Page 54 of Lord Garson's Bride
He still looked like he witnessed a miracle. The power she pretended to possess became real power. She might be inexperienced, but with Hugh spellbound in her presence, she was his equal.
“No, let me,” he said gruffly. “I’ve dreamed of your hair.”
He’d dreamed of her? The discovery pierced like a knife. That insistent demand between her legs heightened, made her feel hollow and hungry. Only Hugh could fill her emptiness. Only Hugh could feed her craving.
He undid her hair, taking his time to untangle each lock until the red mane tumbled around her shoulders. The silky drift of hair across her nipples added a new level of sensation. As he took out each pin, he murmured praise. A nonsense litany. Lovely. Beautiful. Pretty. Soft. Shining.
The way he absorbed every detail made her feel precious. She felt like he was the first person who truly saw her. His unwavering concentration on her was extraordinarily powerful. Absurd tears pricked at her eyes. His passion was a mighty force indeed, but this quiet tenderness threatened to shatter her.
When he turned his attention to her breasts, a moan broke from her lips. He stroked and squeezed her until she quivered. “Please…”
A smile hovered about his lips as he cupped her breasts. Through the rising fever, she saw what he was doing. “You’re teasing me, you devil.”
“And myself.” He raised eyes so dark, they were almost black. The desire she saw in his face made her heart somersault. Desire that had built over days of dancing closer, then away, then closer once more.
The dance ended now. Her heart thumped so hard, each beat made her shake. She set her hands on his shoulders and leaned forward. “Kiss me there.”
Another flare of heat in his eyes before he bent his ruffled dark head to take one nipple between his lips. She’d reached such a pitch of arousal that the kiss felt like a whiplash. Heat flashed through her, and a broken cry escaped. She jerked, when heflicked his tongue against the exquisitely sensitive tip, then drew hard.
Feverishly his hands traveled across her back, then shaped her bottom. Her drawers sagged and through the storm of pleasure, she realized he’d untied them. The next time he touched her, he stroked bare skin.
Panting, he raised his head from her breast. Adamant hands curved under her bottom and hitched her off her feet and up, until her mound crushed against him. She shuddered as she met his hot flesh through the fine wool of his trousers.
Jane cried out again, her secret places clenching on absence instead of him. This yearning became torture. He groaned and bumped forward, building her arousal. She grabbed his shoulders and wrapped her legs around him, so the pressure shifted to between her thighs. As her sex jammed into him, a wave of searing pleasure tightened every nerve.
“Please, Hugh…” she begged incoherently.
“Soon,” he groaned and still carrying her, he walked toward the bed. It was only a few feet, but with her curled around him, each step created exquisite torment. By the time he swept back the covers and laid her on the sheets, she was gasping and quaking. He set her down as if she was likely to break with the slightest bump.
Hugh quickly slid her stockings and shoes off, then stepped back to rip off his trousers. When Jane saw him naked, the breath crammed in her throat. He was splendid. Massive and powerful, like some mighty force of nature. She remembered how on their wedding night, she’d thought he looked like Zeus. She hadn’t been far wrong.
The moisture dried from her mouth and stopped her speaking. Or perhaps his male beauty struck her speechless. She took a couple of tries before she managed a few words. “Hugh, we’ve waited long enough.”
He set one knee on the bed and straddled her. The last time she’d been under him, she’d panicked. This time, she stared up into eyes the color of strong coffee and held his arms to keep him exactly where he was.
To her surprise, she was smiling. “Don’t wait anymore.”
Chapter Nineteen
Through the blood thundering in his temples, Garson heard Jane invite him to take her. His heart gave a great cymbal crash of triumph. At last, she would be his.
Kissing her, he caught her legs and spread them to cradle his hips. Paradise was so close.
How lovely she was as she lay beneath him, her beautiful hair arrayed like a mantle and picking up a thousand shades from the flickering candlelight, ruby to palest gold. Her scent was more intoxicating than the richest brandy, and he felt as drunk as he had last night. He ran one hand down her body, following the sinuous line of flank and waist and hip, and finally touched her there, where he wanted so badly to be.
When he explored the mysterious, satiny folds, she jerked in response. He nipped at her lower lip and stroked the small pearl of flesh, until she was shuddering and whimpering.
He slid a finger into her, enthralled by the way her body tightened in welcome. Then two fingers, delicately stretching her. He didn’t want to hurt her when they joined together, but he feared given his size, that pain was inevitable.
She raised her knees and angled upward in silent invitation. God help him, he couldn’t wait any longer. In silent apology for the discomfort to come, he kissed her again.
His hips tautened, and he pushed. Slippery heat. The sweet resistance of untried muscles. The sting of fingernails digging into the skin of his back.
He rose on his elbows to watch Jane’s face. She was flushed, and her lips were red after those fierce kisses. Her features were tight with strain.
“Are you all right?” he asked, not sure what he’d do if she wasn’t. Taking this slowly already threatened to snap him in two.
“Hugh, I want you.” She arched up to place a clumsy kiss on his lips. “Do what you must.”
