Chapter Eighteen
His heavy breath on her neck nearly robbed her of all rational thought. Well, no, that’s not true. His breath upon her secret place…that had stolen every logical bone in her body.
Huh. That made sense given the lump of mush she felt like lying on the bed. A hot, fiery mess.
A hot, fiery mess that was about to embrace something like happiness.
And when had she decided that was a good idea?
When had her fury with him turned to this God-blessed fire?
It was impossible to tell. One minute she had been infuriated with him. The next she had been stripping off her clothes in front of him. And then suddenly she didn’t want her dreams to just be dreams. She wanted a piece of her dreams to touch reality.
And he seemed willing.
More than that. He was insisting that she let go.
That she trust him. Insisting, but not with any kind of pressure.
He was a gentleman of honor, and she could see the question of permission in his eyes every time he touched her.
It was why every time he asked, with his eyes or his mouth, that she ceded just a little bit more.
But now…now that she was in it—or rather, under him—she wasn’t sure how much longer she could wait.
“You deserve to be worshipped, Amelia.”
And there it was.
This pronouncement of worth. Tickled with the promise that he would deliver on it.
“I want it, Benedict. From you.”
She could feel his hard length resting on her leg. Hot and heavy. It only increased the deepest sensation of need within her. Like drilling a well, looking for water. The hunger was growing desperate.
“You deserve to have that ache soothed.”
But then one last fleeting thought of decency reared its genteel head. “Arabella?” she asked.
“You know that I’m not a good fit for her.”
“I do?”
“You didn’t see it from our first meeting? It’s hardly worth recounting. We met. We saw. We said how do you do. That was it.” His finger trailed down the column of her neck, ushering in a shudder all the way down her left side. “Not at all like meeting you.”
“It wasn’t?”
“No.” He murmured something indecipherable into her hair. “From the moment I met you, I’ve been captivated.”
This was really throwing her world off kilter. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I did.”
“You did?”
“I asked why it wasn’t going to be you.”
“That’s hardly saying anything.”
He shrugged. “It seemed the most appropriate at the time. And I dropped a few hints since then. I thought you could tell that Arabella and I didn’t suit.”
“I had hoped…” She let it trail off because even though she wanted to say that she had hoped Benedict would sweep in to save Arabella, she really couldn’t—in perfect honesty—say that she didn’t simultaneously hope that he might want her.
Too. Which was patently ridiculous. The hopes were mutually exclusive.
“I had hoped that you might come to see things my way.” His hand settled on her hip. “Do you think we could both agree that I’m not interested in Arabella, and that I’m here for you? I’ve only ever been here for you.”
The words wrapped around her heart like a ribbon, rendering it a gift. Her best response for this gift was something she had never done before.
She lifted her head and initiated a kiss with him.
“I think it’s for the best that we both agree to that.”
“Good.” He nuzzled into a soft spot below her ear. “Now can we get on with me exploring your beautiful body?”
“I think that’s for the best.”
His hand sliding down and around her bottom almost made it impossible to hear his next words. “There are so many things I want to do to you, Amelia.”
He sipped at the corner of her mouth, and she gasped at the movement. Mostly because of his lips, but also in large part due to the…erm…large part…now resting at her core.
“Benedict,” she let out a moan, filling the air thick with need.
And every time he moved to kiss her in a place anew, she felt the movement between her folds. The evidence of his arousal. The proof of his need.
It mirrored her own.
“I want you, Benedict.”
“I’m going to give you everything. Slowly,” he murmured into her ear.
A guttural mewl escaped her lips. “I can’t wait any longer. I’ve been waiting forever for this. Please.” A broken curse tripped off her lips.
“You want this?” he asked, tormenting her by raising up on his arms and sliding his length up and down her center.
Pleasure burst in small pockets all over her body. So many all at once that she couldn’t recall how many times she had said yes in response to his teasing question.
And then in reply, he nudged her legs apart a bit more and then notched himself at her entrance. Languidly, she lifted her head to watch the joining of their bodies.
Just when she thought she couldn’t get enough of him, he pushed into the hilt.
And she was torn between watching their union and observing his face.
The strain of his muscles in his neck as he exerted control over his raw need.
Yet the heady sensation she felt at bewitching him the way she felt cast under a spell.
“Amelia,” he groaned. “How does it feel?”
“Pure bliss,” she sighed, lolling her head to the side.
But when he began to move, she realized she would never know such joy as this ever again. And all her life she had been preparing for the shoe to drop. For the storm to hit. And then it did. Arabella’s scandal. And Amelia was vindicated in having always been prepared for the worst.
But here and now…she didn’t want to prepare for the worst. Because oh so many terrible, horrible, awful, scandalous ramifications could ensue from this event.
But she didn’t want those worries.
She wanted the joy of being with him. Of finally letting herself feel something for a man again. And, heavens above, having that dream of a man feel something for her.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. Pure joy. Like nothing she had ever known before. Fully present. Only pleasure. Happiness. It engulfed her. Swallowed her whole.
“Let go, Amelia.” Benedict whispered in her ear. “I’ll catch you.”
And that mounting pressure, that coiling in her belly, at long last it finally broke loose. And he didn’t catch her.
Because she flew.