She wasn’t sure if it was his words or the caress of his slick tongue or the feel of his heavy cock—oh, what a word—but her entire being was suddenly concentratedthere—her sex at his, joined, the slide of flesh across flesh.
Then that mechanism flipped in her mind, and it wasn’t enough. Her hips increased their rhythm and his thrusts impaled her deeper and her breath caught in her lungs as she perched on the edge of a great height, oblivion suspended before her. All she wanted—needed—was to tip over that edge and give in to the void.
He thrust once…twice… And she tumbled over, but instead of falling, a part of her not bound by physical limitation took wing, as all that had gathered within burst in a flood of light and color and sensation, her sex pulsing its release around him in butterfly flutters.
The pleasure ofthis—it was almost too much. “You’re almost too much,” she whispered against his lips, unwilling to let go of the intimacy of their connection, even as his thrusts took on a relentlessness.
On a sudden groan, he pulled from her and wrapped sure fingers around his shaft. Transfixed, she watched him stroke his shaft, up and down its long, thick length.Beautiful.Then climax was pouring out of him on a shout, his seed spilling onto the sheets.
How could a single act be so of the body and yet so beyond those bounds, too? It was both the most physical experience of her life and the most elevated—a place where earth and heaven met and combined.
He reached for her. “Here.”
She allowed him to settle her beneath the covers and rest her head on his shoulder. She was a woman of many words, and yet here, now, she found no need to speak them.
“You’re composing poetry in your mind, aren’t you?”
“Perhaps.”
A lazy chuckle rumbled in his chest.
But it wasn’t true.
The poetry had been writ already—his body onto hers, and hers onto his.
Words were rendered unnecessary.
It was the poetry their bodies understood—the only poetry that mattered.
*
Across dark, silentcorridors Rory stepped, a sleeping Juliet in his arms. It was imperative she was returned to her bed before the household awakened. He would have no whispers bandied about her.
For she was his future bride.
Albeit convincing her was another matter entirely.
He could see a few obstacles in his path.
First, there was the matter of Miss Dalhousie. He was up a stump there. Juliet thought him madly, desperately in love with Miss Dalhousie, when nothing could be further from the truth.
It wasn’t Miss Dalhousie he was madly, desperately in love with.
But it was the second obstacle that he saw as the more substantive one. Juliet had it in her head that she wouldn’t marry.
Yet it occurred to him that he might have a weapon at hand.
Her desire.
For him.
He never would’ve thought he had anything to offer Miss Juliet Windermere. But now he saw that he did.
As improbable as that was.
He would convince Juliet to be his by means fair or foul.
The logic was simple.