What a Lady Craves (29 page)

“I’m sorry,” she said into the darkness, willing her heart to stop pounding so damned hard. “I shouldn’t have said that. I know very well why you had to leave. We ought to face the fact that we simply weren’t meant to wed, and leave it at that.”

“I refuse to leave it at that.” He spat the words with as much vehemence as she, enough to steal her breath. “I refuse, because we have unfinished business between us. And it’s this.”

Despite his promise, he swooped on her, crushed his lips against hers, and for a moment, she floundered like a naïve schoolgirl confronted with her first rake. She had no idea what to do with her hands, with her mouth, with the devil-cursed feelings he aroused in her. He pressed his advantage, and she had no choice but to open to him. His tongue thrust into her mouth, bringing with it the lingering taste of brandy, and a moan rose unbidden to her throat. She ought to hold him to his word; she ought to fight him, but her body demanded satiation.

So she put her hands on his shoulders, pulled him closer, and returned his kiss.

Alexander could barely believe the response he was getting. Henrietta was like a dam bursting. Hungry, needy, urgent, her kiss was all that and more. Her tongue met his stroke for stroke. Her hands grappled at his lapels. She pressed against him, pliant, sweet, and demanding.

Her fingers tore at his cravat, pulling at the silk until she’d untied the knot, and moved on to the buttons of his waistcoat. His shirt. She worked the fastenings at the collar from their moorings, and yanked the tails free of his trousers.

Desperate to help her, he jerked at the sleeves of his topcoat and shed the garment. It dropped to the bare floor with a clatter of brass buttons. His waistcoat followed. Then he set his hands on her shoulders, his fingers splayed across the soft skin of her neck in what he hoped was a soothing caress. He had to slow her down before he pushed her onto the floor and lifted her skirts waist-high.

Such a lack of finesse would be undignified when she was still a virgin. Somehow he was certain of this, in spite of her boldness, in spite of her seeming to know what would transpire between them. She’d withdrawn from society. Until last night, she’d lived in ignorance of her own body’s potential. He couldn’t imagine her having taken a lover. Not after what he’d put her through.

No, she was still innocent, yet determined. She knew what she wanted, and right now, beyond all hope, she wanted
him.
Her unique combination of purity and unabashed need inflamed him further than her hand on his bare cock.

Lowering his lips to the angle of her jaw, he slipped his hand to the fastenings of her bodice and worked them loose. He palmed her breasts, still covered by her chemise and stays, and she arched into the touch. Her head tilted back, as she offered herself.

Yes, oh, yes. God, after he’d married another, he never expected to have Henrietta under his hands again, willing, giving, eager.

And she was eager. She slipped her hands beneath his shirt, and ran them over his chest. God, she could probably feel his heart pounding. Her firm touch sent more blood rushing to his groin, when he was already impossibly hard. The sweet ache made him groan.

Those bold fingers continued their quest to map his skin, so determined and sure. So sensual. How he wished he might clearly see her face right now. He imagined her, cheeks flushed, plump lips parted, eyes wide, hair falling about her shoulders. And he imagined her
reaction when at last he pushed into her softness and heat, her lids fluttering closed, the color on her cheeks spreading to her breasts, her breath coming shorter and shorter until she cried out for him. Until she clenched around him in rhythmic pulses. Tight, wet heaven.

His cock gave a demanding twitch.
Now.
It wanted paradise now. A shudder passed through his entire body. How would he survive the time it took to ensure she was prepared for him?

Her hands crept lower to play at the waistband of his trousers. Teasing fingers made forays beneath the fabric. The light touch inflamed.
Now.
He ripped the braces from his shoulders, tore the buttons of his falls free, and let her curl her fingers about him as she had last night. Up, down. From base to tip and back, each stroke enticing him to unleash his passion.

Shite, if she was so brazen tonight, what might he coax her to do once she’d gained some experience? The temptation rose in him to present himself to her lips, to see if she’d be curious enough, brave enough to taste, to lick the purling drop of liquid from the head of his cock before taking more and more of him into her throat.
Now.
His bollocks tightened at the mere thought—or perhaps it was her grip so tight and perfect about his shaft, relentless in its push down to the base and back.
Now, now, now.

He took her by the wrist. “You’ll have me spill.”

“I want you to spill.”

Yes.

At the sound of that purr, he clenched his teeth and held back a shudder. Damn, how could her innocent touch have him so close, so soon? “Not this way.”

“But I want—”

He cut her off with a brief, frenzied kiss that did nothing to rein in his urge to possess. “I know you want. I know
what
you want. God help me, I know.” Through her skirt, he formed his fingers to the contour her thigh, longing for the naked flesh beneath. “We go together.”

She eased her shoulders back, her arms braced against the foot of the bed, and her hips slid toward him in languid surrender. “Together,” she murmured.

Hellfire. He couldn’t get her on that mattress fast enough. Unable to summon any sort of finesse, he half hauled her around the end of the bed and pushed her onto her back. He groped for her hem and hiked her skirts. “Someday, we will do this without clothes. Naked. Your skin sliding against mine. All of it.”

His fingers found her core and parted her, and she let out a long moan.

“God, you’re wet for me already.” As quickly as they were moving, he’d no idea how she
could be. He pressed a finger into her.

“Please.”

“I know.”

He stroked, trying to draw out her pleasure, but she grabbed for him. “You said together.”

“You’re not ready.” As much as he’d love to rush to the inevitable, pleasurable climax, he must make certain.

Henrietta had other ideas. She grasped him by the flanks, at the same time lifting her hips, trying to fit her body to his. The head of his cock brushed through slickened curls, and his breath hissed from his lungs.

