A Taste of Desire(105)
Pleasure, the likes he had only known in her arms with his cock buried deep inside her, coursed and built in him like a boulder gathering speed down a steep incline. Her head twisted on the pillow, her sapphire eyes glazed. The pace of his thrusts increased and grew more forceful in their demand. The sound of flesh colliding took on a rhythmic, powerful beat in the cool evening air of the bedchamber.
Amelia emitted a high cry and stiffened beneath him, her hips thrust up to take him deeper while she clawed at his back. Thomas welcomed the pleasurable pain that came when her nails finally sank into his shoulders as she found her release in a series of convulsions. Her feminine sheath tightened around his cock, the pressure, the suctionlike pull sending him spiraling over the edge when he could no longer hold off his orgasm. His peak was blissfully prolonged and all consuming, the tumble down nearly frightening in its intensity.
Dropping his head into the crook of her shoulder, he labored to catch his breath while holding her tight in his arms. He sought her lips in a slow open-mouthed kiss, and she returned it with equal amounts of need and want. His cock stirred inside her, and the tilt of her hips and arch of her back indicated she was more than willing and more than ready for him again.
The morning could have arrived amid a sun veiled in darkness, accompanied by frogs, locusts, and hail, and still Amelia would have welcomed it with a smile rivaling the light of the sun at its zenith in a cloudless sky.
Thomas. Amelia sighed the sigh of the truly besotted. He’d reluctantly dragged himself from her bed, donned his clothes, and departed her chamber. Of course, before he’d finally left, they’d shared a deep, lengthy good-bye kiss meant to hold them until the next one. The kiss had naturally progressed to the fondling of buttocks, and the nuzzling and suckling of breasts. When it appeared he’d end up right back where he started—the fourth time for the night—sinfully naked and buried between her thighs, he summoned the strength and halted the heated embrace with a muffled curse and a groan.
“If I don’t leave now, I never will. And we can’t allow your maid or one of the servants to find me here.” With a short, hard kiss to her mouth, he’d quickly exited the room.
That had been four hours ago. Yet the anticipation of seeing him again had her wiping damp palms against her skirt just before she entered the breakfast room.
Thomas was there standing in front of the sideboard, in his hand a plate piled high with food. He stopped as soon as he spotted her and treated her to the kind of look that had everyone else in the room turning to watch her.
A wave of heat flooded her face and other places she dared not think of. Ever conscious of her audience, she was brief in her acknowledgement of him: a silent dip of her head. But even as she turned to greet the earl and the countess, she could easily recall the exact shade of green of his waistcoat and trousers, and was envious of the fit of his shirt and jacket over his muscled shoulders, chest, and abdomen. Never had a man stirred her blood so.
“And how did you enjoy your evening?” The earl’s question ended abruptly with a grunt of pain. “Why—”
Missy condemned her husband with a sharp look, interjecting smoothly, “Good morning, Amelia.” She spoke as if she just hadn’t poked him in the side with her elbow—this contact the apparent source of his pain. The countess’s reaction suggested she knew exactly how and with whom Amelia had enjoyed her evening.
“Good morning, Lord Windmere, Lady—I mean Missy,” Amelia corrected upon receiving a look of mock reproach from the countess.
The earl seemed to quickly collect himself, clearly seeing the error of his ways. “And you must address me as James or Rutherford if you prefer, as it is obvious we will become well acquainted.” He brought his cup of coffee to his lips, peering over the rim at Thomas, who in turn continued to watch her intently.
“I told you we are an informal lot,” Missy chimed in.
Amelia rounded the table to the sideboard, feeling all three pair of eyes boring into her. More than anything, she could feel the heat of Thomas’s stare.
When she’d finished serving herself and came to the table, Thomas bounded to his feet, took her plate, placed it at the setting beside his, and seated her himself. Her heart leapt at the combination of his solicitousness and proximity. She inhaled his scent and wondered how she could ever have been adverse to it—adverse to him. It would be a miracle if she survived the day without pouncing upon him like some sexually deprived widow.
To hide her embarrassment, Amelia concentrated intently on her food, never daring to meet Thomas’s sidelong glances. If breathing was difficult, eating required Herculean efforts. Thomas had done this to her. Love had done this to her.