His crown rammed against her womb. She shuddered, convulsively, and tightened her limbs.
Oh damn. Her cunt hugged him like a leather glove that had been wetted then allowed to dry. It must have been a long time since she’d had a man.
“Sweetheart, oh, sweetheart,” he whispered by way of apology. Yet he couldn’t be wholly sorry.
Warmth centred in his chest. Fierce gladness.
She must have been chaste. Maybe the entire time in New Balcombe.
He ground his lips to her cheek, closing his eyes and trembling with the effort to hold back. She was his. Finally his.
Rosalind leaned her head against Thomas’ broad, well-muscled chest. The fine hair was damp with fresh sweat, the musky, male scent intoxicating. Her body still reeled from the pleasure-pain of his abrupt entry. How sweet such a savage sensation could be! She’d forgotten what it was like to be invaded, to be consumed by a man. An utterly desirable man. Of their own will, her hips rocked against his and she gripped his strong shoulders. “Please, please haste to it.”
His answering, deep groan reverberated through his body to hers, deliciously male. Her inner walls squeezed his hard thickness with greedy hunger.
He began moving in her slowly. Shards of fire sparked within her. She moaned and rocked her hips and she clenched about him again and again. His breathing grew harsher, quicker, and so did his thrusts. Her tension increased, building… Oh, a few more strokes and, oh God, she would—
He groaned and jerked himself from her, a sucking sensation followed by a hollow emptiness. Her sex quivered with the unbearable expectation of his return. He pressed his hot, hard erection to her stomach and pumped, the velvety flesh caressing her. She moaned in protest, thinking he was teasing her. A shudder convulsed his body, followed by another and another. Wet warmth jetted against her. He put his face against her neck and groaned.
The violent expulsion of his seed quaked through the shaft of his cock as he pressed against her belly, still pumping. He was coming and coming and still coming. Her heart still thundered in her chest, her blood still sang in her ears. It was the most exciting thing she’d ever experienced.
Finally, he stilled and fell against her, panting.
Oh God, he was done.
Finished.
Over.
No, he couldn’t be. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be done. After being celibate for so long, after wanting him so long, she’d go mad.
He pulled away from her. His seed rolled down her belly onto her thighs, thick as warmed syrup, the scent filling the air like earth and grass after a rain.
Oh God. He was done.
A low, keening wail echoed. Inhuman, feline, wild. She realised that it came from her yet she couldn’t hold it back. She reached behind her and grazed her hands over the rough tree bark, as if the pain could distract from the overwhelming hunger burning in her loins, aching in her womb.
He walked into the clearing where his clothes lay scattered. The moonlight shimmered on the angles and planes of his hard muscled body. A body she suddenly had a whole new appreciation for. She couldn’t bear to watch him cover that masculine beauty.
Trembling with need, she closed her eyes and bit her lip.
“Rose.”
His urgent tone brought her eyes open. He was sitting on the grass in the full light then he lay back. His cock was still hard, straight up as a mighty oak. A wave of coveting weakened her knees. Her inner walls clenched in hunger. She couldn’t take her eyes off his glorious erection. He motioned for her to come hither. “Rose, come here.”
She stared at him, transfixed.
“Good God, girl, stop staring and come straddle me.”
Those words burned a vivid, shocking mental picture into her mind. Her legs went so weak they threatened to collapse beneath her.
“Have pity, Rose.”
He was serious. But he couldn’t mean that! It wouldn’t be natural to mount a man—would it? No man had ever asked her before. She wouldn’t even know how. Lust throbbed in her core, her empty, empty core. His rod twitched, seemed to grow harder, longer, thicker as if in sympathy.
“Rose.”
The plea in his voice brought her attention to his face. His features held such tender welcome, openly mirroring her need. She could never have ever resisted that. A cry tore up from her belly and out her throat. She ran to him, falling to her knees, straddling his calves and scooting up along his haired, sweat-dampened thighs.
With both hands, he grasped her hips, work-roughened calluses grating on her flesh as he pulled her pelvis down closer to his. “Guide me,” he said breathily.
She grasped his erection, and moved to position it. His wet, leaking crown grazed her swollen, overheated, soaked flesh. Dire waves of desire tore through her at the slick velvet-over-steel sensation. She whimpered loudly, her legs shaking so badly she almost fell atop him.