And the day.
She stirred on the threshold of waking and buried her nose in his chest. A deeply voluptuous growl emerged from her throat as if she craved his scent like she craved breath.
He looked up from her breasts to find her staring sleepily at him. She looked rumpled and confused.
And happy. Surely he wasn’t wrong about that.
“Good morning, Matthew.” A smile curled her lips. His heart broke into a rattling gallop.
“Good morning, Grace,” he returned gruffly, feeling like the worst kind of satyr. She’d only just woken, for God’s sake, and all he could think about was tumbling her so thoroughly that she couldn’t see straight. The way having her naked in his arms stopped him seeing straight. Although one part of him was painfully straight. And standing ready. Thank goodness, the sheet hid what an insatiable monster he was.
“Did you sleep?” she asked softly.
A banal question, made less banal by the downward slide of her hand from his chest.
Searing desire licked at him and he struggled to answer. “Yes.”
Her smile broadened. “Good.”
Down. Down. Down. Slow. Excruciatingly slow.
His throat clamped shut as she brushed his cock. No chance now of concealing his rampant arousal.
Another glance of that cool hand across flesh that was so very, very hot. A pause. She wrapped her fingers firmly around his sex. His heart shuddered to a stop and bright light blinded him.
“Jesus…” he bit out. Then the capacity to speak left him in a great whoosh as she rubbed him deliberately, up and down, up and down.
Her rhythm wasn’t quite right. Which didn’t stop every drop of his blood rushing to where she touched him.
Grace’s fingers continued their amateurish, unsure, breathtaking seduction. Squeezing him. Sliding over him. Cupping his balls. The effort of control almost made him weep.
She rose and knelt over him. Her free hand swept the sheet away. He read curiosity and desire in her face. And a very female satisfaction when she saw what she did to him. Her touch became surer, more competent, more likely to shatter him.
As she leaned closer for a better grip, her breasts sheered across his chest. Fire blasted him and he jerked in her hand. Her nipples were tight with arousal now. He heard her suck in a deep breath.
“I must have you.” With shaking hands, he pushed her onto her back.
Her hand fell away from his cock so she could curl her hands over his shoulders. She wrapped her legs around his waist. “You most definitely have me,” she whispered and rose with beautiful ease to join him.
Immediately, he felt that amazing sense of connection. Pleasure and joy and belonging. For a man alone so long, this was intoxicating, addictive, heady. Nothing his uncle had done in eleven years had come close to defeating him. He already suspected, after only one night in her arms, that losing Grace would mean his destruction.
She sighed and bowed up, so he penetrated deeper. Almost reverently, he began to move.
He worshipped her. He adored her. He wanted her more than life itself. With every thrust of his body, he told her so. Even while he strained to keep the despised words locked away.
Her hips took up his rhythm. As if to every thrust that said I love you, Grace, her body replied, I love you, Matthew.
Only a fool would believe it.
He was a fool. God, he was a bloody madman.
Her crisis came quickly. How soon he’d learned to recognize the signs. Her face was naked with feeling. Tears weighted the thick lashes shielding her eyes. He reached down to stroke the sensitive place where he’d kissed her last night. He wanted her to achieve her quivering extremity. The most beautiful sight in God’s green world.
He pressed between her legs and felt her immediate convulsive response. She tightened around him and the hands on his shoulders tensed into talons. Barbarian that he was, he exulted to think she marked him as he’d marked her.
Then thought itself deserted him as her climax forced his. He poured himself into her. The bitterness, the unhappiness, the loneliness, his unworthiness.
His love.