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Who would have guessed his externally placid and controlled little pixie would be such a wild lover?
Well, to be fair, he was not surprised. There had been sufficient clues even for someone as obtuse as he, though she had been hidden behind magical mice and pond maids and a pixie who waltzed like an angel and who cried because her dead husband had not seen her in her lovely new dress. He pushed that thought away—he did not want to think of Jo in Langdale’s bed. Which was problematic enough. Jealousy was not an emotion he was familiar with and being jealous of a dead man was...wrong.
He sat on the side of the bed and surveyed their scattered clothes. Her lovely dress was probably ruined. He would buy her a dozen more if she would let him.
He sighed. That would be a battle royal.
Still, having discovered new ways of resolving the conflicts between them, perhaps a battle would not be entirely a bad idea.
The darkness in the window had already shifted and he knew he should leave her room. There would be guests to tend to in a few hours and the servants would be up early. He drew the cover carefully over her shoulders and she sighed, tucking her hand under her pillow and rubbing her cheek on it as she had earlier on his chest with a feline purr of pleasure. A shaft of heat shot through him and he waited for it to peak and settle before he slid off the bed and collected his clothes. It was a little ridiculous to react so hotly to something so simple. Except it was not simple at all. He had been in trouble long before he entered her parlour that evening and saw her in her lovely new dress, her hair arranged into luxurious waves, her eyes huge and full of light... He did not know when this pull began. From some strange moment in the carriage heading north. From taking her hand in the dark to help her off a boulder as she dreamed of her mountains. From watching her face the elements and bare her ankles on the ship. Each moment a little pixie dart, seeping her pixie poison into his blood, making him want this...her...
God, he was aching like a green lad. He wanted nothing more than to slide back next to her, press up against her warmth, tangle his limbs with hers, his tongue with hers... Make her moan and beg and cry out in the agony of her pleasure and this time slide into her and absorb all that heat and passion with his body.
He watched the amber shades of firelight play on the rise and fall of her sleeping form and succumbed to temptation, trailing his hand from the peak of her shoulder down the smooth slope of her arm, settling for a moment in the soft crook of her elbow to catch the warmth of her pulse. As soft as it was, it latched on to him like a reverberating drum, echoing through his body. He breathed in and detached his hand, trying to call himself to order and forcing his eyes back up to her shoulder, but they glided down again, following the curve of her spine and, without thinking, his hand followed his gaze, shifting the blanket down. There was a small heart-shaped beauty mark just above the curve of her behind and his finger traced it and moved lower, cupping her bottom with his hand, his fingers splayed on her hip, slowly kneading it with his palm.
She shuddered into wakefulness, turning towards him, her hand brushing down his chest, her legs shifting towards him. He caught her hand in his, his voice as taut as he felt. ‘Don’t. If you move I’ll do something rash. Just let me look at you for a moment and I will go.’
She looked up at him, her eyes gleaming like mother-of-pearl in the near dark. Then her leg stretched, sliding between his, before rising and coming to rest against the rock-hard length of his frustration. His breath caught and he couldn’t resist sinking against her, fitting himself so he was poised against the damp heat still pulsing with her climax. Her scent—a whole lush summer garden of roses—was all around him and he closed his eyes and imagined her at The House, spread out before him as he spread her legs and tasted her to his heart’s content, suckled her into mutual annihilation. He couldn’t help sliding against her slickness, he could feel every one of her textures against his sensitised erection and the promise of that tight, wet fist of muscles waiting to pull him in... He cursed and shifted, but her leg just found him again.
‘I don’t think all of you wants to go quite yet,’ she whispered, her voice wavering between embarrassment and laughter. He nuzzled the warm fragrant curve of her neck, edging his knee forward, forcing her leg harder against him, his breathing quickening at the pressure.
