Page 107 of Thief of the Ton
“Say it again.”
“Yes!” she cried. “Sweet Lord, Peregrine—please! I want you inside me!”
He thrust forward and speared her with a swift, sharp movement, slamming his hips against hers to claim her fully. She let out a cry at the sharp spike of pain, and he grew still, his breath coming in sharp puffs against her cheek.
“Be still, my love,” he said. She opened her eyes to see him looking at her, tears glistening. “It pains me to hurt you, but it will only hurt the first time, I swear. Is it very painful?”
She lifted her head and placed a kiss on his lips. “Only a little,” she said, “but I trust you.”
“Your trust is the greatest gift you can give me.”
She clung to him, trembling, until the pain lessened as her body began to stretch around him. Then he placed another kiss on her lips and began to withdraw, slowly. A low growl of ecstasy escaped her lips, and he quickened the pace, thrusting in and out. The pain faded, to be replaced by pleasure—faint at first, but intensifying with each delicious thrust, swelling, pulsating, until the whole world faded and she became aware of nothing but the pure sensation of him deep inside her, as if the two of them had formed a single creature, a primal beast formed of a pure, instinctive need.
The need to mate.
His breath was coming in deep, hoarse pants, now—raw and primal.
Then he let out a roar and thrust forward. A burst of heat ignited deep inside her, as if she were engulfed by a flame, and her body exploded into shards.
“Peregrine—oh, Peregrine!”
She threw back her head and cried his name. Wave after wave of intense, exquisite pleasure ripped through her body, and she rode the waves, soaring toward the heavens. She reached the crest, then plunged toward the world below, not caring whether she fell to her death.
Then a strong pair of arms caught her, enveloping her in soft, gentle warmth—a warmth that promised to protect her from harm. Together, they floated through the air, then drifted back toward the ground, where they settled in each other’s arms and lay together, their hearts beating in unison.
When she opened her eyes, she saw him staring down at her.
“Th-that was…” She drew in a deep breath, unable to articulate the sensations that had torn her to pieces, then rebuilt her. “It was like…” She shook her head. “I-I cannot describe it.”
His eyes crinkled with a smile, and a tear spilled onto his cheek. “Like dying and being reborn,” he said.
“Is it always like that?” she asked.
“Not always.”
She swallowed the flare of jealousy at the notion that he’d experienced pleasure with others. But what man of Society had not taken a mistress, or visited a bawdy house, at some point in his life? They were generally expected to indulge.
“I never felt such pleasure before today,” he said. “Perhaps that’s because I have never been in love—until now.”
Cold air brushed across her thighs, and she grew aware of their surroundings. She was on her back, her legs spread like a harlot, on the floor, with her lover inside her. She tried to move, but he held her firm.
“Be still, my love,” he whispered. “We shan’t be disturbed—and I wish to hold you for a while longer.”
He rolled onto his side, taking her with him, and she nestled into his embrace, her head on his chest, listening to the slow, languorous rhythm of his heart.
“I shall miss you every day,” she said.
“I’m sure you’ll have much to occupy yourself with in the country,” he said. “I envy you the freedom.”
“What will you occupy yourself with in London?” she asked.
“My continued search for the Phoenix. I believe the net is closing in on him—it’s only a matter of time before he’s caught.”
“Can’t your colleague pursue him instead?”
“No,” he replied, and she shivered at the steel in his voice. “The Phoenix ismyquarry, and though he deserves to be brought to justice, I cannot leave the matter to Houseman.”
“Why not?”
