Chapter 9 #2
“I need you,” she said, her hips giving a restless swivel, desperate for even an inch of him.
His grip tightened around her, and he pushed forward. Her fingers released him as he entered her, inch by measured inch, her sex stretching to accommodate, oh, so much man.
“Should I stop?” he asked, flashing a bit of the Rory she knew.
She only realized she’d been biting her bottom lip between her teeth. “Don’t you dare.”
And there it was again: the glint of wickedness behind his eyes, and he continued his slow, deliberate penetration of her. A light sheen of perspiration pinpricked her skin. Oh, how much more of him could there possibly be?
He slid one arm behind her back, lifting as she continued to stretch around him, and gathered her close. “You control the motion.”
Uncertainty flashed through her. She didn’t like being uncertain. “I don’t know how.”
“Yes, you do.”
The confidence in his gaze was enough for her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and crossed one ankle over the other behind him. It wasn’t only her sex that felt so full of him, but her entire being to her soul.
He gave a shallow thrust, and she gasped. Instinctively, her hips swiveled against him, then they were moving with him, as he stroked in and out of her, oddly gentle. A strange sort of frustration clawed at her. “You’re being too…” She trailed, squirming against him.
“Rough?” He sounded genuinely concerned.
“Polite,” she corrected. “I shall not break. I can assure you.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded. Whatever wickedness his body could devise for hers, she wanted.
The intention in his gaze doubled, and he took command of the pleasure doled out.
Deeper he filled her, testing the limits of what she could tolerate.
Oh, the exquisite pain and pleasure of coitus.
How her body responded to it—this push and pull of boundaries she would only explore with him… pushing her even beyond them.
Her mouth found his neck and licked and sucked and nipped, spurring him on as the movement of his hips became more focused and unrelenting. Oh, what had she asked for?
This, a voice whispered.
The building sensation began winding through her sex again, turning her into a mindless entity. It was only her and this man and the pleasure they brought each other that mattered in the entire universe.
This feeling coiling and strumming through her sex was no easy mistress. It made demands on her. “Rory, oh, I don’t know… I don’t know…”
“Shh,” he said. “You don’t have to know, here.” He touched her forehead. “You only have to feel”—he cupped a breast and angled his head to suck a hardened tip. She arced back as he moved in and out of her—“me.”
She wasn’t sure if it was his words or the caress of his slick tongue or the feel of his heavy cock—oh, what a word—but her entire being was suddenly concentrated there—her sex at his, joined, the slide of flesh across flesh.
Then that mechanism flipped in her mind, and it wasn’t enough.
Her hips increased their rhythm and his thrusts impaled her deeper and her breath caught in her lungs as she perched on the edge of a great height, oblivion suspended before her.
All she wanted—needed—was to tip over that edge and give in to the void.
He thrust once…twice… And she tumbled over, but instead of falling, a part of her not bound by physical limitation took wing, as all that had gathered within burst in a flood of light and color and sensation, her sex pulsing its release around him in butterfly flutters.
The pleasure of this—it was almost too much. “You’re almost too much,” she whispered against his lips, unwilling to let go of the intimacy of their connection, even as his thrusts took on a relentlessness.
On a sudden groan, he pulled from her and wrapped sure fingers around his shaft. Transfixed, she watched him stroke his shaft, up and down its long, thick length. Beautiful. Then climax was pouring out of him on a shout, his seed spilling onto the sheets.
How could a single act be so of the body and yet so beyond those bounds, too? It was both the most physical experience of her life and the most elevated—a place where earth and heaven met and combined.
He reached for her. “Here.”
She allowed him to settle her beneath the covers and rest her head on his shoulder. She was a woman of many words, and yet here, now, she found no need to speak them.
“You’re composing poetry in your mind, aren’t you?”
“Perhaps.”
A lazy chuckle rumbled in his chest.
But it wasn’t true.
The poetry had been writ already—his body onto hers, and hers onto his.
Words were rendered unnecessary.
It was the poetry their bodies understood—the only poetry that mattered.
Across dark, silent corridors Rory stepped, a sleeping Juliet in his arms. It was imperative she was returned to her bed before the household awakened. He would have no whispers bandied about her.
For she was his future bride.
Albeit convincing her was another matter entirely.
He could see a few obstacles in his path.
First, there was the matter of Miss Dalhousie. He was up a stump there. Juliet thought him madly, desperately in love with Miss Dalhousie, when nothing could be further from the truth.
It wasn’t Miss Dalhousie he was madly, desperately in love with.
But it was the second obstacle that he saw as the more substantive one. Juliet had it in her head that she wouldn’t marry.
Yet it occurred to him that he might have a weapon at hand.
Her desire.
For him.
He never would’ve thought he had anything to offer Miss Juliet Windermere. But now he saw that he did.
As improbable as that was.
He would convince Juliet to be his by means fair or foul.
The logic was simple.
She wanted him. He wanted her.
He felt no guilt about using her desire against her to get what they both wanted—each other.
Which was why he would continue the ruse that he was still interested in Miss Dalhousie.
To spend time with Juliet.
She was already head over heels in lust with him.
Now to convince her heart to follow her body.