Page 99 of The Viscount in her Bedroom
“Behind you.” She stared at his mouth, wanting to be kissed.
“Hold on.”
He rolled onto his back and she clung to him, riding on his chest as he took several strokes toward shore. They slid beneath the low overhang of willow trees, and the light became muted. Even the air seemed quieter, as if they were cut off from the world. All she could hear was the gentle lap of water, and the frantic sound of her own breathing.
She could tell when Simon could touch ground again. He stood upright, then caught her legs and pulled them up around his waist. She could feel the long, hard ridge of him riding against her in the most intimate way. For but a moment she hung in his arms, her head back, her body pressed hard to his. He buried his face in her neck and with a groan, rubbed against her with a slow roll of his hips that made her shudder with a dark, wicked delight.
There were no words, no hesitation after that. Their open mouths came together as if they couldn’t taste enough of each other. She held him with her arms and legs wrapped around him, wishing she never had to let him go. As he kissed her he walked backward, then turned and pushed her up against the uneven slope of loose rock at the water’s edge. She was not quite standing, not quite lying back. But he was able to push hard against her, while she enjoyed the wet, warm weight of him as the water lapped beneath her breasts.
With his mouth he worked his way down her neck, sucking and nipping. With his hands he tugged at her bodice, baring her shoulders. When he tried to slide the straps of her chemise down, they popped in his hands, and he was able to pull the wet garment down.
As her breasts were revealed to the light of day, and the air felt cool across them, she knew she should stop this madness—but she couldn’t. They were in their own world of water and low-hanging trees, and she wanted him. Even if she couldn’t have him for a lifetime, she wanted these precious moments.
With a soft, welcoming moan, she encouraged his exploration. He moved down her body with wet kisses, and she sighed with relief when he licked her nipple with a long, flat stroke. She held his head against her, wrapped her legs even tighter around him as if that would ease the restless ache that wouldn’t go away. She couldn’t get close enough, didn’t have what she needed.
While his mouth was busy worshipping her breasts, beneath the water his hands followed her legs around his waist and then dove beneath her hemline, sliding back up along her inner thighs that were clad only in thin silk drawers. Then he caught her knees and pushed her lower body away from him, holding her legs spread wide, her back riding against the embankment. With nothing to rub against, she felt rising frustration and desire and helplessness. She didn’t know what to do.
“Simon—” She broke off when his hand cupped between her legs, long fingers sliding down and back. She whimpered and writhed as he stroked her and found the slit of her drawers to move deeper. When his fingers slid inside her, she arched back, desperate, churning water around her. Still he kept her pinned to the embankment, his mouth at her breasts, his fingers circling and teasing, then sliding upward to make her burn with an even sharper pleasure. Every flick of his fingers against her stoked a painful desire.
“Please, please,” she whispered, her mouth against his wet hair.
He let go of her, and she groaned.
“Wait, wait,” he said.
She couldn’t see what his hands were doing beneath the water, but she wanted them on her. Just as she reached for him, he tried to pull her legs back up around his waist, but her skirt had floated and bunched between them. Swearing, he tossed them up to her waist. At last he slid back against her, his mouth coming up to kiss her, his body pushing between her thighs. And it wasn’t his fingers, which were still cupped against her bottom. Their bodies slid together intimately, naturally, bare flesh against bare flesh, and she felt him part her, ease inside her.
Against her mouth, he whispered, “I promise the hurt won’t last.”
And then he pulled hard on her hips, sheathing himself. The pain was a burn that faded as her need reawakened and surged higher, stronger, taking away her will with its demands. She held him and kissed him, letting him know with touch and taste that she wanted everything he could give her.
And then he began to move inside her, pressing her against the embankment with each deep stroke. The water splashed with their movements. They surged together and came apart as in battle, each desperate for the release only the other could give. He took her nipple into his mouth. Both hands played her body, his fingers sliding between to stroke her just above their joining.
Pleasure exploded within her, shocking her as it raced outward through her body. He continued to plunge inside her, drawing out the aftershocks until he suddenly groaned and shuddered in her arms. His movements slowed and eased, her legs floated at his waist.
When he lifted his head, she didn’t understand all his changing expressions, but regret and shame were mingled. She cupped his face in her hands and held him.
“Don’t pull away,” she whispered, holding him close for a kiss.
“I have to sometime.”
Kissing him, she clutched his hips with her thighs, desperate to remain a part of him. Because she knew once they were separate people, his regrets would begin.
But not hers. She had held him and showed him her love, and if it wasn’t enough for him, she would have to accept that. But she would continue to do everything in her power to be the only woman he wanted—that he loved. Hehadto love her—how could she be feeling this way, so tender, so full of wonder, if he didn’t love her?
ChapterTwenty-One
Simon could barely think, barely reason. He was buried in the heat and comfort of Louisa, while all around them peaceful water lapped. It was as if his body had assumed control of his mind and taken the pleasure so long denied. He was embarrassed and worried for her and wondering what she might be thinking.
But she held him so close, her thighs clutching his hips to keep him inside her. Her wet hands on his face were a comfort and forgiveness he didn’t deserve. He cupped her cheeks, swept his thumbs across her lips before he leaned in and kissed her.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“I’m not.”
Two simple words, so heartfelt, but it was like a knife being plunged deeper.
“Your first time should be special,” he continued, “where you could be treated as you deserved.”
