Christ. He wasn’t going to last long.
Gripping her arse with both hands, he slowed her tempo, devouring one breast then the other. He wanted every damn inch of her branded with his scent, his mark. He’d waited too long for this. God knew she deserved far better, but he didn’t care. He wanted her now, and would face the facts of it later.
Lifting her with one hand, he unbuttoned his falls with the other and pushed into her with one powerful thrust—past her maidenhead, to the sweet heat beyond. He swallowed her gasp with a kiss as he thrust into her again, his fingertips biting into her flesh as he took her fast and hard. She was so tight, so damn tight, and he didn’t know how long he could hold on. Her fresh, flowery scent surrounded him, pulled him under, into another world. There was nothing but them, this moment, their bodies joined.
She was his. Completely, irrevocably his.
Breaking the kiss, she flung her head back, her breasts bouncing as he drove into her powerfully. Her channel gripped him like a fist.
Release crashed over him like a torrent, drowning him in her sweet, heavenly heat. With one final, violent thrust, he poured himself into her.
When at last they came back down to earth, her head dropped onto his shoulder, her breathing shallow, erratic. Christ, he’d never felt so satisfied in his life. What was it about this woman that captivated him so completely?
Contentment settled over him, and for the first time in two years, he allowed himself to imagine Olivia by his side, heavy with his child. Happy.
The doorknob rattled.
He froze, listening. High-pitched voices filtered through the white, gilded doors. Olivia gasped, gazing down at him with wide eyes. “Adam.”
She scrambled off his lap, righting her bodice, smoothing her skirts back into place. He stood and snatched up his clothes, dressing quickly, not bothering with his cravat. There wasn’t any way he’d get it sorted in time. Bunching it in his hand, his eyes darted around the room, searching for escape. The prospects were dismal at best. There were two options: the doors, which posed an obvious problem, or the windows, which loomed several feet off the ground.
Good God.
He glanced back at Olivia, who was pinning her hair back up into a semblance of order—and just like that, she was the prim, proper lady Society expected. It heated his blood to think what he’d done to her just a few short minutes ago.
Time enough for that later.
Another voice joined the collection of others. It was James, no doubt, asking what the bloody hell was going on. The man hated being left out of anything. The confusion abated for a moment, and there was a distinct scrape of a key against the lock.
“The window,” he whispered.
Her eyes widened. “Are you mad?”
“Trust me.”
He lifted the latch, opened the window, and glanced down. Good God. They were several feet up—several long, alarming feet.
The doorknob jostled again.
Glancing over her shoulder at the door, she whispered, “Hurry.”
Before he could persuade himself to jump, Olivia shoved him—hard. In a blink, he was falling head first out the window, the ground rushing up quickly to greet him.
Chapter Seven
Adam was still nursing a bruised shoulder the next evening when he picked up a cue and began placing balls on the billiard table. This room was a gentlemen’s haven, and it offered refuge, thank God. Breakfast had been nearly impossible to sit through, what with the constant chatter of the Duke of Somerset’s eminent arrival. Apparently, the duke rarely ventured into Society, and the house was abuzz with curiosity and speculation.
Meanwhile, Miss Wood had taken up the habit of following Adam’s every move, trailing behind him, offering assistance in the most obnoxious ways. Earlier, her interference during whist had nearly cost him the game.
The door opened slightly and Adam lowered his cue. The intruder was none other than Miss Wood herself. No surprise there. He bowed.
“Oh, my lord,” she said with false astonishment. “I didn’t realize you were in here. I was just looking for my brother.”
“Haven’t seen him.” Adam angled his cue to strike the ball. “You might try the library.”
Miss Wood slid deeper into the room, closing the door behind her. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something of a particular nature,” she said, all sweetness and innocence, sidling up beside him. “I’ve been wondering if you could give me horse riding lessons.” She smiled, trailing a finger up his chest. “I understand you’re quite good at instruction.” The way she said the last left little doubt to what she referred—and it might be about riding, but it wasn’t about horses.