She’d just had at least a small release, but he was still in a state of almost painful anticipation. With an easy twist of his hips he positioned himself, manoeuvring so that he was lodged just inside her slick folds, poised for entry.
Imogen pressed herself towards him, as wanton as he could have ever dreamt. Acquiescing to her evident desire for him to hurry, Gabriel drove himself deep inside her in one fluid motion. She made an odd, almost purring sound—half gasp, half sigh; her breath shuddering in and out of her—and broke off their kiss, throwing her head back and angling her hips to increase the depth of his penetration.
Gabriel withdrew slightly, then slid his forearms up under her shoulders, so that his weight was on his elbows, and his hands on the bed, resting beside her head. In a much better position now, he began to move atop her, grinding himself into her with every long, hard stroke.
Her legs came up, knees pressing against his ribs, feet on his buttocks, urging him deeper. Gabriel locked his hands in her hair and pulled her head back, licking and biting her neck, trying to remember not to leave any marks. Though if he did, at least for once her damn fichus would be useful.
She began to thrash beneath him, and then with a convulsion that involved her entire body, she simply shattered; her legs locked about him, holding him fast. Her release washing over him was all he needed to find his own; he’d been resisting for several minutes now, desperate to make sure she found hers first. Pressing his face into the hollow of her neck and clenching his teeth to prevent himself from shouting he came, spilling himself into her.
When he thought he could move again, he raised his head and grinned at her. She was still drifting, eyes soft and unfocused. He nipped her earlobe, worked his way down across her jaw and returned to kissing her. She was infinitely kissable, her mouth proving to be every bit as promising as he’d first supposed back in George’s garden.
Roused from the sleepy and rather contented state he’d put her in, Imogen was startled to feel him growing hard inside her. He hadn’t really lost his erection to start with, but the size of it had tapered off; now he was clearly fully engorged again. It had only taken minutes. She hadn’t known a man could do that. Perrin had always simply rolled over and gone to sleep.
He began to move slowly, not withdrawing and plunging in as he had earlier, more of a gentle nudging in and out, his pelvis rocking against hers. She clenched and unclenched around him, then did it again; the wave of small climaxes almost too much to bear.
Her vision flickered, everything going black for a moment as she came utterly apart beneath him. Gabriel sighed, and raising himself off her slightly, increased his pace until a moment later he too shuddered and gasped, thrusting himself into her one last time; sinking into her as deeply as possible.
With one last kiss Gabriel withdrew and slid over to lie beside her on the bed.
Imogen rolled over onto her side and he gathered her up against him. She dropped her head down onto his shoulder and slid one knee up to rest on his thigh. Gabriel dropped a kiss on the top of her head, content with the world and his current place in it.
She was his, plain and simple. And whether that meant for a month, or year, or however long it took for them to grow tired of one another, it was enough for now to simply be sure in his own head; she was his.
Imogen kissed his chest, and mumbled sleepily. Gabriel roused her enough to get her under the covers and slid in next to her, pulling her back into his arms once they were both under the blankets.
‘You’re not leaving?’ she asked, glancing up at him.
‘Not just yet. I’ll wait a couple of hours, until everyone has gone to bed.’
‘Good.’ She snuggled into his side and promptly closed her eyes, clearly content to trust him to escape her room on his own.
Lying there he found himself very much looking forward to the next several months of shooting parties and race meetings and balls once Parliament was back in session.
She hadn’t had anyone in her bed in years, he was certain of it. Gabriel let his thoughts roam over the various things he’d like to do to and with his nymph. The options were almost endless. She’s obviously had a very limited introduction to bed sport. Once again cementing the fact that Perrin was an idiot. An undeserving, incompetent, idiot.
Gabriel glanced down at her; she was already soundly asleep, her face pillowed on her hand, resting on his chest. Worn out and utterly satisfied.
The infamous portrait of her had been a seven-day-wonder; everyone had gone to see it. At the time he’d thought that it was much ado about nothing. Now he was sure of it.
He had the most infamous portrait in England in his collection, and he was now the lover of the lady depicted in it. He kissed his sleeping nymph again and settled in; he was undoubtedly going to remain right where he was for a good long while, as he had not the slightest desire to move. Life was a beautiful thing.
Chapter Thirteen
If the gossips are to be believed—and in this case we think that they certainly are—the Portrait Divorcée has already transferred her affections from Lord S—— to the Angelstone Turk. Alas, no duel appears to have been required…
Tête-à-Tête, 6 October 1789
Imogen couldn’t help smiling the whole ride back to Barton Court.
She’d had a very fine morning. Gabriel had flirted with her all through breakfast, but it aroused no suspicions. Almost all the
