When Harry Met Molly

“I can’t stop thinking about you this way, either.” He bent to kiss her. “And it’s torture,” he said against her lips.

“Yes,” she murmured, and ran her palms up and down his back, and then suddenly, her hands moved around to his middle and slid down to his groin.

Oh, God. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember the Magna Carta. Or…or anything.

Anything but what Molly was doing to him now.

“Touching you here excites me like almost nothing else,” she whispered in his ear. “I first felt it when I sat on your lap in the carriage. And then last night. And this morning, too, when you held me from behind during ‘Kubla Khan.’”

He opened his eyes and groaned. “If only you knew how much it excites me when you touch me there.”

And with all his willpower, he forced himself to remove her hand.

Her mouth dropped in disappointment. “I want to excite you that way, Harry. Please.”

“You already do that—without even touching me,” he said, then managed a grin. “It’s a peril all men have to live with. Showing that, um, enthusiasm at inappropriate moments.”

“But now is appropriate.” She rubbed him again with her palm. “No one’s looking.”

No one is looking.

The invitation in her eyes was damned near impossible to resist. But who was he fooling? He’d have to be dead to resist it. No living male could turn away from those eyes. That mouth.

This girl.

“Molly—”

“Sssh,” she said. “Show it to me. Please.”

Hovering above her, Harry inhaled a great breath and began to unlace his breeches with one hand.

“Let me,” said Molly, and pushed his hand away. Her hair was spread out like a fan on the grass.

“I’m flattered by your enthusiasm,” he said, only half joking. He bent down and ravished her mouth while she played with the laces, finally loosened his breeches, and yanked on them until they were at his thighs.

And then she looked down. “Oh, my goodness,” she whispered.

He grinned. “Kiss me back and stop talking.”

She sighed and kissed him back, just as he’d asked, and the kisses became even more passionate when he felt a jolt of heat—

From her hands. They were touching him in a soft, curious way, and he couldn’t help it. He ground himself into her palms and moaned at the delicious sensation.

Her palms pressed right back. “I love to see you this way, Harry,” she murmured. “I want to touch you like this all the time.”

“Any time you want,” he choked out. “That is—”

“Kiss me back and stop talking,” she mimicked him with a giggle.

He cupped the side of her face in his hand and looked directly into her eyes. “But I must tell you something now, Molly. I can’t hold back much longer.”

“Don’t,” she told him. “Don’t hold back.”

He would distract himself. He released her breasts into the sunlight and sighed with pleasure. He wished he could see all of her that way, but he couldn’t. He had to show some restraint, didn’t he?

“Where are those berries?” he said, as he swirled his tongue around her nipples.

“I don’t know,” she moaned, her fingers running through his hair. “I set them down somewhere.”

“Wait.” He jumped up and somehow managed to pull up his breeches over his hardness.

“No!” she cried. “Don’t go!” She sat up on her elbows. “Harry!”

“I’ll be right back,” he assured her over his shoulder, and grinned. His delectable companion was most impatient. He ran for the bucket, swooped down and grabbed its handle, and ran right back.

“Lie back down,” he said, when he’d reached her again.

“Pull your breeches down, Harry.”

He laughed. “I will in a moment, hoyden. But first, be still.”

She lay down, but he could tell that obeying him was costing her.

He squeezed a handful of berries over her nipples, and the juice ran down their soft mounds. With care, he lay over her again and suckled her.

All her impatience drained away. “You feel exquisite,” she whispered, running her hand over the muscles in his arms. “But your breeches are still on.”

She stretched out her hand toward his groin.

“In a minute,” he said against her skin, and then gave in to an impulse. He pushed her gown up her leg.

“What are you doing?” she said breathily.

“Enjoying you,” he said, and stroked her thigh with the flat of his palm. And then, in the middle of a lavish kiss to her breast, he moved his hand to her softest place, to the nub of her, careful not to enter her with his fingers.

It was her first time. He wanted to go slowly.

Her legs fell open to the sun. He explored her, exulting in the shivers that coursed through her and the soft moans she made in response to his touch. A moment later, with a cry and an arch of her back, she became the most desirable woman he’d ever known.

“So this is what being a mistress means,” she said with a contented sigh, her arms still flung over her head.

She smiled at him from her grassy bed, and he laughed. Then he kissed her, glad to have pleasured her so well.

They lay in silence for a minute and listened to the wind play through the trees. Then she reached to remove his breeches again.

“You’re a stubborn wench,” he said.

A moment later, she was clasping his length. “I want the same thing to happen to you,” she murmured.

“Are you sure?” He couldn’t believe how much he longed to make love to her.

“I’m quite sure,” she said.

Of course, a coupling was out of the question. But there were compensations for his restraint, nonetheless. Compensations in the form of an enthusiastic girl who seemed to care very much that he feel the same intense pleasure she’d felt a moment before.

When the inevitable approached, he rolled to the side so as not to muss her gown.

Afterward, they both lay on their backs again and stared at the sky.

“I don’t know what to say,” Molly said.

Harry turned his face to her. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“I’ve thought of something.” Her smile was slow but real. “Can we do it again?”

Harry laughed. “No, you minx. We should probably get back to the house. We’ve several cantankerous couples to restore to good humor.”

She propped herself up on an elbow and looked down at him. “I’m going to remove the bureau in front of that dressing room that connects our two bedchambers. You can come in whenever you like.”

“I can’t do that,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“But why?”

He pulled a lock of hair off her face and tucked it behind her ear. “Because it’s nearly impossible to stop progressing once you get started doing what we did today. And we can’t have you fully compromised, my girl. That leads to babies and”—he hesitated—“marriage.”

Her face fell. “You’re right.” She laced up her bodice, smoothed her skirt, and stood up.

“You understand that having a child out of wedlock would be disastrous for you, don’t you?” He clambered up and put his hands on her shoulders.

She wouldn’t look directly at him. “Of course. It means you’d have to marry me. And that’s an outcome to be avoided.”