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He unfastened his shirt. “Yes.”
Honoria sat up, once again alert and awake. She’d seen him without his shirt, but she hadn’t paid nearly enough attention. Then she hadn’t wanted to feel attracted to him. Now she’d accepted it, even embraced it. He drew the shirt over his head, and she gazed at his broad shoulders and toned chest. His skin was a shade or two darker than hers. He had no roundness or extra flesh to be seen. His skin stretched tautly over muscle and sinew, making her draw in a breath when he moved and his biceps flexed.
“What are you thinking,mon ange?” he asked.
“I’m not sure I can form a coherent thought at the moment,” she answered.
He stepped out of his boots and reached for his trousers. Flicking open the fall, he pulled them down and she had the first look at his manhood, jutting out from his drawers. The linen fabric seemed to barely contain him, and Honoria had a moment’s hesitation. The act of copulation had hurt the first time or two, but it had been pleasant enough after that.
But Laurent seemed somewhat larger than she’d expected. Surely all men were about the same? Or perhaps she was simply anxious because it had been some time since she’d done this, and already Laurent had shown her that she knew far less than she had thought.
“Your eyes have grown wide,mon ange,” he said, tossing his trousers on the floor. “You aren’t about to inform me you really are a virgin, are you?”
She shook her head. “No, but I don’t remember the”—she gestured toward him—“male organ being quite so large.”
He looked as though he might make some sort of arrogant retort, but closed his mouth and seemed to reconsider. That was wise because she might have hit him if he’d chosen this moment to resort to his usual haughtiness.
“I won’t hurt you.” He reached out and stroked her cheek. “I promise to be gentle—or have you reconsidered?”
At her hesitation, he took a deep breath. “It won’t be easy to walk away with you sitting there looking like the cream one pours over ripe berries, but I can summon the strength. Somehow.” His voice was tight, giving her an idea as to just how much strength would be required.
She glanced up at his eyes again, at his skilled lips and she forgot all of her concerns. She wanted him. She loved him—despite his arrogance. She’d been trying to ignore this attraction since the first time she’d seen him, but she’d fallen in love with him anyway. How could she not, when he insisted on saving her life and acting honorably and rescuing children?
“Ah.” His hand caressed her hair. “I like that look better.” He bent and kissed her gently, but as soon as his lips touched hers, the banked heat within her ignited again. His lips were gentle and undemanding, but Honoria could not contain her own need. A moment before she’d have sworn she was sated for days. Now she craved his touch again.
She devoured his mouth, loving the feel of his lips sliding against hers. Then she slipped her tongue into his mouth, stroking his tongue until his hands gripped her waist. The feel of his hands on her caused her to catch her breath, and then she was on her back and he was kneeling above her, taking control of the kiss.
Her entire body felt tightly coiled, ready to spring. The skin of his chest against her tender breasts was a new sensation, and she wriggled to move closer to him, unable to get close enough. She wrapped her legs around him, disappointed that he still wore the drawers, and she could not feel his bare hips under her calves.
“You need to learn patience,” he said on a groan. His lips moved to her jaw, then her ear, his warm breath making her shiver. His hands slid up her ribs to cup her breasts, which felt heavy and aching with need.
“I have waited for you long enough,” she countered. “I want you now.”
“I know the feeling.”
Lowering her legs, she slid her hands over his smooth back and down to his slim hips and taut buttocks. With a flick of her fingers she unfastened the drawers and slid them over his hips. His member, hot and hard, rested against her inner thigh. At that first contact, he growled into her mouth.
He moved, kicking the drawers off so they were both naked and entwined, skin sliding over skin, breath mingling, bodies straining each toward the other.
“I wanted to take this slowly,” he said.
“Next time.” She took his rod in her hand, running her fingers up and over its velvet length. He was thick and long and so very hard. His forehead rested on hers, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity she felt as well.
“I am not even certain I will survive this time. Your touch is...” He closed his eyes and she slid down to his root. “Honoria, give me leave.”
She nodded, already arching toward him.
“Say the words. I want no confusion between us.”
“Take me,” she whispered and guided him to her entrance. Her body shook as the first inch of him penetrated her. She was wet and ready, but it was still an invasion. A welcome invasion, but strange all the same. His hands cupped her cheeks, and she met his gaze.
“Keep your eyes on me,mon ange.”
She did, losing herself in the green depths of his irises as he gently pushed deeper. She moaned at the first thrust and closed her eyes, but he kissed her. “Eyes on me.”
He moved again, pushing deeper, and she feared she would not be able to take all of him. And then his eyes darkened, and she knew he had buried himself to the hilt.
His hands left her cheeks and linked with her hands so their fingers entwined. He lifted her arms, pinning her to the bed. “Move with me,mon ange.”
