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Forever Yours
by
Charlotte Featherstone
MILLS & BOON
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Chapter One
Her body was weeping for his touch.
He knew it, understood it, the need growing inside her. She sensed his desire as well; heard it in the way his breath caught then rasped against her cheek in hurried, uneven caresses.
Hands, sliding beneath the cool bedcovers, searched until they found each other. Fingers laced, his long ones slipping between her delicate ones, gripping, clutching, holding…
Look up at me.
He didn’t. Instead he climbed atop her, straddling her thighs with his hard ones as he slid his palms beneath the hem of her nightrail, the pads of his thumbs brushing her thighs in feathery strokes, a silent command to open to him.
Yes, touch me…stroke every inch of me with those beautiful hands.
God, how she adored his hands—all hot, hard palms and long elegant fingers. Fingers with just the right amount of smooth skin and calloused edges. How those hands could bring such pleasure, such exquisite delight.
Slowly, teasingly, his expert fingers trailed up and over her inner thigh. Holding her breath, Elizabeth waited to feel him part her sex with one long, tapered finger, before sinking inside her wet and willing body. A body that had been ready—waiting—for him all night.
As the passion built and the ache in her womb intensified, her mind drifted, fantasizing of all the things she wanted him to do to her. Mentally, she saw his hand roaming every inch of her body then filling her with two fingers, then three…then his tongue.
She moaned, allowing her lashes to flutter closed. How long it had been since he’d made love to her with his mouth. She wanted to put her hands on his shoulders and guide him down her body. To hold his mouth against her and demand that he take his time licking and stroking, leaving no inch of her undiscovered.
Knowing what she needed, he stroked her with the tip of his finger, petting her until she could stand the wait no longer, until she had fisted the sheet between her fingers and allowed the image of his dark head between her legs to take over. She could come like this, with her fantasy and his light, teasing touches. Yet she did not want to have an orgasm by simply remembering what she had dreamt he did to her. She wanted the real thing. His mouth against her, the feel of his lips, the scrape of his stubble, the hot stabs of his tongue and breath against her as she arched and shook.
She was weary of fantasizing. Tired of dreaming of sex acts she craved, yet were never performed.
Kiss me, she pleaded in her mind, terrified to give voice to her yearnings, to let him know how unsatisfied she had been these past months. It has been so long since we have kissed like lovers.
Thunder rumbled across the heavens and a flash of lightning lit the sky. Outside her bedroom window, Elizabeth saw the tops of the trees blowing in the wind, which was growing violent. Another roll of thunder…another bolt of lightning.
No, not yet…not yet…please…She moaned, tossing her head on the pillow as his hands cupped her bottom. He raised her hips to meet his hard arousal.
Not yet…
Even she did not understand the truth behind that silent plea. Was the entreaty skipping through her thoughts because she felt it too soon for him to take her, now, when her body was just beginning to heat, or was she praying that Mother Nature could hold off the storm for just a bit longer…just a few minutes longer…
Fuck! He needed to get inside her—now. Goddamn her, why did she insist on wearing a nightgown to bed? All these layers of ruffles and lace were impeding him from finding her quim and sinking his cock deep inside her. And his damned fingers, they were shaking like those of an untried youth, preventing him from doing anything but fumbling like a novice as he drowned in ruffles.
She writhed beneath him, her thighs moving languidly along his. Her soft belly brushed against his cock as she twisted and squirmed. He pressed it against her softness, needing to sink into something until he could once again find the blasted hem of her gown and shove it to her hips.
He should just tear the damn thing from her, ripping it to shreds and exposing her so that he could feel every inch of her against him. All that warm soft flesh…
Thunder cracked, rattling the windowpane. He felt her stiffen beneath him. Heard her stop breathing as she listened to the sounds of the night and the storm that raged outside. No, not yet. He cursed, ruthlessly shoving the hem of her nightrail to her belly.
It was dark in the room. He could see none of her, but he smelt her. Feminine arousal and floral soap. He couldn’t wait. He was on fire for her, for her wet body and the feel of her legs wrapped around him. How long had it been? A month? Yes. A whole damned month he’d been without his wife—even though she had not been away, had been right here at Sutcliffe Hall—their home. But she had been away from him. In fact, she’d been gone from him in one way or another for the past three years.
Sinking himself inside her with one swift thrust, he moaned, feeling her pulsing around him. He nearly came right there. It had been so damn long and she was tight, gripping him greedily with her sheath. Yet he managed to grit his teeth and distract himself long enough to thrust again, filling her fully.
She arched, bringing her knees back to her chest, sucking all his length inside her. He took her in slow, deep stabs that made her moan and sigh. Christ, when was the last time he had heard that sweet sound? So long…
Another clap of thunder was followed by the brilliant flash of lightning. His lips sought her ear and he traced the shell of it with the tip of his tongue. She was panting, scratching her nails down his back, arousing the primitive male in him. For the first time in a long while, he felt like a man with her. Not a duke or a husband. Not a father. Just a man.
Catching her hands in his, he brought her arms above her head so that her breasts escaped the bodice of her gown. Instinctively her hips arched, driving him deeper. He heard her breathing quicken as his chest brushed her breasts. He saw
