Page 115 of Harpy of the Ton
His late wife might have uttered the words when called upon, but she’d never spoken them from the heart. And the doxies who’d serviced him over the years only loved the coin he gave.
A man knew when a woman’s pleasure was genuine, when her body squeezed and rippled against his cock until it burst with pleasure. No woman could feign such pleasure, no matter how much she might moan and sob his name.
And no woman had given, or taken, such pleasure from a coupling as the woman in his arms now—the woman who had acted out of pure instinct, pure need.
The woman whose maidenhead he’d just taken.
The naked woman he now lay beside, fully dressed, save for his unbuttoned breeches from which his partially erect cock now jutted.
What have I done?
He’d treated her like a whore—stripping her, then fucking her on the floor.
And she had loved every bit of it.
She lay beside him now, stretched languorously on the blanket—a woman well pleasured, a smile of repletion on her lips.
He traced a line along her body, silhouetted against the glow from the fire—her shapely legs, the flare of her hips—until he reached her breasts, where he lingered. She arched her back, pushing her breast into his hand, and he flicked her nipple with his thumb.
“Mmm—that’s lovely.” She rolled onto her side and opened her eyes.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I shouldn’t have taken you like this—on the floor.”
She frowned. “Did you not enjoy it? W-was I not good enough?”
“Heavens, love!” he said. “We came off together—it’s better that way.”
“I never could have imagined it would be so wonderful,” she said. “Is it always like that?”
“Only with you.”
“Will it be as wonderful again?”
He let out a sigh.Wouldhe ever make love to her again?
“Itwillbe wonderful,” she said. “If it’s with you, then anything will be wonderful.”
She gave a contented sigh, and within moments, she’d fallen asleep, naked and relaxed against him. What greater expression of trust could she give him?
Did it matter, the manner of their meeting? No—what mattered was now. The woman he loved—and who loved him—was in his arms. Gone was the bitter, miserable creature, the spoiled princess trapped by an ogre. She had been replaced by Bella—his wife.
And he would spend the rest of his life treating her as she deserved to be treated.
Because he loved her.
*
When Bella woke,the room was already light. A sunbeam stretched across the room. She shifted on the sofa and raised her hand, disturbing the dust motes that swirled in the sunlight.
“Lawrence…” she whispered, a smile on her lips.
Had last night been a dream?
She sat up and winced at the soreness between her legs. The memory returned—the delicious fullness deep inside her body when he’d pounded into her, and the shattering explosion of pleasure.
Heat flooded her cheeks as her gaze fell on the floor beside the fire.
“You’re awake.”
