Chapter Seven #5
His hands ran down, over her lower back, cupping her buttocks and sealing her to him, pushing his knee between her legs.
He had the primal urge to claim her as his—take possession of not just her mouth but her body.
At last. She had made him wait too long.
And the way she was writhing against him, he knew she wanted him too.
His hand came up between them to skate up her ribcage and curve over her breast. She gasped as he kneaded her flesh, teasing her nipple through the material with his thumb. But she still wasn’t close enough. He wanted, needed to touch skin, quite urgently.
‘Bea, I need to see your body again,’ he groaned, breaking away from her mouth.
His arm came around her and he gently lifted her, walking her backwards, until they reached his desk.
Shoving all his paperwork aside, he settled her down on the top.
He parted her knees with his body, coming to stand between her legs and his hands trailed over the soft skin of her ankles, her calves, curving up over her knees, as he began to ruck up her gown.
‘Me too. You, I mean.’ She struggled with his shirt, bunching it up, dragging it up his chest and he broke away from her for a moment so she could pull it over his head.
His palms came back down to smooth over her creamy thighs.
He gathered the material of her gown to one side, holding it away from her body as his fingers reached between the dewy apex of her thighs.
His palm curved over her mound and she stared up into his eyes, hectic heat infusing her cheeks as she leaned back slightly, allowing him better access to where he wanted to touch her.
Excitement had his body hardening, his blood humming with need.
She whimpered and reached for him, and any last remains of control snapped.
He slid his fingers into her silky wetness and she gasped, her eyes rolling closed on a wave of sensation.
His gaze dipped to watch his fingers stroking beneath her soft triangle of curls and he grew even harder.
He knew he should pause what they were doing—they were in his office; hundreds of people were working away beneath them—but just like the last time, he couldn’t stop.
He seemed to have no willpower when it came to this woman.
He pressed a finger inside her body.
‘Edward,’ she whispered, her head falling forwards.
He dropped the material of her gown to take her chin in his hand again and tip her head up towards him. ‘Bea.’ She opened her eyes to look at him. ‘Does that feel good?’
‘Yes,’ she said, her frantic breathing telling him she was close.
He wanted to unfasten his breeches and take her now—thrust inside her and make her his.
He could tell she was ready for him. But as his fingers moved inside her again, pressing deeper, more insistent, he felt her climax come thick and fast. Her body quivered and tensed around him, and she cried out, so he lowered his head to cover her mouth with a kiss.
Their hearts hammered in unison, their foreheads touching. He gave her a moment to catch her breath, allowing himself time to gather his own thoughts.
He still wanted her, badly. His body was aching for the same pleasure and release he had just given her.
But he didn’t want them to consummate their marriage on his desk at the mill with the noise of the machines in the background and all of his workers on the other side of the door.
What was he doing? She must think him terrible for touching her here.
But he hadn’t been able to help it, he seemed to lose all restraint when he was around her.
She pulled back and looked up at him, her big tawny eyes warm but wary. Her face and neck were infused with colour.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, his voice sounding a little unsteady.
She nodded. ‘Yes, although I think I might be sitting on your correspondence tray.’
He grimaced, and lifted her off the desk, setting her feet on the ground, still holding her trembling body loosely around the waist.
This wasn’t right. While nothing could have prevented him touching her after she had come here and made her brave declaration, she was his wife and he owed her more than a quick tumble in his office.
‘I should get you home. It has not escaped my mind that we are not yet properly married.’ His lips curved up in rakish persuasion. ‘I think it is about time we made our vows fully binding, don’t you? And on my desk is not how or where I want to do so.’
Besides, if he took her now, it would be over too fast, and he didn’t want to rush it. He wanted to undress her, to explore her body properly and take his time with her.
‘It was my fault, for coming here,’ she said, biting her lip.
He raised a brow. ‘All your fault? How about we stop attributing blame, starting right now?’ He stepped away from her and smoothed down her gown, covering her up, before reaching for his shirt and pulling it back on.
He took her hand in his and gave her a gentle squeeze.
‘Come on. Let us go home and do this properly.’