Catching Captain Nash (Dashing Widows #6)(31)

“Yes, then Silas put a spoke in my wheel.”

“I wish you’d put a spoke in my wheel,” she muttered.

Before he could express his shock at her boldness, she shocked him again. She tugged his neck cloth free and scraped her teeth over his neck. He shuddered with response. His hands tightened on her waist, keeping her in place long enough for him to slip a small way inside her. She was lusciously hot and wet.

Delight held him still, or as still as the rattling carriage allowed. “Mrs. Nash, you are a saucy wench. And I love it.”

Almost as much as I love you.

His hold turned ruthless, and he brought her down over him. She muffled a cry against his throat and bit him. The sting intensified the wild sensations rocketing through him. The brazen clench of her muscles. The heat. The closeness.

The love?

She raised her head and leaned back. The shift in pressure threatened to blast him to rapturous oblivion. He stared blindly into shining eyes and lifted a shaking hand to catch the back of her head. He tangled his fingers in her silky mass of hair, bundled up for travel. Clumsy with need, mad with being inside her, he dragged her up until his lips met hers.

Their mouths slammed together in a succulent, open kiss of unabashed sensuality. She squirmed around him, taking him deeper. He felt he drowned in Morwenna. It was a marvelous sensation.

The fast-moving carriage shifted them up and down, and she tugged away from his lips, gasping. For a few dizzying moments, she moved against the carriage’s rise and fall, then in one incandescent instant, she found the rhythm and started to ride him as smoothly as a rider on a cantering horse.

Heat surged through him, and the urge to lift his hips and fill her with his seed was nigh irresistible. But she was enjoying every moment of what they did, whimpering and sighing with rising pleasure. He couldn’t bear to bring the encounter to a quick end.

Somehow he held back, although every satiny glide of her body threatened his resolve. He gulped in a great lungful of air, sharp with the scent of female desire.

She rose high over him, until only the tip of his cock remained inside her. He caught her waist again, afraid she’d fall. He glimpsed wild excitement in her eyes before she closed them and sank down. An expression of greedy bliss lit her lovely face as she took him.

His grip tightened when she raised her hands from his shoulders. “Hold onto me,” she said roughly.

“Always,” he gritted out, tensing every muscle against spending himself in her welcoming womb.

For five years, he’d battled the fear that he was likely to fragment into a thousand jagged shards. But inside Morwenna, he felt complete. Every time their bodies joined, he felt more like the man he’d once been.

She had such magic, his wife.

Morwenna shifted in time with the swaying coach, the dance of her body shooting explosions of light through his head. The movement was so beguiling, it took him a few seconds to notice that she was unbuttoning her green merino pelisse. He frowned as it fell open to reveal the darker green dress beneath. The bodice was demure, fastening high to the white lace collar. The contrast with her bare arse beneath her dress made him jerk his hips upward in a surge of desire.

She gave a broken laugh. “Don’t move just yet.”

“You’re driving me utterly insane,” he growled, flexing his fingers in the thick material of her skirts. He desperately wanted to touch her, but he feared she’d tumble into the well between the seats if he let her go.

“That was the plan,” she said. “If I hold your shoulders, can you undo me?”

He wondered if she meant undo in the carnal sense, then his reeling senses focused on one detail that he should have noted before.

Unlike the gown she’d worn at breakfast, this dress fastened up the front with a row of carved wooden buttons.

“God in heaven...” he grated out.

“Is that yes?”

How the hell could she sound so lucid, when she squeezed his cock so sumptuously? He made an incoherent sound of agreement. Too incoherent.

She caught his shoulder with one hand and fiddled with her top button. “Because I can do it, if you’d rather.”

“Damn it, Morwenna, you have no idea how I...”

Words failed him, as these days they were wont to do. She curled her hands over his shoulders and settled more securely on his lap, an action that nearly blew the top of his head off. The urge to rip the damned dress to shreds rose, but he bit it back.

For years, memories of her beautiful breasts had filled his dreams. So often he’d woken from restless sleep with his hands curled to shape those luscious curves. He’d loved her breasts from the first moment he saw them, a shameful fortnight before their wedding. When they’d been lawfully wed, he’d lavished endless attention on them.

Forcing back his need to spill into her, he began to unbutton the dress. It seemed sacrilege to fall on her like a starving man fell on a loaf of bread. But even so, he couldn’t stop his hands shaking.

Control, man, control.

The collar parted to reveal a strip of pale white skin. He leaned in and placed a tender kiss where her pulse throbbed at the base of her neck.

Then Robert returned his attention to the buttons. Only half a dozen, but they felt like an infinite line.

Another free. More white skin.

Another.

He frowned. Perhaps female undergarments had radically changed since he’d been away. But shouldn’t he see a shift and a corset by now? She’d certainly worn stays under that fetching blue gown last night, when she’d tortured him with the unlacing.