“Do it. Now.”

Now.

She sounded so desperate, he adjusted the angle, took himself in hand, and inserted the head. Just that far, but her tightness and velvety heat had him panting, and his body screamed for more. For nothing less than full penetration. She raised her legs and clamped them about his waist, pulling, pulling.

Dear God in heaven. He braced his arms, hovered above her, tried to lean in for a kiss, but his body couldn’t resist the call of hers any longer. Clenching his teeth, he thrust.

She let out a cry, half pleasure and half surprise, and he froze, heart hammering, while her softness closed about him, hot and wet and impossibly tight. Halfway home and already the fit was more perfect than any he’d ever known—but then, he’d always suspected it would be.

Beneath him, she shifted her weight, her legs clinging, her chest heaving, and he slipped another inch toward paradise.

“Are you all right?” Somehow he managed to get the words past a rapidly constricting throat.

“Yes, I think so.” She was panting herself, but he couldn’t tell whether it was from pleasure or pain. “This is … strange.”

God help him if she asked him to withdraw now. He’d do it—he’d have to—but he didn’t think he’d survive the experience. “Do you want to stop?”

Tentatively, she placed her hands on his chest. To brace herself or push him away, he didn’t know. “You said together.”

“I did.”

“Then together it is.”

He dipped his head and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. “Easy, then.”

Slowly, he withdrew and pressed forward. “Is it still strange?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Then we’d best try again.” Another thrust, as slow and smooth as he could make it. His body clamored for more, demanded he take his pleasure and be done, but he wouldn’t do such a thing to Henrietta. Not this first time. Not ever. She was far more important than a momentary state of bliss. “You’ll tell me when it stops being strange.”

He pushed in again, farther. Nearly there.

She gasped. Beneath him, her back arched. “It’s stopped.”

“Good. Now we find the right rhythm.” He pressed another kiss to her lips, longer and deeper this time, the same as his stroke within her. “The right angle, the right speed.”

Again, he thrust, and she raised her hips to meet him. She grasped two handfuls of his shirt, and clenched the fabric into her fists. On and on, he plunged, while she moved with him, her legs tight about his waist, her body tight around him. He gritted his teeth and forged ahead, ignoring an insistent demand for release, holding off the burning at the base of his spine that proclaimed his imminent crisis.

Not yet, not yet. She needed more.

He must wait for her. This night was for her. Everything was for her. His body, himself. He owed her all that and more for what he’d done. He could spend the rest of his life making it up to her, and it wouldn’t be enough. But in this moment, when he was buried inside her, driving her onward, hearing her moan and sigh, feeling her clench about him, he wanted that lifetime.

Henrietta arched into his thrusts, striving toward that peak he’d shown her with his fingers. It lurked somewhere in the haze, elusive and tantalizing. His initial entry had pinched and burned, but the pain had quickly dissipated to turn into this experience of being filled completely. Not uncomfortable, precisely, but neither was it comfortable. It couldn’t be when each surge drove her body to seek greater and greater heights.

He still burned her, but the sensation was different. It came from inside, a voracious fire that demanded more and more fuel. She’d never get enough.

“Oh, God,” he panted.

She could feel the desperation building in him.

“Oh, God.”

The urgency. His movements quickened, intensified, became more focused.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

Before she could react, he withdrew completely. He groaned, long and low, and something hot and liquid spurted onto her thigh.

Empty. She felt empty without him, and strangely incomplete. But she knew what was missing—it was that sharp rush of pleasure he’d introduced to her once.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I wanted this too much. I couldn’t bring myself to last.”

He brushed his lips against her forehead, stretching himself fully over her. She breathed in the sharp scent of their joining, and the odor, coupled with the hard length of his body atop hers, made her strangely restless. She couldn’t stop herself from wriggling her hips against his.

His touch. That’s what she needed. His touch, there in that forbidden place.

And if she took his hand, what would he do? But then she’d already been brazen enough to demand their ultimate joining, and he hadn’t turned her away.

He answered her hesitation himself in spreading his palm across her lower belly. “I know what you need.”

She slid further beneath him, her body humming in anticipation, ready to give herself over to the heady burst of ecstasy. His fingers found her center, established a rhythm, while he placed kisses along her neck. Moving with him, she turned her face toward his, and rode the wave as it built. The peak rushed at her, and she arched against him, threw back her head. From deep within, a keening cry erupted in her throat, and she gave it voice.

“Next time,” he murmured against her skin while the throbbing within ebbed to a low, satisfied hum.

“Next time what?”

“Next time, I want to be inside you when that happens. I want to feel your body ripple along me. I want …” His tone held such reverence, she hardly knew what to think.

“What do you want?” She held her breath waiting for the reply.

“I want you. I want this. Again and again.” He pulled her closer, his face buried against her shoulder. She heard the long intake of his breath. Breathing her in. Taking her into himself. “It wasn’t the same.”

She stiffened. “The same?” She couldn’t hold in the question, even though she knew very well what he was referring to.

He ran his hands down her spine, doubtless in an attempt to mollify her. “With my wife. It wasn’t the same when I was with her.”

She struggled against his grasp. “I do not wish to hear this.”

His embrace tightened. “You do not understand. It’s better with you. I cannot describe it.”

And she had no basis of comparison.

He swallowed. “I think … I know, it’s because I didn’t care for her the way I care for you.”

She couldn’t face this conversation now. She’d more than cared, and he’d hurt her. But oh, how she wanted to believe what he was telling her. She needed him to care, needed him to love. If she could believe in that, perhaps she could bring herself to believe that he’d always felt this way. And then she might give voice to the bittersweet ache inside her chest. Just beneath her heart.