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He was right. The wave began to build again, and she wrapped her arms around him. Wanting him. Still wanting more. Her fingers gripped the muscles in his shoulders, her nails digging in, and he grinned. “Now, my darling. Whatever you want.”
His thrusts grew faster, harder, and she clung to him, arching to meet him. The building wave within her expanded, filling her until it burst, a rain of joy flooding her, her hips and thighs jerking wildly, the tension shedding through them. With her own passion waning, she focused on Matthew’s face again. His eyes closed and she held tightly to him as his own peak came with a stark cry. He emptied into her, his thrusts fierce as they slowed.
Drained, Matthew eased his cock out of her, but he braced on his elbows and let his loins rest against hers. A sweet, silly grin crossed his face, and her husband took on the slack, exhausted face of a boy. Sarah almost laughed as he gave her forehead a quick kiss, then nuzzled his face against her neck.
As her own breathing slowed, Sarah stroked his back.
“Did I hurt you?” he whispered.
“No. Is it...” Sarah hesitated.
Matthew slid off to one side, bringing her with him and curling her close to his chest. He brushed her hair away from her face and kissed her temple. “When you are ready?”
Sarah leaned into him, letting her head rest against his chest. His breathing had not yet returned to normal, and the sound of his heart reminded her of how much he had also put into the act. “I did not know it could be like this. Is it always like this?”
He stroked her back. “No. Not always. As we get to know each other better, what each of us likes, and does not, we will find a dozen different ways to please each other.”
“A dozen?”
“Or more.”
“I am still recovering from this one.”
“Ah. You see, that’s one thing in which women are far superior to men.”
“Oh. And that is?”
“You recover faster. My darling Sarah, this night has just begun.”
Epilogue
Saturday, 22 July 1815
Embleton House
Half past ten in the morning
Sarah kissed thesoft dark fuzz on the top of Robbie’s head and sighed, her heart bursting with love for this tiny boy. As deep as her love for Matthew had grown over the past year, it paled in comparison to what she felt in this moment for Robert Arthur Matthew Rydell, her precious two-week-old Robbie. She had come to the nursery to feed and cuddle him, and she sat in a cushioned rocker, moving gently, adoring his presence against her body.
Robbie stirred, his face scrunching up like a dried plum. As the squeaky wail began, Sarah smiled and guided her son to her breast, which had responded to the boy’s cry with the first drops. His mouth found her nipple, and with a bit of encouragement, he latched on and began to suckle.
“I still believe you should get a wet nurse.” At her side, Phyllida reached out to stroke Robbie’s leg.
“I will.” Sarah could not take her eyes off Robbie. “But not yet.”
“Before he sprouts that first tooth.”
Sarah chuckled. “Of course.” She paused. “Anything in today’s post?”
Phyllida hesitated. “No. But I am sure the post is still unreliable.”
“They took Paris two weeks ago. Waterloo was a month ago.”
“It is still a country recoiling from war, Sarah. I am sure everything is still chaotic.”
Sarah let Robbie’s hand curl around her thumb and she caressed his arm with her fingers. “I know I should have written sooner, but I was afraid something would go wrong.”
“Something did. That maniac left Elba and started another war.”
