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“Sarah.”
She clenched her eyes shut, horrified by the flagrant wetness of her sex, wishing he would simply get on with it and not notice. Her prayers were answered. James eased between her thighs and pressed his maleness to her. When he thrust in, Sarah gulped for air.
My God. My God, it felt so right. So necessary. How had she only thought this tolerable? Tonight when he sank deep, she wanted him deeper. When he stretched her flesh with his startling girth, she shuddered for more.
Lungs straining, she clasped her hands around his sweat-damp back and held him close until he rose to his arms and began to move. His hips thrust. In and out. Sarah had found the in rather uncomfortable before, but now it seemed the entire point. The in. Yes. The in.
Her fingernails dug into his back. James groaned and thrust harder. Her breath tripped out of her lungs as if forced by a bellows. She strained up, up, to meet him. To make the in more and better. And when she lifted her knees higher, it was.
“Ah, Christ,” James gasped. “Sarah. Yes.”
Yes. He felt it, too. Something. Something tight and empty in her belly. The place his seed would go, perhaps. A hollow only he could fill. “James,” she begged. He must know what to do. He must.
His body turned to stone. He froze. And Sarah nearly wept.
It was over, but her sex was still stretched and needing. Her belly still empty.
But he didn’t collapse on her. His chest still heaved for air, and his shaft did not diminish in the least. After a few more deep breaths, James shifted his weight onto one arm and slid one hand between their bodies.
Wide-eyed, she waited in complete confusion. And then she cried out.
His fingers had found that spot. That place he often stroked before he took her. The place that had, heretofore, made her wriggle a bit at the sensation. But tonight, that place sang like an instrument under James’s stroking fingertips. She sang. She moaned and gasped and strained her head back into the pillow.
Despite what she’d suspected, James had not finished. Still stroking, he thrust again. And again. And what she’d thought was glorious before had been nothing to this. Friction and tightness and the perfect amount of pleasure.
Gritting her teeth, she arched to meet him.
“Yes, Sarah. My sweet. Yes.”
Yes, she thought. Yes. And then her body turned in on itself, a snake writhing into a knot. Everything tightened to an impossible tension, and then . . . then she was set free, sobbing, gasping.
James shouted something, stiffened above her for a long moment before he shuddered hard against her.
Before she slept, she felt him press a dozen kisses to her neck, and then she was falling deep into blackness.
CHAPTER 2
Every time a step sounded outside the breakfast-room door, James tensed and stared, cold toast and kipper forgotten. After the fifth time the footsteps of the industrious maid passed, James rose, opened the door, and propped it open with the nearest vase.
There. Now he would look less like a hound anticipating his generous mistress and her pocketful of treats. Sarah would not enter to find him all agape. Instead, she’d enter to find him only stunned and eager.
Last night had been . . . Well, frankly, it had been the most shocking night of his life. Not the most debauched. Not the least dignified. Just the most surprising.
He’d had lovers. The widow of a prosperous merchant. A brief affair with a rather lusty governess. And a long affair with a slightly older woman whose husband had moved to France fifteen years before and refused to send for her. He’d had pleasant affairs, and had pleasured those women.
But he’d mistakenly assumed that Sarah wasn’t quite like them. She was so dignified. Innocent and reserved. Measured. A woman of a higher class, perhaps not geared toward the carnal.
Not that he’d given her no pleasure at all. He’d always been sure to caress her until her body made itself ready. He’d been slow and careful, especially on their wedding night. Sure to make her wet and ease his way. But stroking the little pearl that made other women scream had only made Sarah a bit more relaxed.
Until last night.
Shifting, James looked again toward the open doorway, but she wasn’t there. A quick glance at his watch revealed the sad truth that he could tarry no longer. A meeting with this new incarnation of his wife would have to wait.
“Damn,” he cursed as he folded his paper and snapped it shut. He’d wanted to see her. Kiss her good-bye. See if her eyes shone a little more brightly when she spied him. But he’d not wake her. After last night, she needed her sleep.
James couldn’t help his smile as he took his hat from the butler—more slowly than strictly necessary—checked the stairway one last time, and reluctantly took his leave.
* * *
