Page 64 of The English Duke
He couldn’t think, could only feel, desire overcoming any memory of pain. Ecstasy surged through him, numbing him to outside noises or even his own being. The creature of his imagination moaned above him. He lifted her until her heated flesh slid over his erection, teasing him with its wetness. He hesitated there, at her opening, then guided her into place. She was tight yet welcoming, clenching around him as he entered.
Her moan of delight changed slightly.
Damn him, he’d imagined a virgin.
She was a sweet innocent who needed to be soothed, treated with tenderness. In that next instant the cogent thought abruptly vanished, leaving him overwhelmed by pleasure.
Why had he imagined a virgin? A question lasting until she rose up over him. His hands on her waist urged her down again.
He opened his eyes to see her back arched, her head back. Her breasts, proud and large, were almost begging for his hands. He cupped each, gently pinching the nipples.
She moaned again and this time the sound was too real, almost piercing the fog surrounding him.
His hands left her breasts only for a moment to stroke from her waist, down her thighs, and back up to her breasts. He wanted to embed the touch of her on his skin for those nights when he couldn’t summon her, when distorted images and frightening sounds took her place.
She rose and fell, rose and fell again, the rhythm one she began. She was making little sounds that accompanied her movements, soft breathy gasps telling him she no longer felt discomfort.
His vision grayed. The moment extended. Was this what dying was like, when you were conscious of every pore, every inch of skin, every beat of your heart even as you became separated from yourself? He felt, in that instant, as if he was being thrown out into the cosmos, only one more flickering star, and then gradually returned to his body, to his bed, and to the consciousness that his waking dream was weeping.
Surely he wouldn’t have imagined such a thing? Was it the elixir? Or Providence, punishing him for having such an erotic dream?
She was vanishing, sliding from the bed, departing as he’d half expected from the beginning. The fog was returning, falling over him.
He was alone, the stark silence in the room expected yet troubling. The opiates had created a lover for him, one who’d given him immense pleasure, but she wasn’t destined for permanence. She was only a temporary respite from his loneliness, a ghost created in his mind.
He heard the door close, as he allowed himself to fall, to spin downward into a drugged sleep.
“I’ll walk you back to your room,” Reese said.
Josephine glanced back at the bed where he lounged. “You haven’t played the gentleman all night, why bother now?”
“A reward, perhaps?” he said, his voice amused. “A token of my appreciation for hours well spent? I trust you felt the same.”
“You’re a skilled lover, Reese, is that what you want to hear? That I nearly screamed?”
“As I recall, you did,” he said, chuckling. “A good thing Sedgebrook’s walls are thick, else you would have terrified the staff. Everyone would have run for the exits, thinking some type of banshee creature was loose.”
She bent, retrieved a pillow from the floor, and tossed it at him.
“You are truly a despicable creature,” she said, wishing she didn’t feel so wonderful.
She was finding it difficult to dislike the man when her body was still thrumming with satisfaction.
“Am I?”
He propped himself up on one elbow and watched her as she looked for her clothing. He’d insisted on leaving the light on and she found it a heady experience being so openly admired.
Dawn would come shortly and the industrious Sedgebrook servants would be up and about. She grabbed her nightgown and wrapper and put them on, intent on returning to her room before encountering anyone. She’d come dressed for seduction, hadn’t she? Just not in Reese’s bed.
There was still time for her original plan. Gran didn’t look as if she was ready to leave for home. There was always tonight.
“You’re plotting something,” he said. “I can see it in your eyes.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, standing.
“I’d put some cream on that spot on your chin.”
One hand flew up, her fingers smoothing over her face.
