Chapter Twenty-One
At last.
Gwen’s sweet plea was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.
He dragged her pliant body closer, cupping her crown to draw her face to meet his as he rose up to take her mouth in a kiss it seemed he had waited for, for an eternity.
She tasted so sweet. Like the mint she must have used to clean her teeth before they departed and something uniquely Gwen, and he couldn’t get enough of the intoxicating elixir.
Neither, it seemed, could she. She clung to him, arms straining, tiny tremors coursing through her body that fueled the raging fire of need threatening to consume him.
He could not draw her close enough, though God knew he tried. His hands roamed over her, greedy, desperate, memorizing the curve of her back, the gentle swell of her hips, the plush feel of her bottom as he nestled her hips into his.
His cock pulsed as if it had a life all its own, rigid to the point of pain and screaming with the need for release.
He had no reference, no guide to navigate this all-consuming desire.
He wanted everything, all of her, all at once.
Her mouth, her tongue, her breasts, the sweet nectar between her thighs.
“Gideon, I feel so strange…please…this is like nothing I’ve ever known,” she whispered against his lips before loosing a tiny mew, the sound one of half pleasure, half pain.
Exactly as he felt, except…What had she just said? Like nothing I’ve ever known—words reminiscent of the night he’d kissed her in his chamber and she’d reacted like an untouched innocent. She couldn’t be. She was a widow.
And yet…
Calling on every ounce of willpower he possessed, he reined in his wild hunger, gentled his kiss, his touch. Instead of feasting, he sipped. Instead of devouring, he savored. He nibbled along her jaw toward her ear, nipped at her delicate lobe.
The scorching flames of desire driving him burned just as hot, but now, an unfamiliar tenderness, almost painful in its intensity, welled up inside him. “Sweetheart,” he began. “You’ve been with a man, surely? Your husband?”
“Of course,” she answered without hesitation.
Relief flashed through him, and a disquieting sense of disappointment he didn’t care to examine.
Then she pressed her heated face to his neck. “But it wasn’t like this.”
He gulped in air. “Not like this?” he echoed, his words halting as he tried to make them make sense.
She shook her head, face still burrowed under his jaw and he began to understand.
Shivering with longing the likes of which he’d never known, he wrapped his arms around her, one palm cupping her crown, and executed a series of twists, bends and turns to reverse their positions in the cramped space, somehow not surprised when Gwen erupted briefly in giggles.
When he was through, he knelt on the carpet between the benches and drank in the sight of her lying atop the cushion, skirts tangled, legs hanging over the edge. She gazed up at him, her expression a combination of curiosity, wonder, and unmasked desire.
Hands shaking, he untied the ribbon beneath her bodice. She sucked in a breath but made no protest as he loosened the fabric, shimmying it down to expose the creamy swells of her breasts and their cresting, rosy nipples.
Sweet Heaven above. He cupped her breasts in his palms, feeling almost guilty for sullying her perfection with his touch, but unable to resist doing so. Heart hammering like an anvil in his chest, he lifted his gaze to hers and slowly lowered his head. “Not like this?” he whispered.
Nibbling the tip of her finger, she shook her head once.
Satisfaction reverberated through him. He feathered kisses over her satiny flesh, making his way to one hard nipple. He brushed his lips over the peak as his fingers found its twin and mimicked the action.
He watched her eyes drift shut and her lips part, the sound of her shuddering breaths fodder for the fire blazing within him.
He sealed his lips over her nipple, drawing the bud into his mouth, his gentle suckling in direct opposition to the fierce need gripping him. His cock strained against his undergarments and the fly of his pantaloons, aching and desperate for release.
He moved to her other breast, laving his tongue over her sweet flesh before blowing on the damp trail.
“Gideon,” she choked, eyes still closed. Her body arched in a silent demand for more. “I…I never…” Her words died as he suckled harder. Then a low, building moan began in her throat, forcing him to rise up to swallow her cries with his kiss.
“Shh, darling,” he murmured against her lips and, unable to wait a moment longer, slipped his hand beneath her skirts.
Her blue eyes snapped open when his fingers skimmed up her outer thigh. He soothed her, smoothing his palm up, then down. Up, then down. Squeezing, then caressing. Her skin was supple and so very soft. God, he wanted her.
