Until she couldn’t take any more. His hands locked about her hips, he held her captive for each forceful penetration. Her skin flaringly alive, she could feel his groin meet the globes of her bottom, feel his testes against the backs of her thighs as he pushed deep and deeper. The rough fabric of his trousers abraded her legs; the edge of his shirt drifted over her bare back.
A sudden vision of how they looked-her utterly naked, he mostly clothed-taking her like this, exploded in her mind.
Her senses let go. Unraveled, fragmented, flew apart in a shattering release of imploding heat and tension.
He continued to thrust into her, and the release went on and on…until she fell from the peak with one last smothered gasp, and the blessed void gathered her in.
Jaw clenched, Royce slowed. Eyes closed, head back, chest heaving, he clung to the last shreds of his will, of his control, and rode out the incredible ripples of sensation, the aftermath of her heightened release as her sheath contracted repetitively about him, and lured, begged, commanded him to lose himself in her.
He had other plans.
Deeper plans. Plans that came from that more primitive self that, when it came to her, he could no longer deny. Didn’t want to deny.
When she finally slumped, her body utterly lax, he withdrew from her, shed his clothes in seconds, then lifted her. He stripped back the covers, then knelt on the bed and laid her down on her back, her head and shoulders cushioned by the plump pillows.
He seized the moment as he stretched alongside to drink in the sight-of her so utterly ravished, so surrendered, so possessed.
So his.
On the thought, he lifted over her, spread her thighs wide, and settled between. Covered her. Slid deeply into her, then lowered his head, captured her lips, and sank into her. Into her mouth, deep into her body, received within the silken embrace of her scalding sheath.
He started to ride her slowly, unhurriedly, senses wide, drinking in every iota of sensation. Of the inexpressible delight of her body cradling his, of her softness accepting his hardness, of the innumerable contrasts between their merging bodies.
His felt tight, nerves taut and flickering, seeking, wanting, needing. His mind was open, receptive, overwhelmingly aware of the breadth, depth, and incredible power of the need that swelled and welled inside him.
Then she joined him.
Her small hands found his face, framed it for a moment, then lowered to spread across his shoulders.
As the tempo of their joining inexorably rose, she gripped, clutched, her body undulating beneath his, dancing to a rhythm as old as time.
One he set, but she was with him, waltzing in the heat and the flames, in the scintillating fire of their shared passion.
And it was everything he’d wanted the moment to be-appeasement and acknowledgment, satiation and surrender, all in one.
She was everything he needed her to be-his lover, his bride, his wife.
His all.
In the moment when together they crested the last peak and found ecstasy waiting to claim them, he knew beyond question that he had all he needed of life in his arms. For this, she was the only woman for him, with him creating, then anchoring him in, this deeper, more heart-wrenching glory.
Submitting to him, surrendering to him.
Vanquishing him.
Now and forever.
The storm took them, and he surrendered, too, his fingers locked with hers as the fury of their joint passion wracked them, rocked them. Shattered and drained them, then left their senses to slowly fill again-with each other.
He’d never felt so close to any woman before, had never shared what he just had with any other.
When he finally summoned enough strength and will to move, he disengaged and lifted from her, then gathered her to him, into his arms, soothed when she came readily, snuggling close.
Through the darkness he touched his lips to her temple. “Sleep. I’ll wake you in time to leave.”
Her only reply was that her last lingering tension eased, then faded.
He closed his eyes and, utterly stated to the depths of his primitive soul, let sleep claim him.
Fourteen
After washing and dressing, once again eschewing Lucy’s assistance, she set about her usual routine with far more confidence than the day before. If Royce wanted her enough to insist she grace
She pondered that, and how she felt about it, over breakfast, then, leaving his sisters and their guests to their own devices, retreated to the duchess’s morning room to prepare for their usual meeting in the study-and to consider what she might request of him.
If he could demand and insist on her physical surrender, then, she felt, some reward was her due. Some token of his appreciation.
When Jeffers arrived to summon her, she knew for what she would ask; the request would test Royce’s desire, but who knew how long his interest would last? She should ask now; with Variseys it paid to be bold.
Jeffers opened the study door. Entering, she saw that Falwell, as well as Handley, was present; the steward was sitting in the second chair before the desk.
Royce waved her to her usual seat. “Falwell has been describing the current state of the flocks and the clip. There appears to be some decline in quality.”
“Nothing major, of course,” Falwell quickly said, glancing, surprised, at Minerva. “Miss Chesterton has no doubt heard the farmers’ rumblings-”
“Indeed.” She cut off the rest of Falwell’s justification for doing nothing over recent years. “I understand the problem lies in the breeding stock.” Sitting, she met Royce’s gaze.
“Be that as it may,” Falwell said, “to get new breeding stock we’d have to go far south, and the expense-”
“Perhaps O’Loughlin could help?” She made the suggestion as innocently as she could. Royce had summoned her to join this discussion; presumably he wanted her opinions.
Falwell bridled; he didn’t like Hamish, but then Hamish had no time for him.
He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Royce did. “I’ll speak to O’Loughlin next time I’m up that way. He might have some breeders we could buy.”
Unsurprisingly, Falwell swallowed his words.
Royce glanced at the sheet on which he’d been making notes. “I need to speak with Miss Chesterton, Falwell, but if you would remain, once we’ve finished, you and I should look over the castle flocks.”
Murmuring acquiescence, Falwell rose, and at Royce’s direction retreated to a straight-backed chair against the
