his thick fingers. “Fuck,” he breathed again and saw her shiver. Interesting. Was she cold … or? He brushed his thumb through her folds, seeking out her tender bud. Lizzie gave another suppressed whimper.

He looked up sharply and saw her quivering eyelashes and flushed cheeks. His heart began to beat twice as loud. “Ah, Lizzie,” he said richly. “What a lucky man I am. Such hidden sweetness and it’s all mine.” He lowered his face, inhaling her musky scent. His mouth was watering. He’d never intended pushing her so far on her first foray, but Christ, he wasn’t made of stone and his self-restraint was shot to hell. He lowered his mouth to her with a groan and started lapping and sipping at her wetness with indecent enthusiasm before sucking her bud between his lips and laving it with his tongue.

Lizzie gave a muffled shriek, and he felt his embedded fingers gripped so tight in her juicy cunt that he almost came on the bedsheets. Her whole body convulsed this time, and he had a hard time anchoring her with only one hand free.

“Ohhhhh!” she wailed, her legs thrashing. He gripped his fingers into her waist and pinned her as best he could while the storm had her in its grip. They were both breathing hard by the time she stilled, her chest rising and falling beneath the bunched-up nightgown.

“Do you think you could do that a third time?” he asked her hoarsely as he slid up her body. “With me inside you this time?” He yanked the nightgown up and over her head, tossing it to the floor as his eyes roamed over her small, high breasts.

She blinked at him as he ran the broad tip of his cock between her wet nether lips. “Fuck, Lizzie, but you’re a firecracker between the sheets,” he said lodging himself inside her with a grunt. He wasn’t sure if it was the words or the action that roused her, but her head lifted off the pillow.

“Benedict!” she muttered in faint reproach. He groaned as he pressed his hips forward and felt himself start to slide into her hot unused channel. Then he hit what remained of her maidenhead. “Ouch!”

“Shhh, it’s done now,” he consoled her gruffly. “We won’t have to worry about it again. Still with me?” Thankfully, she gave a nod as he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t cry if she demanded he pull back now. The sweat was beading his forehead, and he was precious close to losing control.

Bracing his forearms against the mattress, he held his weight off her as he covered her body with his. “Wrap your legs around my back,” he urged, shifting over her. He wanted deep inside her, but her shaky breath and the clutching fingers at his waist made him mindful of her discomfort.

The sensation of her limbs wrapped around him made him feel surprisingly giddy. “Now your arms,” he ordered gruffly. She slipped one around his waist, the other gripping his shoulder tight. “Yeah, like that,” he grunted. Inexplicably, he found himself seeking her lips again. As he stroked his tongue against hers, he thrust inside her, once, twice, until he was gloriously seated to the hilt. Lizzie gave a muffled squawk into his mouth, but it was drowned in his own groan of overwhelming pleasure.

She surrounded him. All he could taste and touch and see was her. He drew back his face, wanting to see her expression, but her face was in shadow. Her glorious pale hair was spread out across his pillow though, and that sight caused his heart to squeeze. Without stirring another inch, he tipped over the edge and found he was coming so hard he could scarce catch his breath. Fuck.

Luckily, Lizzie held on tight, entirely unaware he was disgracing himself. He shook violently through his release, eyes shut fast and jaw clenched in a vain attempt to stem the flow, but it was pointless. He could no more stop his seed from bursting from him than he could turn back the clock and change the object of his wooing. As though he had been craving Lizzie all along, he came inside her in a heady rush, and it was as much as he could do to prevent himself from shouting in triumph as he emptied himself into her.

In short, he was lost to all shame, and all he could do now was ride it out. He allowed himself a few shallow dips of his hips as he bit his lip and gave the last of himself to her, swallowing back the filthy curse that sprang to his lips. She would not appreciate it, and really it was the least he could do.

Only by a supreme effort did he prevent himself from collapsing on top of her like a felled oak. Instead, he gathered her in his arms and rolled onto his back, taking her with him. Lizzie lay limply atop him, catching her breath. After a moment, he felt her turn her head so her cheek lay against his bare chest. He knew he should speak, but by this point he lacked the effort to muster his thoughts. Instead, he allowed his eyes to drift shut and gave up even the attempt.

10

Lizzie woke the next morning to someone shaking her shoulder. She gazed blearily up at Benedict who was already clean-shaven and dressed.

“There’s hot water here for you to wash,” he said, setting a bowl down beside the bed.

Lizzie gazed about in bewilderment. “What time is it?” she croaked, sitting up. Feeling a draught at her back and decided stickiness between her legs, she lay back down again with haste. Where was her nightgown?

“Not long after seven,” he replied. “I’ve got the water back on the boil for tea.” When she lay there like a stunned mullet with the blankets held up to her neck, he added wryly, “Maybe I should have made you the tea first.”

She could barely meet his eye this morning. “I’d love a cup,” she mumbled. It was only recently she’d realized what a luxury it was having Annie bring her one every morning. His gaze seemed to dwell on her a moment and Lizzie colored. “But I can make it,” she stammered. “I don’t expect you to wait on me, and it won’t take me long to wash and dress.”

“Take all the time you need,” he answered and let himself out of the cramped confines. Lizzie breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind him. She must have slept like the dead for him not to have woken her when he rose. And small wonder after the way he’d used her the previous night. Her face flamed as she felt herself sore and aching in accustomed body parts.

What had he been looking at? she wondered self-consciously. She had no mirror to check, but she fancied it might have been the tumbled mass that was her hair this morning. She cursed the impulse that had made her leave it loose about her shoulders the previous night. She never had this problem when it was braided neatly under her nightcap. What had she been thinking of leaving it loose?

She lingered over her wash, scrubbing herself from head to toe, and felt much refreshed after it. By the time she had climbed back into her petticoats and sensible navy-blue gown, she was feeling more herself again. Her hair was extremely tangled, but she labored over it until she could smoothly arrange it into a roll at her nape and secure it with pins.

Her self-possession had returned, or something like it as she had clambered out of the wagon, and she felt able to face Benedict Toomes. He was crouched next to the fire, pouring hot water into the teapot.

“Just in time,” he commented, gesturing to a small three-legged stool.

“I just need to …” Lizzie gestured vaguely toward the woods and his lips quirked.

“I’ll set the tea to brew.”