Page 123 of To Catch a Viscount

And he did.

He lowered his head between her breasts and licked a path, placing a kiss on each mark left by his tongue. Then he returned to suckling each swollen pink tip cresting the gentle swells, laving, then sucking. Andrew alternated back and forth until Marcia was keening little incoherent sounds of her desire, blended with his name, and that only fueled his ardor.

He felt her body quiver and knew what she craved, felt in the way her hips had begun to lift up that she was close and that she urged him on.

Andrew moved within her once more, drawing out the same path he’d traveled within her and then rocking forward again, accustoming her to the size and feel of him.

“Andrew,” she pleaded, and there was a question coated in desperation.

He thrust deep, and she cried out, her body convulsing, and with a soothing whisper, he cradled her in his arms.

“I’m so sorry, love,” he whispered harshly against her ear. “So damned sorry.”

Marcia remained with her eyes squeezed tight, her flushed face scrunched up, and he placed gentle kisses upon her eyelids and then continued trailing kisses along the curve of her cheek.

Her lashes fluttered open. “It wasn’t so very bad,” she said thickly, and it occurred to him that she was attempting to reassure him.

And it was so patently Marcia.

Andrew claimed her mouth in a gentle kiss, and as she sighed, she parted her lips, letting him inside once more to taste of her.

“It has only begun, Marcia.” He whispered that promise, and she lifted her lashes.

“It… has?”

He grinned. “Oh, yes.” And he resumed his efforts, tasting of her breasts and teasing her with his fingers even as he remained buried deep inside her, even as it took every bit of restraint he possessed to keep from moving. When her hips began to lift reflexively, signaling that it was safe to continue, he did. He drew back and then moved slowly forward, repeating that slow, gentle rhythm until Marcia gripped him, her nails no doubt leaving crescent marks upon his back.

“Please,” she begged.

He was unable to deny her anything in that moment.

Just as he’d always been unable to deny her anything.

Andrew thrust and retreated. Thrust and retreated. Over and over.

She met every downward lunge by lifting her hips to meet his.

Sweat beaded his brow as his climax hovered.

“Come for me,” he begged, needing her to go first so that he could join her.

Biting her lower lip, Marcia nodded and then stiffened.

Her desire-filled eyes widened with shock, and then screaming to the rafters one word, his name, she came. “Andrew!”

She dragged her fingernails up and down his back, marking him, but he didn’t feel it. He was capable only of feeling each sensation as she found her release and surrendered herself so fully and completely to it.

Then she sagged, a final gasp slipping from her lips.

With the echoes of her throaty cries thundering in his ears, Andrew gripped her hips and pumped himself inside her. Gritting his teeth and biting out curses he could not contain, he froze, and with a low groan, he lowered his head to her shoulder and spent himself inside her, coming hard and long. “Marcia,” he groaned.

All the while, she held on to him.

He collapsed, catching himself on his elbows to keep from crushing her.

His heartbeat hammered, clamoring hard in his chest. His ears buzzed from the force of a release the likes of which he’d never experienced.

Never. Never, with all the women he’d bedded, had he felt this sense of completion, and it was just sex. He’d had sex so many times before her. Why did it feel different this time? Why with this woman?

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