Further Than Passion (18 page)

She relaxed, relishing their bond, and she was ecstatic that she'd had the opportunity to discover what it was like to be so close to another human being
.

Lately, she'd been anxious, feeling as if she was laboring under a sinister cloud, that they didn't have the two full weeks she anticipated she'd be in London. What if this was their last rendezvous? If something happened, and they never subsequently dallied, she'd never forgive herself for not forging ahead to the ultimate conclusion. He'd explained it to her, in graphi
c
detail, and she was so curious, so eager.

Their passions heated, and he blazed a trail down her neck, her bosom, to her breast, and he suckled until she was writhing and straining. He journeyed on, down her stomach, her abdomen, until he was rooting across her womanly hair.

"Open your legs for me, Kate," he ordered.

"Why?"

"I'll show you."

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"Show me what?"

"Kate," he scolded, "just do as I say."

"Not until you tell me what you intend."

"You trust me, don't you?"

"No, I absolutely don't."

The bounder chuckled, and she glared at him, unsure if she should acquiesce, but he was grinning at her, like the devil personified, and she couldn't refuse. She widened her thighs, furnishing him the access he'd demanded, and he dipped down, his tongue laving her, jabbing at her.

"Oh, oh my," she panted. "What are you doing?"

"I can make you come thi
s
way."

"We shouldn'
t
... we can'
t
..." She couldn't put into words all the reasons they shouldn't do such a wicked thing. It felt too good to be allowed. "It's t
o
o ... t
o
o ..."

'
Too what?" He paused in his torment. "Too marvelous? Too naughty?"

"Yes."

"Precisely why I knew you'd love it. You have the heart of a strumpet."

"No, I don't!" she was compelled to insist, but he started in again, and any further protest was pointless.

He worked his arms under her legs and reached for her breasts, so that he could fondle her nipples, and after he'd grabbed hold of them, it was easy to hurl her over the precipice. With scarcely any effort on his part, she shattered into tiny pieces.

She was soaring, out of control, and she thought she screamed her delight, but she wasn't positive. Waves of pleasure deluged her, and they took forever to crest. As they waned, he was meandering up her torso, nibbling

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at her navel, nuzzling at her cleavage, and she was irked that it had ended so soon. When they philandered, he was always able to resist the onslaught, to contain the spiral, but
she
never could.

He was right! She did have the heart of a strumpet!

He moved to her nape, to her mouth, and he kissed her slowly, letting her taste her sex on his tongue, and she wallowed in the dissipation.

Oh, what a wanton she was!

"Make love to me, Marcus."

"Kate..."

"Please."

He regularly claimed that he couldn't deny her any request, and she studied him, having him see how much she wanted it to transpire, how fervently she wanted him to be the one.

"Quit looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you can coerce me into it."

"I want it to be you."

"I don't."

"Liar."

She caressed his phallus
,
and he was rigid, throbbing. He'd taught her how to tease him with her mouth, how to satisfy him with her hand, but tonight, she yearned for a different conclusion. She couldn't go to Doncaster without it.

With a tad more titillation, perhaps he'd be beyond refusal. She rolled him so that he was on his back, so that she could goad him to the brink.

He was so hard, so impatient, and she traveled down his stomach, to his cock. She licked across the tip, over

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and over, driving him to distraction. Then, she sucked him inside, letting him thrust, letting him revel, until he was set to explode.

When he couldn't stand any more, she pulled away, and straddled his loins, her privates in direct contact with his own. She flexed across him, his phallus gliding along her sheath, and he trembled with anticipation and frustration. He was desperate to progress, but fighting his primal instincts, declining to relent, declining to harm her.

Blasted oaf! She was an adult, and she knew her own mind.

"Take me, Marcus!" she commanded. "Now."

Gripping her thighs, he manipulated her across his erection, each touch like a lightning bolt striking both of them.

"You're so ready for me."

"Yes. For you, Marcus. Only for you."

"It would be so simple," he muttered, more to himself than to her, and he urged her down, her breast dangling before him, and he nursed at her nipple.

"Show me how it can be, Marcus. I'm begging you."

He rotated them, so that she was on the bottom, and he was hovered over her. He appeared sinful, decadent, and inclined to commit any nefarious deed.

"I'm not a saint, Kate."

"No, you're not."

"I can't say no to you. I want this too much."

"Yes, you do." Maybe this was how he could demonstrate that he cared for her. He could attest to his affection with his actions, rather than his words.

"It will hurt—
t
he first time. It can't be helped."

1
62

"You've told me."

"Promise me one thing."

"Anything, my dear man. Anything, at all."

"Promise
m
at you'll never regret asking me."

As if she could ever
regret
the experience! She felt as if her entire life had merely been a journey to this place, where she would become a woman in his arms.

"I will always celebrate that it was you. I swear it."

"Oh, Kate..."

With their mutual decision to proceed, his intensity heightened; his lust increased. Rapt, engrossed, bent on achieving his goal, he was focused as he'd never been before.

