Page 98 of Surrender Your Grace
“Andrew. I can’t wait!”
“Don’t,” he growled. “Come and take me with you.”
She cried out as bliss crashed over her like a wave. He followed, shuddering in her arms and groaning into her neck as he spilled deep inside her.
They lay tangled, skin to skin, breath mingling, until their pulses slowed.
Then he rolled, bringing her atop him. Her flushed cheek rested against his chest.
“Blood and thunder,” he muttered into her hair. “With you, I have no control. We’ll have to practice more—build endurance.”
“For which part?” she murmured, pulling for the ending over the beginning. Though one led to the other and the bliss that followed.
“All of it,” he declared, with a lingering kiss on her lips.
Sitting up halfway, jostling though not releasing her, he reached for the covers at the foot of the bed. A messy curl fell across her face. She reached up to smooth her tangled hair.
“I must look a fright.”
With both of them covered, he caught her hands. “Don’t,” he ordered softly. “I like the well-chastened, well-loved look.”
When he lay back, arms around her, eyes closed, she didn’t follow him into sleep. Not yet.
“I’m all for more practice,” she said slyly. “But you fatigue so easily. The price of marrying a man ten years my senior, I suppose.”
His hands slid to her bottom, giving a warning squeeze before pulling her up his body. “Are you calling me old? I’m not yet thirty?”
In a teasing mood, Cici shrugged. “What am I to think? A little exertion and you’re practically snoring.”
“Cheeky minx,” he growled, giving her bottom a swat.
She shrieked, more startled than anything. It turned into a moan when he parted her thighs and slid into her once again.
“Let’s see how energetic you are after doing all the work. Ride me.”
She rose, hands braced on his chest, hair spilling around her shoulders. Her body moved with abandon, her breasts swaying, his mouth trailing heat across every inch of skin. He let her lead, but not for long. Gripping her waist, he drove into her with a young, virile man’s vigor.
Later, when they collapsed onto the pillows, she flung an arm over her eyes. “I surrender,” she gasped.
He chuckled. “Not bad for an old man, eh?”
“I’d say exceptional. But I was a virgin bride. My standards might be low.”
“You question my performance after two climaxes?” he challenged with mock outrage.
She giggled under her arm. It turned to shrieks of laughter when he tickled her ribs.
“Stop! I yield!” she cried. “You are young and virile, the Casanova of London, the Don Juan of our time!”
He didn’t let up.
“Please, Andrew,” she gasped. “I’ll wet the bed.”
That stopped him.
Nestled against his chest, tracing lazy circles across his stomach, she whispered, “You weren’t angry.”
“No,” he said softly. “I wanted to steal your thoughts from her. You carried enough today.”
