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“Maryann,” he groaned. For now she kissed his chest, his shoulders. “Stop. Halt.” Kissed down the upper muscles of his arm. “Stop now.” No, please do not stop. Ever. “Else—”
Her lips found his. “Else, what? You promised me a real kiss earlier. I request it now. Only…”
His mouth lunged toward hers; he forced himself to pause but a breath away. “Only… What?”
“Despite my actions, my forward manner, I…”
“Shhh.” His mouth breezed across hers. “I understand.” She could not chance him putting a babe in her belly. Did not know him sufficiently to be completely intimate. “I do understand. I want to kiss you, desperately. Shall I also confess how very much I want more? But be assured, sweet Maryann, I shall not take that which is not mine.” The vow ripped from him.
“You won’t?”
“Mary, please, do not sound so forlorn.”
He was not a rutting beast to lose control. Did she but know it, he was a gentleman. And would behave as one—to a point.
“Are you still cold?” Her teeth had stopped clattering.
“Nay. I am fevered as well—for you.”
Ed fell back upon his cloak, tugging her with him.
“See now? My pantaloons are on. Fastened too.” Damn it all. “Climb on me—Ah…aye.” An apt pupil—or mayhap simply a hungry widow—she rested her torso over his, her legs sliding—
Sliding…
Oh God grant him strength. How could he have forgotten? She wore naught but his shirt? Her bare legs slid between his and her fingers touched his bottom lip as she breathed hotly. “Like…so?”
Oh, sweet heavens, yes. “Just like so.”
He palmed the back of her head and meshed their lips.
As though the hours since their kiss by the abandoned grave a mere moment, her tongue thrust alongside his, stroked, retreated and returned.
His lips melded against hers, tongue surging with a gentle yet starved motion. For this was the sort of kiss he’d longed to give her. To receive.
To experience together.
Her unbound breasts plumped against his chest, calling to his mouth; the heat between her legs beckoned like a banquet to a starved man. Yet Ed, despite his need for more, contented himself with granting her kisses upon kisses. Magical ones, if her squeaks of excitement, her murmurs of mmm and more were to go by.
Forced his loins not to lunge, his pike not to plunge—thankful to be alive—and with her here, back on English soil; relieved to know he could—physically at least—twang and hammer and swive.
But not tonight. Not with his stubborn, merry widow…
So ardent kisses it would be. Loving her with his mouth and naught else.
Her fingertips scratched through his stubble, latched on to his hair, held his cheeks, his neck, his shoulders as their mouths danced and dueled. Tasted and tantalized beyond anything in memory…
How this woman could kiss!
But then the sharp points of her nails gripped hard. Fastened against skin.
Their sensuous kisses paused as she tongued the delicate skin beneath his throat.
Her restless legs shifted, no longer content within the cradle of his. She straddled him and arched—and through the barrier of his pantaloons, she started riding his erection.
And he? So stiff and hard and excited for her it didn’t take but three earnest swings of her body and damn if he didn’t blow, didn’t melt right there beneath her, snug within his pantaloons instead of her heated, honeyed treasure.
For the second time that night, Ed saw stars.
