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He chuckled as she threw his own words back at him. His chuckle turned to a groan when she lowered her hips slightly, taking him slowly inside. He attempted to thrust deeper, but she was definitely in control and thwarted him.
“Will you trust me to give you pleasure?”
His fingers clenched around hers, and he nodded his head. She lowered herself farther, so he entered her inch by tortuous inch. Finally, he was sheathed to the hilt, his breath coming fast, his brow beaded with sweat.
Then she began to move, and his vision swam. She knew just the rhythm, just the depth he needed. Looking up at her, he felt no fear of dominance. No memories of the night the duc had taken his revenge returned. Tristan only saw Alexandra, her lovely body moving over his.
“I want to touch you,” he said, and her fingers released his hands. He slid his palms over her hips, loving the feel of her undulating under his touch. Then he dipped across her waist and up to cup the gentle swell of her breasts. When his thumbs grazed her nipples, she caught her breath and her movements faltered. He felt her clench around him and moved his hand back down her torso until he slid his fingers between their bodies. She arched back, giving him access, and he found the slick, hard nub of her pleasure.
He pressed his thumb to it, moved in circles, and her hips began to thrust more rapidly. She was impossibly beautiful. Why had he feared this? She wasn’t dominating him. She was loving him, giving herself to him so completely. Her body tightened, and he felt her clench him, just as her head fell back and a long, soft moan escaped her lips.
Before she could completely recover, he rolled them over so he was once again on top. Now he looked into her eyes. He slid in and out of her. He was loving her as thoroughly as she had done him. Her eyes were hazy from pleasure, her body still bucking with her release, but she met his gaze and held it.
Tristan realized that in his efforts not to be dominated, he in turn, had dominated. Only now were they truly equal, each taking and giving with trust and passion and...did he dare to think more?
He was close to climax and he drove deep into her, making her moan with pleasure. “Yes. Don’t stop.”
He drove into her again, and she cried out in pleasure. He never wanted to leave her, but she trusted him to protect her. He pulled out, spilling his seed outside her body, then collapsing beside her, out of breath and shaken.
The way he felt with her...He did not know what to do with these feelings. Hold them tightly or let them go as he must let her go.
Time and time again, he must let her go.
She rose first, taking the cloth he’d used earlier to clean herself. She moved about the room naked and unself-conscious. She was so lovely that in another time and another place he would have insisted she never dress.
She climbed back into bed, but sat on her knees, looking down at him. “If I lie down, I will never rise again.”
“Come here,” he said, half expecting her to object. She didn’t, and when she scooted closer, he pulled her down for a kiss. “Did I prove I trust you?”
“More than. In fact, if you keep kissing me, I’ll make you prove it again.”
“Little wanton.”
“I don’t deny it.” She looked down, and when her eyes met his again, she looked serious. “If anything should happen tonight, I want you to know—”
Now he put a finger over her lips. “Don’t say it.” If she loved him, and God, he hoped she would tell him she loved him, he couldn’t hear it now or he’d never be able to go through with the mission tonight. “You don’t need to say it.”
“If I never get another opportunity?”
“Don’t think that way. And besides, I already know.”
She arched a brow. “Do you?”
“I’m the best lover you’ve ever had.”
She laughed, breaking the serious mood. “If it wasn’t true, I’d hit you. And I thought Montagne was arrogant.”
Someone pounded on the door. “Get dressed and get out here before Ffoulkes comes in and drags you out.” It was Dewhurst, sounding as surly and rude as always.
“Five minutes,” Alexandra called.
“Two,” Dewhurst muttered, then clomped away.
They both washed and dressed, then joined the rest in the salon. The doors to the garden were closed and the room was cold, as no one had wanted to risk lighting a fire in the hearth.
Tristan was the last to arrive in the salon, and all eyes in the somber group turned to look at him.
“This is it then,” Ffoulkes said. “We either prove ourselves or die trying.”
