Page 103 of The Viscount in her Bedroom
She nodded, then cleared her throat. “Yes.”
“Spread them wider.”
Not for the first time, she wished he could see her. But there were other things he could do, and he began them in a slow climb onto the bed. On hands and knees he crawled toward her, looking so big and male. He trailed one hand out to the side until he found her foot. Then he bent and placed a kiss there.
She moaned his name, never imagining that such a simple thing could feel so wonderful.
He continued to crawl, kissing his way up the inside of her leg. Her tension mounted as she realized his aim. She could barely lie still when he tasted her inner thigh. His head accidentally brushed her cleft, and she gave a startled jump.
He chuckled and retreated, beginning again with her other foot. She was trembling by the time he reached her hip. For just a moment, he paused above her, as if giving her time to consider—or imagine. With his hands he gripped her thighs, his thumbs dangerously close to the moist depths of her.
Then he bent his head and placed a gentle kiss on curls guarding her entrance. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Though she shook under him, he didn’t stop, kissing deeper and deeper. Pleasure swirled and rose higher, faster, clutching at her chest, restraining her breathing.
Then he licked her. His hot tongue circled and explored until he sucked the tip of her into his mouth.
She came apart then, convulsing and rocking, but still he didn’t stop, only moved lower until he tasted the inside of her. He spread her thighs, tilted her hips higher, taking everything she had.
When she lay gasping and sated, he crawled farther up her body, until his hands rested on either side of her shoulders. His erect penis hung suspended above her hips, and before she could think about being shy, she reached out and took him in her hand.
He arched his head back and shuddered.
“That feels good?” she whispered.
“You have no idea.”
“Well after your demonstration, I think I do.”
She played with him, stroking him, learning the softness and the strength of his very male body. His arms gradually bent at the elbows, as if he could no longer hold himself up.
“Enough,” he said harshly.
She pulled back, uncertain, but all he did was lower his hips to hers and thrust deep inside. It didn’t hurt this time, but she felt stretched and filled, as if she were meant to accept only him.
He held himself still and leaned down to take her mouth in a deep kiss. “If you had continued to touch me, I never would have made it inside you.”
She smiled and settled back into the pillows, feeling wickedly satisfied. When he started to move, he reawakened her own passion. She gave herself the freedom to touch him, to stroke his face, to memorize the muscles of his chest and arms. When she plucked at his nipples, he trembled and stroked harder, faster.
He found his release before she had a chance to catch up to him, but she didn’t care. She held him as his shudders subsided. He was big and heavy, and she had never imagined so enjoying the weight of him.
But finally he rolled off her and settled back amid her pillows. When he pulled her against his side, she sank happily into the crook of his arm, her head resting against his chest as she looked up at him.
His expression was pensive, even sad, though he stroked her hair gently. The spell of their lovemaking faded, and the sorrow returned.
“Louisa, I need you to understand that this hasn’t changed things for me. I don’t mean to marry.”
It was no surprise, although her heart broke all over again. She put her finger to his lips. “Shh. I know. I don’t expect it of you. And I would never want to force you into marriage. I told you how much I cherished our time together, and it’s true.”
But oh God, she felt the tears rise unbidden into her eyes. As they started to spill down her cheeks, she pulled away from him, patting his chest so he wouldn’t think her too abrupt.
Simon stilled as Louisa left the bed. He heard the sound of water pouring into a washbasin. He told himself she had entered into this affair with a clear understanding of his intentions.
But as she’d left him, he’d felt a tear splash to his chest.
Did she think she was in love with him?
Didn’t she understand that he would always think of it as pity? If ever he gave in and married her, someday she would regret it. The novelty would wear off, and their marriage would die.
And then he would be the only one in love.
