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A breathless moan escaped Perdie. She threw her head back, biting her lip hard enough to leave white marks on the plump, flushed flesh. He leaned forward to graze his teeth over her pulse point. Her moan was stifled, but he felt her pleasure grip him as she started to move. Awkwardly, at first, given the intermittent movement of the carriage, but she soon caught her rhythm. He pulled her down for a kiss, needing that connection with her, needing to feel the silk of her hair between his fingers.
The flame of their passion turned into a conflagration. He lost track of where he ended, and she began. The only thing that mattered was their joining, the movement of her hips, the flick of her tongue against his. Her pace quickened, turning frantic. As she pulled her mouth away to gasp for breath, he felt her tighten around him, knew she was close to the pinnacle. He slipped one hand between them to find her bud as he took command of the rhythm. She flew apart, her moan muffled, but he felt it all the same. He joined her two strokes later, his answering groan stifled into her neck.
He felt the rapid beat of her heart beneath his lips and kissed her tenderly. He wanted to speak but couldn’t find his voice.
She whispered into his ear. “Now that, in my estimation, is what private carriage rides are for.”
Wicked minx.
He chuckled into the curve of her neck as he fought to catch his breath. He couldn’t disagree.
Lord, he loved this woman. The revelation shook him. He wanted to speak it aloud, hold her close and hear her return his affection, but he clung to the remnants of his common sense enough to still his tongue. She wasn’t ready to hear of the depth of his attachment. Not yet.
But she would be. One way or another, he would convince this brilliant woman to marry him.
