Chapter 11 #2
Alexander captured that bloody sweet sound she made as she released against him, and he slowed their kissing while he waited for her body to calm.
Somehow, he moved them from the wall out into the hallway.
Still kissing, her center so wet between them now, and her legs wrapped around his waist, it was only seconds before they were back to their loud smacking sounds.
He made it to the landing of the stairs this time, another wall, another few moments of moans and grunts, as he kissed her hard, and she held him tight with those long strong legs.
She was rubbing against him, and he honestly wasn’t sure he’d last another bout of foreplay, but he couldn’t step away from the wall.
He needed to get her upstairs. All the stairs. And into his chamber.
Amanda was saying something, but he couldn’t make out the words. She tugged on his hair and he finally came up for air. Her whisper had him moving as she used a word that he knew meant business.
He got the message, loud and clear, and seconds later, kicked open the door to their room.
He kicked it just right, too, because no sooner had they passed through, did it slam behind them.
He didn’t take her to the bed, bloody hell, he laid her down on the floor as soon as they cleared the entrance.
Both hands at her hips, he dragged off her trousers and somehow released himself from his.
She trembled as he looked down at her, kneeling between her legs and using his hands to make sure she was ready for him.
He touched and played with her a moment too long as she whimpered and motioned for him to come to her.
Grabbing her knee, he moved it forward as he came over her and slid inside.
He was inside her! So hot, so tight, so his! Her hands cupped his face as she wrapped the leg he brought up for better access around his hip, allowing him to slowly sink in deeper. His grunt of approval was met with a long, throaty moan as her eyes widened and he began to move.
As he watched her expressive face, he knew what he saw was a mirror of his own. He felt her body begin to coil, knew he was right there with her, and, with a final thrust, released deep within her.
It took Amanda way more than a few minutes to come back down to earth. Her husband had taken her on the most exhilarating of expeditions. She was so happy to be wrapped in his arms again, beneath the heaviness of his weight.
She was of the firm mind that there were worse things than being stuck in the eighteenth century, married to her Royal Navy admiral who was also secretly a spy as the American Revolution was about to unfold—and absolutely nothing better.
Finally catching her breath, she whispered, “Oh my God, how did that happen?”
He gave a half grunt from above her, elbows bearing his weight, his head on her chest. “Do you need me to explain it to you?” he teased, his voice low and raspy. Sexy as hell too.
“Well, yeah,” she answered.
“The graphic detail part of it?” he asked. “Or that I swear it was predestined from the moment I first touched you, Amanda Abigail Montgomery?”
“How about both?” she coaxed. He laughed then, as if something had dawned on him, and shook his head.
“What’s so funny?”
“Trust me, you don’t want me to tell you.” He shifted to lie next to her on his side and pulled her snugly against him.
“Yes, I do, Alexander,” she argued.
“You really want me to tell you what’s so amusing?”
“Is there an echo in here?” She pinched him to send the message loud and clear: out with it.
“Alright, but remember, it was you who asked.” He started laughing then, so amused with whatever he was thinking.
“Alexander!” she cried, enjoying the push and pull of their conversation.
“We passed four servants and three of my men on our way up here.”
“Shut the front door!” She whacked him, suddenly feeling herself turn a deep crimson.
“Yes,” he assured her, grinning wickedly, “we did.”
“Oh my God,” Amanda groaned. Then her eyes went wide as she had a panicked thought. “Did they…?” She trailed off, not willing to ask so directly if they’d witnessed her orgasm, as good as it was.
“No, Amanda,” he assured her. “We were alone in the parlor then.”
Right, she remembered, some of the tension seeping out of her. She’d sworn, though, that when he had her pressed against the wall, they’d already reached the landing. “Did they hear?” she whispered.
“Our kissing?” he asked. “Bloody hell, Amanda, all of London probably heard our kissing,” he told her quite honestly.
“That’s not what I meant, and we’re not that loud,” she said, giving him a playful punch on the arm, even though she knew very well that they had been that loud.
