She was so slick, his thick shaft slid effortlessly inside. There was no pain, despite her fears, only pleasure, and she felt fuller than she could have ever thought possible. He sank deep within her, up to the hilt, and paused so they could both relish the sensations.
He looked into her eyes, and the moment was so beautiful that she almost wept. She realized despite it all that she loved him, and there was no better way for them to be close. He started plunging in and out, and the pleasure of it completely consumed her.
He locked his lips back on hers, gripped her hips tightly in his hands, and started thrusting hard. She met him stroke for stroke and their movements grew frantic.
Her entire body started shaking as she shattered yet again, and then Liam threw his head back and groaned. She gloried in feeling him pumping his release inside her.
He collapsed on top of her, and she could hardly breathe from the weight of him. But she didn’t care. She just sank back into the bed.
With the last bit of energy he had left, he shifted her so that he was lying on his back with her snuggled tightly against his side.
“Thank you,” he whispered as he stroked her back tenderly.
She couldn’t even reply. A veil of darkness took over and she slipped into a deep, blissful sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Whitney sat frozen and terrified in her room. She knew nothing about fancy fundraisers. The outcome was obvious — she’d make a complete fool of herself. Why had it seemed so easy for Cinderella?
No fairy godmother here. All she could see ahead of her today was hours of fraught nerves and then more of utter disaster. The only choice she had was to contract some sort of vile intestinal flu. Projectile vomiting always gave you a good excuse to get out of things.
She drank her morning tea, trying to compose herself but without any success. How could she help but feel sorry for herself? And then she heard a knock on her door. She wasn’t up for visitors, but maybe one of the children needed her for something.
“Come in,” she called out reluctantly.
Darcy walked into the room with a rare smile on her face. “We have a surprise for you, Ms. Steele.”
Whitney almost didn’t recognize the maid as the stern woman she’d met when she first arrived.
“I can’t imagine what you have up your sleeve, Darcy,” Whitney replied. The maid’s happiness had pulled her from her depressing thoughts.
“We have a full day of what some people call ‘pampering’ scheduled for you,” the woman said.
Whitney stared at her in confusion.
“I don’t need that,” she finally managed to stutter. She’d never even had a pedicure, let alone a full day of freaking “pampering.” How was it pampering when you went through hours of torture? What if there was a bikini wax? Hell, she’d seen the movie Miss Congeniality.
“You’re a beauty, as you must know, but all young women need a day of this once in a while,” the maid said. She came over, took Whitney by the hand, and, ignoring her protests, led her from the room.
The next several hours were a whirlwind of activity, though Whitney wasn’t doing much but sitting in a chair. Masks — was that the word for it? — were put on her face, feet, and hands. She was thrown into a vat of mud, and if that weren’t enough, her body was plucked and waxed — yep, it was torture — until she felt she had nothing left of her original skin.
And yet, when she finally climbed from the shower, she looked in amazement in the mirror at her now silken body. She actually felt beautiful for the first time in her life. Before she had time to think, she was rushed off to another room, where she was dressed in the most beautiful gown she’d ever seen. She didn’t have time to even look at herself in the mirror before she found herself in a chair to have her hair and makeup done up properly.
She could only stare and blink several times once she was able to look in the mirror. The stylists hadn’t overpowered her with heavy layers of makeup, but had highlighted her eyes and lips, enhancing her natural glow with a fetching simplicity. Her hair was piled up gracefully on top of her head, with several tendrils curling around her face and shoulders.
She wanted to stand up and twirl around in her gown. It hugged her curves from the bodice to past the waist, and then it flared out into a full skirt that was perfect for gliding around a dance floor.
“Thank you so much,” she managed to tell the attendants despite her tight throat.
“Don’t you start crying and ruin all their hard work,” Darcy said, sounding suspiciously close to tears herself. “You have a man to impress tonight.”
“A man? What man?” Whitney had no escort for this occasion.