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she had touched him, held him in her hands, made him groan and writhe. She wanted to do that again, but Harry had other ideas.
His breeches held a moment, but he pushed them down over his thighs, and his manhood rose up against his stomach, as thick and eager as she remembered. The swollen flesh between her thighs instantly began to ache for him again.
Harry’s eyes heated, and it occurred to her how much he enjoyed this. There was a strong sensual streak in his nature, and he liked the way she admired his body, and how she moved restlessly on the bedcovers, wanting him. He stroked himself slowly, and her breath caught. Harry smiled, and moved to kneel on the bed at her feet, and then he began to crawl toward her. Finally, his body settled over hers and she could feel every inch of him, the peaks of her breasts brushing against his hard chest, the muscles in his arms as he rested his elbows either side of her head, and the rough hair on his thighs as they pushed between hers.
He reached down and once again his fingers explored her, making her rise up against him, her back bowing, her legs trembling.
An unwelcome thought jumped into her head: How many other women had he lay with? He was a great deal more experienced than Sophy. He had to be. While she had been languishing and longing, Harry had been out sowing his wild oats. Would he eventually tire of his wife and look elsewhere?
She pushed aside her doubts. She did not want to think of them now. They were together, he was her husband, and he had just told his father he would give up everything for her. And yet one niggling doubt would not go away. Would she be enough?
“I love you,” she breathed against his shoulder, drawing a line of kisses across his collarbone and up the strong muscles of his neck. His jaw was rough and prickly, but she rubbed her face over him, enjoying this new sensation.
He turned and caught her lips with his, deepening the kiss, and that was when he pushed into her, steadily and with intent, and he didn’t stop until he was completely rooted inside her.
She cried out, clinging to him, wrapping her legs around him. The muscles in his buttocks tightened, and he began to move, slowly at first, but she could hear the heavy sound of his breathing and feel the thud of his heart.
“I’m not pulling out this time,” he told her, his voice a growl. “I want to make a child with you, Sophy.”
“Yes,” she whimpered, his words had increased her desire for him tenfold.
He groaned and began to thrust hard, making the ache inside her turn slightly to pain, and yet there was still so much pleasure. She wasn’t sure whether she could capture that same soaring sensation she had had with him before, but then his fingers reached between them and worked her swollen flesh and a moment later she was flying.
He followed after her, plunging into her more feverishly now, and she felt the warm spill of his seed inside her.
Their breathing took a while to slow. Her heart eventually stopped pounding, and, as she rested her cheek against his chest as he lay beside her, so did his. He ran his fingers through the long strands of her hair and she stroked the coarse ones of his chest.
And then she heard herself say, “Have you had many women, Harry?” and almost groaned aloud. Would she never learn to guard her tongue?
He stilled, and then lifted his head to look at her. His other hand was cupped around her hip, holding her firm to his side, and his fingers dug slightly into her flesh.
She forced herself to tilt her head and look back at him. She bit her lip, chewing on it as he stared at her. He looked sated, and happy. Or at least he had. Now he looked irritated.
“There are parts of my life that I regret with all my heart, such as how I wronged you, but I cannot regret everything.” She heard the Baillieu arrogance in his voice.
“I’m not asking you to,” she said.
His head dropped back onto the pillow and he stared at the canopy above them. “There have been other women,” he said at last. “But you and I are married now, and I will never stray from you. I swear it.” He swallowed. “I am not my father, Sophy, and will never be. Do you believe me?”
He would have lifted his head again, but she sat up and looked down at him. She stroked his face with her fingers, tracing the line of his cheekbone and his nose, down to the shape of his lips.
“Sophy?”
“I know you will never betray me, Harry. I know it here,” and she rested her hand over her heart. “I love you more than life itself, and I promise I will be the wife you need. I will be a mother to your children, care for them and love them because they are ours. But more than that.” Her smile turned uncertain, and she chewed on her lip again. “When you and I are together, instead of being your wife I will be your lover … your mistress. I will please you and let you please me, in all the ways there are.”
He gave a huff of laughter. “Sophy, I don’t expect you to—”
“I want to. May I touch you?”
A spark lit his eye and he smiled as if she had just handed him the world on a plate. “Then touch me, my love.”
HARRY
He’d forgotten how bold his Sophy could be when it came to his body. Or perhaps he had tried to make himself believe that her boldness was part of the reason that she had betrayed him and married another man. Women were meant to be innocent and sweet, or so he had been told, and he had put Sophy on a pedestal until that night when she leapt off it and straight into his arms.
Her mouth trailed down his chest, stopping to test his resolve by kissing his nipples, dipping her tongue into his belly button. He hadn’t lied when he told her there had been other women, but this was so different that it seemed like his first time. She was worshipping his body just as he had hers, not for what she could take from him, but because he was Harry.
Her hand closed around his cock, gentle, then with confidence. She licked at the head, finger tracing the girth and length as if she was memorising him. She rested her cheek against his belly and looked up. Her blue eyes glittered through her long lashes. He had never seen anything more erotic in his life.
