Page 50 of The Scoundrel and the Debutante
Prudence grabbed his head, twining her fingers in his hair. She was panting—or was that him? He was moving by instinct now, parting her legs and slipping his tongue into the damp lips of her sex. His heart was roaring as she bucked beneath him, and the sounds of her pleasure engorged him. But Roan held on and explored her thoroughly with his mouth in a manner he had never known another woman.
In a manner he would never know another woman. Not like this. This belonged to him and Prudence.
Prudence began to move against him, pressing him to move faster. When her release came, he could bear it no more; he rose up and braced himself above her.
Prudence gave him the smile of a woman greatly satisfied and, much to his surprise, took him in hand. The sensation of her fingers wrapped so securely around his cock was unbearable; he grit his teeth to keep from losing his control. He reached between them and covered her hand with his, showed her how to move her hand on him.
She watched him as her hand moved, her expression both curious and jubilant, as if she’d discovered gold. Roan clenched his jaw, wanting the pleasure she was giving him and fearful of a monstrous release.
When he could bear it no more, he grabbed her wrist, made her stop. Prudence smiled and, innocent that she was, he could see in her sultry gaze that she understood what power she held over him. It was a man’s curse, he supposed, as he slipped his hand between her legs again, a finger sliding into her, to be so hopelessly bewitched by the feminine form. It was his own special curse to be hopelessly besotted by an English debutante.
He shifted in between her legs. “You drive me to madness,” he said softly. “Utter madness. I can’t imagine that I might have come to England and never found you.”
“Don’t forget me, Roan.”
“Never, I promise you,” he said, and entered her, pushing gently, settling inside of her. He gathered her up and rolled onto his back. Prudence gave a little gasp of delight and braced her hands against his chest. Roan lifted up and kissed her tenderly, catching her bottom lip between his teeth, as he continued the exquisite movement inside of her. He felt a bit in awe of the physical and emotional joining of a man and a woman, and marveled that he’d ever felt it so naturally, so completely.
He kept moving, and Prudence began to understand the rhythm. She began to move with him, leaning over him so that her damp hair brushed against him. He lost himself in her in that moment, utterly and completely.
Prudence collapsed onto his chest, her head on his shoulder, her hair on his face and across his eyes. “Is it always so...so passionate?” she asked breathlessly.
Roan brushed her hair from her face, then stroked her back. “It’s never been so passionate for me.”
She lifted her head; she was glowing—her smile, her eyes, all of her—shining up at him like a star fallen from heaven. Roan almost groaned aloud at his poorly poetic thoughts. Was he really thinking such things? God help him, he was.
Prudence kissed him, then rolled off him, onto her back beside him. She thread her fingers through his and they lay there, side by side, holding hands and staring up at a bare wooden ceiling.
Roan didn’t want to let her hand go. It was strange to feel his heart wrap around his thoughts, but there was something about this woman that had sunk deep into him, the roots curling around and anchoring in him, deeper and heavier than anything he’d felt. It made him feel oddly vulnerable, too, as if she had opened a door in him he never knew was there and had let herself in. He wanted to slam it shut and lock her inside forever.
Roan was struggling to reconcile a growing infatuation with the deep attachment he felt for her now that he’d taken her virginity. He couldn’t make sense of what he was feeling, of the many conflicting thoughts in his head. Of the desires that were beginning to rise up in him, desires he’d never felt in his life.
Prudence startled him by popping up and smiling down at him. “Do you think that... Mightn’t we do this all over again? It’s not yet morning, is it?”
He cupped her face, studying her. “Where did you come from? What have I done in my life to find this treasure?”
She laughed and crawled on top of him.
“No,” he said, grinning up at her. “It is not quite morning.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MORNINGDIDCOME, and much too fast for Prudence. She and Roan lay in each other’s arms, exploring each other’s bodies and making love into the morning hours. She’d slept fitfully and awoke when the sun began to spill in through the small window of their room. She groaned, wrinkling her nose. What was thatsmell?
Ah, yes. The chicken and wine.
She lifted Roan’s arm from her belly and rolled over, into his chest. He lay on his side beside her, his eyes closed, his breathing deep. She kissed his chest twice and sat up.
He had opened one eye and was watching her. “You’re insatiable,” he said, and raked his fingers through her tangled hair.
“I think perhaps I am,” she said, as the thought occurred to her.
She shifted and kissed his lips, then rolled over and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She had been initiated into a beautiful, lovely, tender private world these past two days and she was loath to leave it. But leave she must. Prudence felt remarkably clearheaded about it. She had to return to her life. Roan had to find his sister and return to his promises, and a family who needed him.
Clearheaded, perhaps, but it hurt her heart too much to feel him in her again, and she stood up, afraid that he would touch her and her resolve would crumble. It felt as if the slightest breeze would crush her, and she’d end up begging him to stay, like a poor relation. Like a ward. Like someone with no hope.
Prudence pulled a linen sheet around her. She was quite sore, really, but it was a delicious soreness, something she savored. Every movement reminded her of the magic she’d discovered in his arms.
She moved to her trunk and picked up the dark green day gown with the brown trim.