“Not like this?” he repeated, before slanting his mouth over hers and urging her lips apart with his tongue as his hand sought and found the curls guarding her secrets.
He nestled into her heat, groaning when his fingers encountered slick, plumped flesh. “Part your legs, sweetheart, just a little.”
“But…”
He lifted his head and met her eyes.
She gazed back at him, brows furrowed, eyes clearly dubious.
He would laugh if desire for her was not eating away his very soul. “Not like this?” This time the question came out a choked whisper.
She shook her head, then, ever so slightly, parted her thighs.
He worked one finger into her cleft in a gentle exploration. Locating the small sensitive bud, he circled it with his fingertip. She gasped at the tender caress and spread her thighs wider.
He could not contain the groan her sensual response provoked.
His bluestocking wife was nearing the point of no return.
He took her mouth, suckled her lips as his fingertips danced over her quivering flesh.
Then he eased one finger into her tight, scalding channel and ran the pad of his thumb over her swollen nubbin in a relentless, steady, drive.
Her body went taut. Her breath came in short gasps. She was so very close.
Then, with a choked whimper, she reached for him, arms twining around his neck, body trembling. Her hips rocked, her back arched, and the dam of her release broke. She shuddered and gasped, pushing herself up against his hand in a violent climax that threatened to loose his own.
At the edge of his control, he eked every last ounce of pleasure from her, his lips never leaving hers, until she lay, boneless.
Only then did he notice the tremors coursing through him, like he was a man burning with fever. Had he ever wanted a woman like this? No—not that he cared to analyze why at the present moment. He needed to be inside her.
He reached down, unbuttoning his fly. “Gwen, I…please.” Damn her for making him beg—not that he cared about that either. Not right now.
Sky-blue eyes, passion dazed, met his as her lips curved in a slight smile. “It’s all right. I know what comes next.”
With no idea what in the world she meant, he shoved his trousers to his hips and lifted himself onto the opposite bench, then wrapped his hands around her waist to lift her over the divide.
“Put your arms around me, sweetheart,” he urged in guttural tones, shoving her skirts up and out of the way as he lowered her.
“Like…this?” she asked, straddling him, then gasped as he anchored her hips and surged into her in one hard, deep thrust.
Then he froze, eyes pinched closed. Too good. She felt too good. He could not move a muscle as the overwhelming urge to come gripped him hard. No. Not yet. He needed more. Much more.
The barest touch of her cool fingers on his cheeks had him opening his eyes to find her unblinking gaze locked on him.
Her fingertips traced his jaw, smoothed his hair.
Then she brought her mouth to his. She kissed him so sweetly, so tenderly, everything inside him ached and he couldn’t not move in her.
He lifted and lowered her, sinking himself into her, slowly at first. Then faster. Deeper.
Gwen’s breath began to hitch. Hands gripping his shoulders, eyes fluttering closed, lips parted, head lolling, she arched back.
He feasted on the sight of her in the grip of passion, breasts bared and gown half undone as he sheathed himself in her heat.
She was so beautiful. Her body, so tight. So hot.
All at once she choked out his name, eyelids slitting to half-mast, and as he watched, as his body knew from the sudden tautness of hers, another powerful release stormed through her. She clutched at him, her body writhing and quaking, pushing him to the brink of his limits—then past them.
His arms banded around her, locking her to him as he shuddered and jerked and reveled in the pulsing contractions of her sex, milking him without mercy, drawing his hot seed in a seemingly endless eruption.
Clenching his jaw, he battled to contain the shout of ecstasy burning his lungs, as he came and came and came in the most powerful climax of his life.
When the maelstrom ebbed, he fell back, undone. No other word for it.
Still straddling his hips, Gwen huddled against him, face pressed to his chest, his manhood gloriously deep inside her.
It took a moment for him to realize she was shaking. Laughing?
Considering the spreading, damp warmth over his waistcoat, he’d have to guess, no.
Hell and damnation.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. He could hardly carry on a serious conversation with his trousers around his ankles.
Easing himself out of her, he reached down to hoist his garments up.
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” Gwen murmured, face carefully averted. She made to scramble off of him while snatching at her loose bodice, tugging it up, and tying the ribbons in a hapless bow.