Heaven only knew what. He didn’t, but doubted she would consent to explain.
Shifting his hold, he laced his fingers with hers, felt hers grip unconsciously, without thought. He breathed in, deeply, and the perfume of her hair, of her skin, wreathed through his brain. On some elemental level, reassured.
She was here, in his hold.
Raising their linked hands, sliding them around her waist, he lowered his head, and murmured by her ear, “Contrary to general belief, sexual indulgence is almost guaranteed to relieve a headache.”
“It is?” Distraction and interest, immediate, quite definite, resonated in her voice, but then she cleared her throat and said, “But perhaps we should try abstinence for a change-just to vary our interactions. Perhaps heighten expectations for later.”
“That won’t work. At least, not for me.”
“It won’t?”
They could circle all night. He swung into the attack. “Why are you suddenly so skittish? You haven’t lost interest, have you?”
“Lost interest? Ah…”
“It was a rhetorical question.” Raising his other hand, he brushed his palm boldly across the fullness of her breast. Feeling the nipple instantly bead beneath his palm, he cupped the full swell, gently kneaded. “The answer’s transparently clear.”
Thank heaven.
She’d stiffened, trying to hold firm, but as he continued to fondle, evocatively knead, her spine softened. She leaned back against him. “Perhaps we might experiment, and see.” He rolled her nipple between finger and thumb, lightly squeezed. Spine bowing, she gasped, “About my headache, I mean. Whether it goes, or stays.”
He touched his lips to her temple. “We can experiment as much as you like.” Turning her, lowering their linked hands, he drew hers down. “Because I haven’t lost interest in you.” He molded her palm to his erection. “To having you-multiple times.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh.” Then her lids lowered, and those jade eyes grew sultry. Her tongue slipped out to moisten her lower lip. “I see…”
The absentminded murmur was filled with speculation.
“No, you feel.” Bending his head, he took her lips, her mouth, kissed her long, lingeringly, hungrily, but not rav enously. When he raised his head, her lids were down, her eyes concealed. “So what do you feel? What do I make you feel?”
She felt as if she were stepping off a cliff. Deliah raised her heavy lids enough to see his face, to note the intentness in his expression, his absolute focus on her.
How long would it last? When would it fade?
How was she going to feel when it did?
Worse, when they returned to Humberside and went their separate ways, and she heard on the grapevine that he’d married? Married some entirely eligible country miss with no scandal in her background, and a soft, sweet disposition. A lady totally unlike her.
She hadn’t thought of those questions before today-until half an hour ago. She’d tried to step back, but…he was here, in her bedroom, and she was in his arms.
And he was all she’d ever wanted.
How did he make her feel?
Chin firming, she closed her hand. “Wanton. Abandoned. You make me feel…”
His lips curved, sculpted, utterly mesmerizing. “Good. That’s how I want you to feel. Wanton, abandoned, and”-he bent his head-“helplessly lusting for me.”
Eleven
Straightforward, blatant, direct.
Genuine, honest, and true.
A true expression of what he wanted from her. How he wanted her.
A declaration of possession, passionate and intense.
She sank her hands in his hair, gripped, clung, held him to her as her wits reeled and her senses spun.
His fingers found her laces, then her bodice sagged. His hands claimed her breasts, hard palms kneading, molding. Fingers clamping, squeezing, sent sensation searing through her.
Then he broke from the kiss and set his mouth to her flesh.
And devoured.
As she gasped and drank in each evocative caress, every provocative, possessive touch.
As her wanton self savored, wallowed and rejoiced.
There was no hesitation-not on her part or his-when, heated beyond bearing, they broke from the embrace to dispense with their clothes. No barriers, no shields. In seconds they were naked, a heartbeat later skin to skin.
Two heartbeats later, he lifted her and they joined.
She sobbed her joy, wrapped her arms about his shoulders, locked her legs about his hips and let him fill her. Let him stand before the fire and move her upon him until she thought she’d lose her mind.
Then she did, in a scintillating cascade of sensation.
Before it ended, he’d walked to the bed and tumbled them both upon it.
Before she caught her breath, he rose over her. His hips wedged between her widespread thighs, he thrust heavily, deeply, into her.
Then he rode her, fast, hard, determined.
Determined to wring every last gasp of surrender from her.
To take her, complete her, possess her, brand her.
With his passion, his need, his irresistible desire.
His desire for her.
Simple, intense, so strong it stole her breath.
So demanding, so commanding, she could do no other than yield.
Completely, absolutely.
To the depths of her soul.
Del looked down at her face, wracked with rapture as ecstacy claimed her. Felt her let go, felt her fly.
Felt her vulnerable and accepting beneath him.
And he took. Seized and claimed in the most fundamental way. Thrust deep, then yet deeper, driven by a lust more primitive and compelling than he’d ever known.
A lust more commanding, and fulfilling.
A lust driven by an emotion even more powerful, one that subjugated all he was, that made him the supplicant and she the conqueror as he threw his head back and, on a long groan, gave himself, commited all he was and ever would be, to her.
Del entered the breakfast parlor early the next morning to find most of the other men already there.
Everyone, it seemed, had hearty appetites.
Taking the chair next to Devil, at the table’s head, Del joined them in assuaging his immediate need.
Devil glanced at Del’s plate, piled high with ham, kedgeree, two sausages, bacon, mushrooms, onions and a portion of roast beef, and grinned. “You didn’t eat so much at dinner. I take it the activities of your night exceeded
