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And when she did, he slid home.

The moment their skin made contact she abandoned her skirts and dropped her forehead to his shoulder, chanting, “Oh my God,” with each inch she took in of him. By the time he was fully seated inside of her, she was sobbing. Her aroused body wild with tension and indecision.

He thrust up into her, slowly, letting her mewling sounds coat his whole body.

“That’s it, Verity. Can you take more?”

“Uh huh,” she moaned lifelessly in his ear.

“That’s a good girl.” His hands fixed on her hips, his mouth anchored on her neck, he moved her up and down, matching his movements to pump into her.

When her moans grew loud enough to draw attention, he smothered her sounds with his mouth.

Each thrust up. Deeper. Each moan. Louder. Gut wrenching. Soul shattering. He knew he was ruining himself, but he kept going. Kept going.

Until.

Her nails dug into his neck—any exposed skin she could find—and she moaned her full approval.

His body tense with need, straining under her pulsating clenches, he whispered into her ear, “Can I come now, darling?”

She answered yes with a hot, wet kiss, and he spilled into her.

Chapter 16

Verity

My Dear Lady Verity,

Some men will make you forget. Others will help you to remember. The best ones will do both.

Yours Truly,

Lady Wyndam

Founding Widow of the Widows’ League

Her heart floated somewhere external to her body. After that kind of pleasure, she could forgive the man anything. Anger about not dancing with her at her debut ball? Forgiven. Anger about his incessant arrogance? Dissolved. The man had every right to be arrogant with the kind of power he could wield over her body.

If she was being honest with herself as she walked back to her house guests, she had to admit that her insides had shifted. Perhaps it was more honest to say that she’d been split in half like a shell and shown the nut inside.

And yes, she felt nutty. Crack-brained. Crazy. If she told a soul how she felt in this moment, they would say she was in the vapors.

How could a woman go from feelings of loathing and antipathy to indifference to…whatever this was that she was currently feeling.

A lightness in her chest.

A soft padding under each step.

A need to clap with glee.

Oh my stars, she was in it. This could not be a simple case of lust. She wanted to hold him inside of her again. And again.

And she wanted to hold him. Against her. Never let go. His unparalleled strength. His calm demeanor. Logic in crisis. Commitment to compassion and caring.

From all the building emotion, Verity let out a deep exhale. Who would have thought that she might find herself falling for Ash? Truly, he was the most unlikely candidate. The last type of man she needed in her life was someone domineering. That’s why the unassuming Rafe made the most sense. But that was before she…knew—really knew—Ash.

Nothing about what they had just shared felt fake or temporary. It had been the realest experience of her life, and the last thing she wanted was for it to be finite. Despite that, the house party’s end date loomed over her head. The arrangement was supposed to have a duration only so long as this event. How foolish she had been to agree to that end date.