His hands were everywhere, as he propelled her up and up, his desire escalating in proportion to her own. She was on the verge of unraveling, her ardor at a fevered pitch, when he centered his cock and stroked the blunt crown across her; then he prodded in, the slightest bit. Suddenly not as confident as she had been, she tensed and arched up.

"Relax."

"I'm afraid."

"Don't be."

"I can't stop myself."

"It will be over soon."

He was too big! Like the innocent ninny she was, she struggled against his invasion.

"Marcus!" She wasn't certain what she was seeking. She was about to receive that for which she'd pleaded. It was too late to demur.

"You are so perfect for me."

"Marcus!"

"Hush!" he barked.

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63

He was riveted on his task, so her entreaties were for naught. He clutched her thighs and splayed them even wider.

"I'm scared.
I
...
I
..."

"No regrets, Kate. Remember?"

She fought in earnest, but he wasn't about to desist. He lunged forward, his rod insistent and determined, and he broke through her maidenhead, plunging to her womb. Stunned by strange sensations, she cried out, and he kissed her, swallowing her wail of agony and surprise. He held himself very still, as her virginal body acclimated, as her mind came to grips with what they'd done.

He'd warned her what it would be like, but she hadn't listened, and she supposed that the process was very much like dying. A person could have it described, but until she actually went through it herself, it was impossible to comprehend the enormity of what would transpire.

"
That's the worst of it," he murmured.

"And I survived." She tried to chuckle over her display of feminine histrionics.

"You did fine."

He smiled, which made it all right, and gradually, she adapted, her anatomy welcoming him.

"You fit inside me!"

'Told you I would."

"I didn't believe you."

"You never do, you scamp!" He was contented, merry, and incredibly aroused. "Let's finish it."

He flexed, and the feeling of him, planted deep, was like nothing she'd encountered prior, and as the initial pain passed, she was eager to join in. She met him

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thrust for thrust, her hips working with his in a precise rhythm. He was more agitated, more frantic, his motions crisp and exact.

Waves of excitement built, and with him embedded inside her, the surge was much more powerful. Another orgasm resonated through her, and as her inner muscles clamped around him, the pressure brought on his own release. He pushed into her once, again, again, and his seed rushed out. But at the last instant, he
d
rew away, denying her the final and definitive knowledge of the culmination.

He spilled himself onto her stomach, and she sighe
d
—
w
ith bliss but also a touch of melancholy. She should have known he wouldn't risk siring a babe. While she recognized that i
t
was his way of being gallant, of protecting her, she mourned that he couldn't grant her this piece of himself.

As their ardor waned, it was terribly quiet, and now that it was over, she was curious as to what they'd talk about. She was much more overwhelmed than she'd imagined she'd be, and a sprinkling of tears dribbled down her cheeks. He was disconcerted, and he took the sheet and swiped them away.

"Why are you sad?"

"I'm not," she claimed
,
which was true. "I'm very, very happy."

'They're tears of joy?" He was extremely dubious.

"Yes."

"You're no longer a maid."

"A situation I heartily embrace."

"My little beauty. How glad I am that you are mine!" For a few minutes, he nestled with her; then he

₁₆₅

retrieved a towel and washing cloth and cleansed away the evidence of their reckless behavior.

"Are you sore?"

"I'll mend."

He snuggled next to her. "Let's nap awhile; then I'll ring for a bath. You won't ache quite so much if you soak a bit."

"That sounds splendid," she agreed, though she'd never let him order up a bath. He was so spoiled! It hadn't occurred to him that it was two in the morning and she'd never permit him to rouse a servant with such a frivolous request. "Afterward, can we do it again?"

He laughed. "I'll die in your arms!"

He covered them with a blanket, and she rested, taking note of every detail, and thinking how easy he made everything. Her deflowering could have been awkward and embarrassing, but he was so sweet, so blithe and nonchalant, which induced her to cherish him all the more.

Within seconds, he dozed, which gave her the chance to study him without his being aware, without his being able to hide his thoughts, or conceal his vulnerabilities and emotions.

In sleep, he looked so young, so carefree and untroubled, and she pondered what his childhood had been like. He never spoke of it. She'd heard gossip that his mother had died when he was born, that he'd been raised by his distant
,
aloof father. He never mentioned the man, never waxed on about youthful pranks, kindly governesses, or doting aunties, and she suspected that he'd been a lonely boy, that much of the detachment and arrogance he exhibited as an adult was a reaction to those earlier trials.

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The air had cooled, and she tugged another blanket over them. She was as weary as he, but she daren't fall asleep. Her worst nightmare would be to wake up at dawn to see a maid reviving the fire, or his valet laying out his jacket and trousers.

She absolutely could not be caught with him!

His slumber deepened, and he snored lightly, and she leaned in and kissed his cheek. He smiled, though he didn't stir.

"I love you," she whispered, and she sneaked off the mattress, hurriedly donned her clothes, and tiptoed out.

The corridor was dark, the stairwell even darker, and she stumbled to her room and crept in undetected. It was so silent, so forlorn, and she was inundated by the impression that this dismal, dreary world was how it would be after she'd gone back to Doncaster.