this, she would not be the same person. All she had been taught in life to value would be gone. Another of her risky adventures. The last one.
She had never felt so alive or so scared.
Her kiss, so tender on his cheek, cut through Garrick’s lust. It hinted at affection. That she desired him was obvious. Her arousal was as strong as his, he could smell it, taste it on her skin, feel it in her physical responses. But there was unselfishness in her hesitant gentleness. The women he had known demanded satiation, as he had. It had always been about taking pleasure.
Ellie seemed to want to give. The intensity of tenderness she evoked in him threatened his defences, threatened his control. Pleasure. He had nothing else to give.
‘Ellie, sweetheart,’ he whispered. ‘Turn around.’
She twisted in his arms, maintaining the contact of her lips with his face. Her breasts, nipples hard with desire, brushed against his arm, his ribs. Piercing longing ripped at his resolve. He bent his head and ravaged her mouth, plunged his tongue into the warm heat. He could taste her sweetness and smell her clean fresh fragrance, the hint of vanilla. She leaned against him, winding her arms around his neck, her fingers tracing a path through his hair.
He picked her up and laid her on the bed and her half-closed eyes watched him shyly. Her peeping gaze as he stripped off his shirt was more erotic than any bold stare. He wanted her so much his body trembled deep inside, as if every bone, muscle and sinew needed her for survival. He stopped undressing to kiss her, claimed her mouth, while her hands wandered his back in a light exploration that drove him wild with a need to make her forget her other man. Hands shaking, he rose and pulled off his boots and pantaloons. Her eyes widened as she took in his naked body. She looked away quickly, blushing. So she would play the maid to the end. God, how it inflamed him.
Golden hair spilling in abandon on to her shoulders and breasts, a small silver cross on a blue ribbon at her neck. He bent over her, kissing her cheek as chastely as a boy and she smiled. His chest ached sweetly as she draped her arms across his shoulders, encouraging him closer, but he held himself away, intent on his own exploration. His hands slid across her ribs, then around her waist, measuring the span. So fine, so tiny. He traced her navel with a fingertip, shaped the curve of her belly with his palm, until his hand reached her most private place. He combed through the crisp fair curls. She shivered and his shaft pulsed in response.
Garrick eased his hand between her elegant thighs, nudging them apart. A faint murmur of protest escaped her lips. The way she played the innocent was so unbelievably erotic. A delightfully sensual act designed to trap him in her web. His need surged rampant and urgent.
He stroked the velvet softness of her inner thighs, caressed her cleft and found it slippery with her moisture. For him. It felt like a gift from the gods. A treasure beyond compare. Her eyes drifted open on a moan. He smiled down into her passion-filled face, seeking the tiny nub of flesh, desiring her pleasure above all else. He circled his thumb. Her expression softened and her eyes glazed over, then she arched her back and cried out deep and guttural in her throat.
No virtuous games now, just her body responding to his touch in mindless ecstasy.
Her hands stroked his chest, his arms, his back. His skin tingled and his blood flared wherever her hands caressed. Sweet heavens, he needed to be inside her. He lowered his head and kissed her, tasting, plundering her soft welcoming mouth, sucking at her lips, drawing her tongue into his mouth as he kneed her legs wider. Slowly, he dipped the tip of his finger inside her wet, hot passage and found her ready. Hot blood roared through his veins.
Cradled by her body, her inner thighs a soft support for his hips, he lowered his mouth to her wonderful breasts. Tightly furled, her nipple rubbed against his lips as he kissed and licked the soft, tender flesh. Then he suckled. She moaned. His groin tightened. He lifted her hips, reached down and guided his rigid shaft to her entrance.
She stilled beneath him, her eyes wide in wonder and the pretence of fear. It drove him to the edge of madness and beyond. He eased into her warm wet flesh, rejoicing in her heat tight around him. So damned small. Almost too small. Deliciously resistant. He thought he would die of pleasure. He moved slowly. He knew how to prolong his partner’s enjoyment, but now she struggled, deliberately exciting him beyond control, fuelling his masculine need for ascendancy.
He thrust his tongue into her mouth, gathered up her wrists and held them above her head, her breasts lifting. He kissed and sucked each nipple while she squirmed beneath him. So damned sexy. He thrust his hips forwards and she cried out in genuine pain.
He froze. ‘Bloody hell.’ He stared down at her. ‘Ellie?’ She shook her head, her face shocked. His arms and body shuddered with the effort of holding still.
‘Sweet Lord. Tell me this is not your first time.’ His body screamed a furious protest. His mind refused to grapple with the truth.
She nodded and swallowed, obviously scared to death. He groaned. What was done was done. He stayed still inside her, gasping for air, summoning control. If he left her now, hurting and afraid, she might never recover. He had to bring her more than pain, but she was rigid beneath him. No longer aroused, just afraid and tight and tense. She wasn’t pretending. He’d deflowered an innocent.
Hell and damnation. The realisation cut through him like terrible blades. He’d known. Deep down, he’d known. God damn it. The urge to strike out balled his fists.
He fought his rage, trembled with its force, beat it down until he could finally speak. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘Trust me. I will try not to hurt you more. Sweetheart, kiss me.’
Her lovely mouth trembled. Tears welled in her eyes. Damn, they were joined together and he needed to gain her trust. He released her hands and, holding his torso completely still on his forearms, he lowered his mouth to hers. He placed tiny little kisses on each lip, barely more than a whisper. He could feel her warm breath on his throat, little gasps of terror.
His fault. He traced a path from her lips to her chin, across her throat. He nuzzled her neck, feeling her silky hair against his face, inhaling its light floral perfume. He ran his tongue around the edge of her ear and then softly probed the orifice. She shivered. She moved under him, he felt her arms encircle him. Felt her relax.
Sweat traced a cold path down the centre of his back as every muscle strained to hold his pounding need in check. He withdrew slowly, just a little, then slid forwards.
She lifted her hips, encouraging him now, welcoming him into her depths. Her courage humbled him. She was as brave as a warrior, and she was his.
‘Ellie,’ he groaned. ‘Hold still, for God’s sake.’
He heard her laugh low in her throat. ‘I’m all right,’ she whispered. She brought her legs around his waist. Unable to hold back, he thrust into her deeply, fiercely, and felt her rise to meet his every stroke.
She dug her fingers into his back. He welcomed the sting of pain and remembered to breathe.
Her heat engulfed him, making him forget all thoughts of restraint. He thrust faster, his body taking command. The storm built and swirled and raged and erupted in tearing, streaking light. Her back arched and she moaned sweetly and shuddered as she reached for heaven and found it. The edge of his abyss loomed close, hot and dark and welcoming. He withdrew from her body,
