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“Yes,” she admitted, already lifting herself, already making room for him as he parted her folds, positioning himself at her entrance.
“Adelaide,” he said, her name like a prayer.
She met his eyes. “Henry...” She lowered herself over him. Barely. Just enough that they both groaned their pleasure.
“Yes, love—”
“That feels—”
“Perfect.”
She moved again. An inch. More. Her eyes sliding closed and her hands coming to his thighs behind her. “You’re so—”
Warm. Wet. Full.Their words ran together.Yes. Please.
His hands were at her hips, holding her tight as she continued, seating herself on him.
“You’re a queen,” he said softly. “Reigning over me.”He thrust up into her and they both groaned at the sensation, her hands coming to rest on his chest. “Ruining me.”
She lifted herself, just barely, just enough to bring his gaze back to hers, full of lust and greed. “Christ,” he swore, his hands gripping her. “Do it again.”
Full of heady power and triumph, she did. Again, long and slow and languid, her hips rolling against his when she was seated once more.
He cursed, low and dark, and she couldn’t help her smile.
“You like that, don’t you?” he said, his hand sliding up over her body, between her breasts, to her neck, where his fingers caged her throat. No pressure. Just pleasure. “You like owning me? Controlling me?”
She did, but she did not have to say it. He knew it. He knew it and controlled her in return, his fingers everywhere, on her breasts, playing down her body, seeking out the hard nub of pleasure that strained for him even as she rode him. Working it in tight circles as she rode him, slow and shallow and then in rolling waves, her own hand coming to his, to hold him tight against her and show him exactly how to touch her even as she chased her pleasure, rocking and begging for release.
He teased her with it, slowing when she came too close to the edge, gentling when she started to come, until she opened her eyes and leveled him with a wild, dark-eyed stare. “Enough,” she said, setting her palms to his chest. “Give it to me.”
The demand, firm and full of desire, summoned a low, lingering growl from deep in his chest, and he did, blessedly, as she asked, playing her body like an instrument, thrusting up into her as she ground upon him, until she was chanting his name and he was whispering hers, fast, then faster, his fingers moving in perfect circles, until she was wound tight as a spring.
“Henry,” she panted. “I need you. I need it.”
He pinched one nipple with his free hand. “I know,love. Take it. Take whatever you need. It’s yours. I’m yours.”
I’m yours.
Pleasure shot through her—the feel of him, the sound of the words, the promise in them—and she was there, and it was like nothing she’d ever experienced.
“Now, love.”
As though all she needed was his permission, she looked down at him, surprise and shock and a wild amount of fear coursing around her, and he sat up, catching her to him, taking her mouth in a deep, delicious kiss, thrusting up into her once, twice before ending the caress and grinding out, “Christ. Yes. You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Come for me, love. Right now.”
She did as she was told, her gaze fastened to his as the wave of pleasure washed over her. And only then, when she was lost to it, wild and wanton on him, did he follow her into bliss, thrusting and stroking and circling and groaning, until she collapsed on top of him, their hearts pounding in rhythmic unison, and he collected her in his arms like a treasure.
At some point—seconds? minutes? longer?—she moved, loath to leave him but fearing that if she stayed, she would hurt him.
Fearing that if she stayed, she would hurt herself.
Still, with the tempting warmth of him and the soft kiss he placed at her temple, she found she was not strong enough to leave him. Even though she knew it was the best course of action to protect her heart. Perhaps she knew the truth, though. Perhaps she knew that it was too late, and her heart was no longer hers to protect.
The sun, now high in the sky, painted the walls with dappled shadows of the trees outside, and they mimicked the actions inside, on each other’s skin. And Adelaide wondered at the quiet of the room. Of her thoughts.
When was the last time she had simply... been?
When was the last time she had felt purely . . . her?
