Page 82 of To Bed the Bride
He should have taken her to his room, but then the threat of scandal would be even greater should the lone maid see them enter or leave. He couldn’t imagine a less romantic bower than his drawing room, but at the moment it simply didn’t matter. All he cared about was Eleanor.
Bruce yawned, bored by their antics.
Logan bent and scooped Eleanor up into his arms, struck by how perfect she felt there. Gently, he lowered her to the sofa, grateful that it was long and wide enough for their lovemaking.
He knelt there for a moment, confounded by his own wonder. Her skin was alabaster, the perfection of her body only hinted at beneath the style of her dresses.
She was exquisite from her full, rose-tipped breasts to her perfectly curved hips and down the long expanse of her legs. He reached out one trembling hand and placed it on her abdomen, following up that gesture with a kiss. Eleanor put her hand on the back of his neck before trailing her fingers down his shoulder.
Rising up, she kissed him. In that moment his conscience was silenced. He could no more dress and leave this room than he could command night into day. A sense of rightness flowed through him, a feeling that he was destined to be here on this day with this woman.
He wasn’t going to waste any more time on second-guessing or questioning.
She thought she’d feel vulnerable being naked but the opposite was true. A sense of power rushed through her, as if in shedding her clothing she also dispensed with the person she’d become in the past few years. The woman she was now, fearless Eleanor, was the woman she’d always wanted to be.
Never once had she considered that she might want to touch a man everywhere, that she might need to do so with an urge she’d never before felt.
In her imaginings about her wedding night, about those nights her husband would demand his rights, she believed that allowing him into her bed would be an act of duty.
This was different. There was no duty in this loving, only excitement, and the thrill of being human and alive. She felt as if her body was burning up, her breasts full, her nipples taut and acutely sensitive.
She’d never imagined that she would feel a surge of joy, or gratitude that flowed through her like heated wine. She was grateful for being a woman, for Logan, for this perfect afternoon, for the solitude and seclusion, and especially for the freedom to give herself to this man.
His hands stroked her everywhere, learning her, memorizing her for when she was no longer with him. He knew, with a precognition alien to him, that he would never be able to forget this blissful afternoon.
His lips closed over one nipple, pulling gently. When she moaned, the sound was tied to something within him. While he explored her she did the same with him, her hands finding places he’d never known were sensitive to touch: his buttocks, the small of his back, his throat. She kissed her way across his body in a way that surprised him given her innocence.
Eleanor never thought that when she lost her virginity, it would be on an overstuffed sofa, or that she would be carried away by passion. She felt desperate and hungry for him, something she hadn’t expected. She wanted to be kissed all over and he did that, making her marvel at all the sensations her body could produce. Kissing her ear made her shiver, but when Logan touched her breasts with his fingers or mouth, heat raced through her body. His hand skimming down her leg sent icicles down her back. His fingers trailing a path behind her knee made her smile. Each touch caused a bell to ring in her mind, a rounded sound that made note of that particular feeling to recall it in the future.
Whatever he wanted she would give to him. She was both his acolyte and his accomplice.
Let this feeling last; end this waiting now.Two needs fought each other.
When he rose over her, Logan didn’t ask if she was sure that this was what she wanted. They were eons past that point. He was driven by an incalculable need and nearly desperate desire.
He entered her slowly, grateful that she welcomed him by lifting her hips, cradling him between her legs with a gentle rocking movement. Her hands gripped his shoulders; her fingernails marked him as hers.
Time slowed before racing. His blood pounded in his ears. Every muscle, every nerve was focused on completion, on the sounds Eleanor was making deep in her throat, on her hardened nipples grazing his chest.
He had never needed anything more than this joining, this coming together. Nothing would ever mean as much or destroy him as completely.
Her body bowed beneath his, her hips rising to demand more of him. A lone keening cry left her lips as his vision grayed. Seconds later he collapsed next to her and only then did his conscience wake from its imposed slumber.
Chapter Thirty-One
Eleanor kept her eyes shut a long time, feeling Logan beside her. They were skin to skin from head to toe. His hand rested on her waist; his leg was between hers.
She wanted to cry again, but she didn’t understand the tears. She didn’t regret what she’d done. How could she? She’d always remember these moments with Logan.
If she hadn’t already decided to end her engagement, this act might have been one of disloyalty and betrayal. Instead, it was an affirmation of the freedom she’d decreed for herself.
Perhaps all the cascading emotions were responsible for her sudden wish to weep. Love for him overwhelmed her. She was suffused with sadness because she had to leave soon. Then there was the joy because of the perfection of their coming together.
She’d expected pain, but there had been none, only an uncomfortable feeling of fullness that had eased within moments.
This, then, was passion. You lost any sense of yourself. Your body heated. Your soul incinerated. If anything came between you and the object of your desire you would simply step over it or around it or kick it out of the way. Mere mortals didn’t have a chance against such an overwhelming set of sensations.
She opened her eyes, turning her head slightly to find that he was watching her.