He gave her a look that let her know he thought she was out of her mind. “If you did not mean our kissing, what were you referring to?”
“You mean the fact that I had to beg, b-e-g, beg you to quit messing around and get down to business?” she asked, rolling her eyes.
Shaking his head, he laughed and said, “That’s not quite the way I remember it.”
“Well, it was so long ago, who cares about the particulars.”
He laughed and leaned down to kiss her. “Bloody hell, woman! I care about the particulars.” He kissed her again. “And taking you on the floor but two steps from the door was not what I had in mind,” he admitted. “I didn’t even remove my breeches!”
Amanda grinned. “But you did remove mine.” Shaking his head at her, he stood and held out his hand. She took it instantly. He led her to the bed where he pulled off her shirt, removed his own clothes, and fell in beside her.
They lay quietly for a few minutes, then Alexander rolled on top of her, nudging her legs apart and getting very comfortable.
Skin to skin contact felt amazing. She brushed her fingers through his hair, a luxury she’d come to cherish in their short time together.
He lay his head on her chest and in that moment, she wished they could stay like this forever.
She loved this man so much and he’d been gone almost three weeks this time.
She worried over him terribly, knowing they were on the brink of war, and how dangerous spying was for him. For all of them.
She’d been shocked when he’d confided to her his allegiance to the Colonists.
Not that his allegiance was shocking. Alexander Montgomery, she’d learned during her time with him, was his own man, a free thinker, and very ambitious.
She’d just happened to ask him point-blank why he was suddenly being so secretive, in his own home no less, while speaking with his own men.
Why it seemed that overnight they’d all suddenly started looking over their shoulders.
To his credit, he’d come right out with it. They’d shared so much between them, he’d not held back for even a second.
Apparently, he suspected he’d been followed after a dinner with a few prominent congress members, and she’d reeled a bit as he’d mentioned the names of some of America’s founding fathers.
While he’d told her he’d always planned to move to America, he warned that it may come to fleeing instead.
It would depend on whether his name was being bandied about in certain circles. If so, they would evacuate—and soon.
She damned herself for not paying closer attention in history class.
Especially now that she was living a part of that history.
It had never occurred to her until this very moment that this could be why, in all her reading about him, there had never been any mention of Alexander past the year 1774.
Had leaving for America caused them to write him off as a deserter?
She’d follow him, of course, but how sad it would be to leave this beautiful castle, her favorite home, no matter the century.
Though she never enjoyed her husband’s departures, the last three weeks without him had passed quickly. During the day she’d walked the flower gardens, had tea parties with Callie, and read some incredible classics from the estate’s library. First editions, no less!
She found though that without him at home, she actually felt heartsick. Who knew that was really a thing? She’d written him letters each night, a habit they had begun the first time he was called away—Alexander answered every one.
As she’d told Alexander, Stephen had removed her stitches two weeks ago after he’d found her going through her closets with Beatrice and Janey while Callie lay on her bed giggling.
She’d formed a truce with her lovely servants—Beatrice could “dress” her each morning, but after supper, all bets were off—then she would rifle through Alexander’s drawers for more pants in that soft nubuck material she was becoming partial to.
Stephen had watched, shaking his head and grinning at the display.
“Come,” he’d said, motioning with his hand.
He’d straddled the ottoman and a second later she’d joined him and extended her hand.
Her nose crinkled even now at remembering the anticipation she’d felt as he’d fingered the threads and inspected the wound.
Once he’d declared it healed, Stephen had held her hand in such a way that she’d barely felt the pull as he removed each stitch. He’d spent another minute working her hand this way and that, before nodding, looking as relieved as she felt. She would be able to play the piano again.
She looked at the scar now, knowing it would always be a memory of her time here, before she tangled her hand back into Alexander’s hair.
“I want to hear the particulars again,” Alex whispered in her ear, pulling her out of her thoughts and back to the moment—this moment with her husband, in bed.
“You mean, quit messing around and get down to business?” Amanda teased him.
He shook his head. “Tell me, Amanda.”