He came up quickly, and with one swift movement spun her onto her back. He gently smoothed her hair from her face. He brought his thigh over hers, and closed his eyes a moment at the feel of her smooth flesh against his legs.
He thought he would burst from want, but then she giggled again, so he was forced to laugh at himself.
He had to get control again. He said very deliberately, cupping his hand over her, “Remember this afternoon, my dear? Do you remember how you felt when I did this?” His palm pressed against her, and she looked profoundly worried.
“Yes,” she said, “I remember.”
“Now, give me your hand.” She didn’t move, merely stared at him with a befuddled expression. He took her hand and brought it down and laid it beneath his, lightly pressing her fingers against herself. “Do you feel how moist you are? How hot and swelled your woman’s flesh is?”
She nodded, very seriously.
“Have you ever felt anything like this before?”
She shook her head, her expression unchanged.
“How could I have?” she said reasonably. “You’ve never done that before.”
“Very true,” he agreed, smiling just a bit. God, he hurt. He suddenly remembered a saying that one of the dons at Eton adored repeating: Great men move slowly. Had the fellow meant in bed? He eased her hand away and began to caress her with his fingers. Then he paused a moment, to judge the effects of his labors.
“Hawk,” Frances said, her hips rising off the bed, “I want you to keep doing what you’re doing, please.”
“You may be certain that I shall,” he said with heartfelt sincerity. Amalie, he said to himself, I am finally doing things right.
He deepened the pressure of his fingers, and she cried out. “I ... I can’t seem to think properly!”
“Don’t think at all, just feel. Feel, Frances. What do you feel now?”
“I am going to ... explode,” she whispered, arching her head back.
As am I, he thought, his body so frantic with need that he bit his lower lip. There was so much of her to enjoy, so much expanse of beautiful white skin. He quickly moved between her legs, widened them more, and put his mouth to her belly.
Frances didn’t think anything was funny now. She wanted to yell, she wanted ... She didn’t know what she wanted. Her fingers went to his hair and she tugged.
When his warm mouth closed over her, she nearly leapt off the bed. “Hawk!”
“Shut up, Frances,” he said, his warm breath cascading over her, making her wild.
God, he thought as he tasted her, scraped her soft swelled flesh with his tongue, she was perfect, utterly perfect. When he felt her legs stiffening, he knew that he wanted to see her face in her climax. Gently he eased his fingers into her and raised his head.
She stared at him, at sea. Her voice exploded from her throat. “Hawk?”
“Yes, Frances.”
She yelled, her body stiffening, her eyes looking vague, then bewildered, then blind. It was the most perfect sight he’d ever seen in his life. He watched her teeth grip her lower lip. He watched her back arch up, watched her hands fall helplessly.
He felt the tremors hold her in thrall. He was breathing hard now, his body pounding. He moved up over her, and with one forceful thrust seated himself to his hilt within her.
He felt her convulsive aftershocks of pleasure, the small quivering shudders, felt her arms crushing him to her, and found her lips. He took her shuddering little cries into his mouth, and let his tongue dart into her. He was filled with intense warmth, almost as if, he thought crazily, she was wrapped about him, and inside him. “My God,” he said aloud, his body shuddering, and then he was lost in the most intense pleasure he’d ever experienced in his life.
Frances locked her arms about his back, felt his deep moans penetrate deep into her being just as his manhood was throbbing frantically inside her. Then she felt his final shudder, felt him flood her, so very deep, with his seed.
His body was bathed in perspiration, he felt as though his pounding heart would leap out of his body. “Frances, my God,” he said in a jerky sigh, and fell atop her, his head beside hers on the pillow.
“You were right,” Frances said. “You didn’t need any cream.” She closed her eyes, and was asleep in the next instant.
Hawk knew the exact moment she was gone from him. Slowly he raised his sweating body off hers and onto his side. “Oh, Frances,” he said softly as he gently shoved her damp hair from her forehead. “I think I shall feed you brandy for dinner every night.”
Ah, Amalie, he thought, grinning like a fool, you were so right. But of course, he continued in his mind, she was drunk. And drink stripped away inhibitions, he knew. He quickly rose, doused the candles, looked at his sprawled naked wife, and with a grin, climbed back into bed beside her. He drew the covers over them and eased her against him.