Page 58 of Dalliances & Devotion (The Truitts 2)

“All right.” David moved his hands to her shoulders, guiding her to her knees. “Let’s see where this takes us.”

* * *

If he wasn’t careful, he was going to pass out. David worked not to pant at the sight of Amalia, on her knees, between his legs, licking her raspberry red, perfect lips in anticipation. Now this was worth all those years of waiting—not waiting—all those years of not settling, of being unwilling to engage with anyone but the person he wanted. The person he needed.

And, oy, did he need her. And not just for that night, not just for the job. Maybe, when he got his promotion, he’d convince Amalia they needed a more regular arrangement for the sake of both of their sanities.

He’d find some plan. Because there was no way he’d be satisfied with just a few stolen moments. Which is why he really shouldn’t be doing this, but no man had that kind of will.

David clenched his hands on the rocks, steadying himself. But they would talk. Eventually. He couldn’t broach that with Amalia, not with someone who wanted to do her harm on the loose and her charity at stake and her deadline and her nephew’s bris. Now was not the time to worry her. Once he cleared the path, made it easy to say yes...for the present, whatever this was would suffice.

His breath hitched. Were they really doing this? David’s limbs vibrated with both desire and anticipation. Lord, give him the strength to do it correctly.

Working to keep his fingers steady, David unhooked his belt and trousers. He slid all his garments down. “Are you still sure you want to—”

Amalia smirked, her chin resting on his thigh. “I’m very sure. There’s nothing I want more.”

“Then by all means.” He stretched and leaned back against the cave wall and—his eyes near rolled back in his head. Yes, he’d imagined it millions of times, but those beautiful lips wrapped around him and her tongue swirling from the base to the tip. No man could’ve ever experienced such pleasure. He threaded his fingers through her soft brown tresses. She moaned against him as he guided her pace. The best sound ever. So good—so, so, good. Too good.

“Amalia, god, Amalia, I’m not going to last.” He tugged on her hair so she’d release him. She reached behind her so she could slide over the damned bag of mysteries. Within minutes, out came a small tin decorated with pressed flowers and painted cameos. She unfurled the rubber device in a languid fashion that didn’t at all make him near burst.

“Can I put it on you now? Please?” she asked.

He managed to nod though his hands now shook, and she glided it down his shaft, right between her beautiful bare breasts, an image so erotic and sensual it would’ve made Methuselah lust.

She gazed up at him again, still on her knees on the cave floor. “Please, David.”

“Please what?” Not that he didn’t know, but he needed to hear her say it again, to confirm she still wanted him, and that it wasn’t all a dream, that this was really happening.

“Fill me,” she whispered.

He didn’t need any more encouragement and whatever nervousness he had about actually doing this vanished. In moments, he was on the ground with her, hunger overtaking him. A proper—or more experienced—man would’ve been a bit gentler, but she’d said “hard,” and besides, he was hardly proper: peddler turned solider turned spy and all. “This is okay, isn’t it? I’m doing it right?”

“Yes, David, yes.” Amalia moaned again, this time just his name, the most beautiful sound created, her hips bucking against him. God, he had to taste her again. In a frenzy, he slid out and flipped her on her back, one hand cupping her perfect, full breast, the other opening her so he could make her scream and shudder, just for him. Like she was intended to do.

Too soon, her back arched and she shrieked his name once more, her legs gripping his back. She was fierce. And perfect as she clung to him, her nails digging into his forearms.

“When you’re ready,” he whispered in her ear. “Let me...”

“Please. I’m...please.” She tugged him harder.

He leaned back so he could gaze at her again. So beautiful, hair flying everywhere, glistening with lust for him. She was glorious, clothed or un. Every word, every gesture, every expression, infuriating and irritating and damned funny, everything about her made his heart sing. He drew in a deep breath, willing himself to memorize her, the moment, everything.

“Please,” she cried again. “I need you, David.”

How could he refuse that? With as much control as possible, he reached down so he could guide her up, into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he slid inside her, and heaven—better than he ever could’ve imagined. Rocking up so he could get leverage, he clutched her delicious bottom so he could move in and out while he squeezed.

“Harder,” Amalia cried.

A woman after his own heart. He nipped her nipple so she’d scream his name once more. He’d never tire of the sound.

After that all semblance of authority over the fire between them fled. He sped higher and hotter as she molded her movements to his. With the last of his wits, he managed to reach his hand between them so he could press the sensitive nub again.

Amalia clenched around him, and her beautiful shudders took him over the edge, into oblivion. And they were there, in near unison. Right or wrong, sense or nonsense.

At least in the moment.

Easing out of her, he cradled her limp body to his chest. She cuddled into him, burrowing into his neck.

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