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“I need to thrust,” he gritted.

“Thrust, then!” she drew in a breath. Now the agony was his. “Please.”

He slid out and then back in with astonishing ease, and a deep-throated groan. Once. Then twice. And then she lost count. Astonishingly, the pleasure returned. Not the same pleasure she’d felt before, but a deeper sense of belonging.

She held on as his back muscles bulged, feeling secure, feeling right.

Again, he said her name. He thrust until his whole body stiffened. He let out a muted roar she felt at the place they joined. Then, he shuddered into stillness.

She sighed in satisfaction.

He was hers. She was his.

Forever.

***

When Asquith regained consciousness, he found himself sprawled on his back on top of Barker’s bed with Lenora’s cheek resting against his chest. He’d no memory of how he’d come to be in that position. All he fully comprehended was that he’d just had the most agonizing and satisfying shag of his life.

Joyful, unexpected, transformative.

He took in a breath heavy with carnality, exertion, and musk. He’d ravished Lenora, alright. For better or worse, they were now both irrevocably committed.

He cupped her head, tangling his fingers in her soft hair.

For his part, he hadn’t any regret. But her father had placed Lenora into his keeping to protect, not to ravish, even if he had ravished her by her own demand.

She did not deserve to be bound to a partner with his past.

He had been aware of this. And yet, he’d tempted her with desires she couldn’t then understand, disregarding all the perils—spiritual, societal, and practical. Then, he’d led her to bed.

After she’d stripped him.

However unlikely, procreation on the first try was not impossible. Which was why one waited to introduce one’s wife to intimacy. Intimacy he’d just called a shag.

He let out a breath. He probably should not refer to sexual congress with his future viscountess with a word rarely belted out except in broadside ballads.

Very well, a penitent he’d be, provided she stayed with him.

He tucked her closer to his side. In response, she snuggled into the crook of his shoulder. He might not be able to justify his choices, but he could certainly savor the results.

Her soft breath fluttered against his bare neck—the site of her first attack.

In the maze, she’d gripped him by his cravat, and he’d nearly roared with rage. He’d roared in truth this time, but with earthshaking release—a deep, affecting climax that had left him utterly changed.

He held her luscious, trusting body against his and marveled at the sensations within and without. Her skin’s slightly salty taste lingered. The hair tickling his nose held a sweet, feminine scent—unique, with just a hint of lavender.

Her aroma teased of returning desire. But once had been enough of a risk. They couldn’t do this again until they were properly wed.

In January.

He closed his eyes. Her proximity would make the coming weeks of separation impossible to endure.

He had to leave soon.

“Lenora?”

“Umm?”