She turned in his arms, letting her dress puddle at her feet. “Just how well do you know women’s apparel, Kit Bainbridge?”
He cupped her cheek, tilted her face up. “I can’t recall anyone before you. You’re all I desire. My heart, my soul. There’s no one else. Really, there never has been.”
He was skilled, even if she wished he wasn’t, removing her frayed petticoat and chemise while kissing the very life from her, until she stood before him in a pool of spent clothing, longing forging a persuasive path from her inflamed mind to her tingling toes. When she shivered and made to cross her hands over her chest, he held her arms by her side. “Oh, no. You are breathtaking, more beautiful than I’d dreamed, and I’ve spent many nights dreaming, Raine. But let’s level the playing field, I agree. Where you go, I follow.” Stepping back, his fingers went to the fall of his breeches, unbuttoning as her heart raced. He wore no drawers, and when he flicked open the final button and kicked aside the garment, there wasn’t a stitch of cotton or linen between them.
She hadn’t known what to imagine, but he was the beautiful one. Lithe and lean, his skin golden, a body in ideal balance. Her gaze traveled below his waist. A prolonged breath escaped through her teeth as he took himself in hand and stroked, slowly, his eyes locked on hers.
“Are you certain you’ll fit?”
“Trust me, love, we were made for each other.” Smiling, he gave her a gentle push that sent her across the feather mattress, where he then flooded over her. His serene patience evaporated the moment his skin met hers, his hands roaming as his lips reclaimed.
It was an assault, sure, steady, relentless.
Hunger, reckless passion.
Desperation.
With a hoarse murmur, she gripped his hip, his shoulder, nails scraping his back, hardly knowing how she’d come to be squeezed into this molten, quivering mass of flesh, not one whit of intent beyond a maddening race for pleasure. His hand cupped her breast, thumb sweeping her nipple, circling, and sweeping again. Her back arched off the mattress, and she let out a frayed sound, interrupting a kiss she could no longer sustain.
“Duly noted,” he murmured and tugged the peaked nub between his lips, biting lightly until she felt the hard pinch in her fingertips, the soles of her feet, the backs of her knees. Her rough moan shattered the stillness, her hands falling from him to twist in the counterpane, her body curving into his touch. A sharp gust ripped in the open window and swept her, cooling skin reheated moments later. Stunned, she lay there as he kissed one breast and palmed the other, switched, then switched again, until she could absorb nothing but their gulping, ragged breaths, walled inside a house of pleasure.
“Your heartbeat is racing beneath my lips. I’m crazy for the feel of you.” He shifted his hips with a groan, his cock settling against her warm folds, a natural, flawless fit. They moved together, creating a rhythm he echoed with his tongue when he captured her mouth beneath his.
Awash in sensation, her fingers rose to tangle in his hair as she begged for more.
He snaked his hand between their bodies, palming her thigh, delving between her legs. He queried lightly, gently, sliding a finger inside her, a leisurely effort that left her trembling, strung tight, expectant. Wanting. This was nothing like what she’d done to herself on those solitary nights in her bed, her knowledge of her body slight but her yearning fierce.
It was as if he knew her better than she knew herself.
Knew exactly where to touch her, how to touch her.
“There. More, oh, Kit,” she whispered against his shoulder as he inserted another finger, biting his skin to emphasize her plea. “There.”
When she went to touch him, feel his rigid length for the first time, he lifted her arm high over her head, stretching her body out like one of his chains beneath him. “My bluestocking arrives, wild and greedy. I would love to have your hands on me, but if that happens now, I’ll come in seconds.” Rising over her, he braced his weight on his forearm, never releasing his hold on her, below the waist or above. “Look at me, love.”
When she did, she found his gaze stunned, brow moist, cheeks glowing, lips parted—truthfully looking as devastated as she felt. “What?” she murmured, lost, trying to catch what she’d missed. “Why did you stop?”
He grinned, laughed softly, looking so boyishly handsome her heart stuttered. “I love you, Raine, with everything inside me, and I’ll thank God every day for sending you to me again. I just wanted you to know before I took you.” Astonishing admission released to the night, he positioned his body and slid inside her, just enough. Not nearly enough. The feeling of fullness was astounding, frightening…magnificent.
He caught her thigh, angling her leg over his hip and stroked, taking calm possession until they were locked, hip to hip. Tunneling his arm beneath her, he set a fundamental rhythm, a cadence neither reckless nor rushed. An elegant tempo of slick skin, seeking hands, broken, uneven kisses. Half-breaths and fractured moans. She answered his earnest questions—is this okay, does it hurt—his aroused murmurs a bottomless tremor in her ear. And he followed her instructions—faster, deeper, there—with almost perfect devotion.
She moved against him, drove him, drove herself, with confidence born of instinct.
Any pain was fleeting, minor, and after a few moments, nonexistent. The world constricted to his frantic directions, his clutching hold, his weight, the salty taste of his skin. The tart scent of them riding the air, the sheets, their bodies.
She tried to tell him what was happening inside her, the creeping sensation of being swept away on a roaring tide, but the tremors racking her made speech challenging and rational thought impossible. But he understood, reaching between them, a final, prolonged touch between her legs all it
