Surrender of a Siren (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #2)(70)

Just as he’d taken many— too many—women in his arms before, with only the most dishonorable of intentions. But this was different. So different. If he could seize a ship with honor … perhaps he could do this with honor, too. Not to take, but to protect. To cherish. To love.

She sobbed against his cheek again, and he pulled back. “Hush, love,” he whispered, smoothing her hair behind her ear. He cupped her face in his hands and lowered his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. “It’s all over now.”

And it was. It was all over now. The fire was out, and the men were alive. And she was here in his arms, where she fit like she was fashioned for his embrace. Weeks of frustrated longing were finally at an end. Years of emptiness, too. It was all over now.

And Gray … Gray was finished. Done for. Completely and hopelessly lost in the softest, most tender embrace he’d ever known. He held her face in his hands, brushing light kisses over her lips. Kissing her slowly, carefully, as though he were only just learning about kissing—because he was. Not learning how to kiss, but learning why to kiss. Not in persuasion, not as a prelude to further liberties. Simply to discover the taste of her, delicate and fresh and exquisitely sweet. To tell her things he didn’t dare express in words. To tell her things he had no words to express. He kissed her for no greater pleasure than to kiss, because at that moment, kissing her felt like the greatest pleasure imaginable.

He pressed his lips to her cheeks, her brow, her eyelids, her hair, interspersing his kisses with little endearments in every language he knew. Then, eyes closed, he rested his forehead against hers and waited. Leaving the choice to her.

With a little sigh, she melted in his arms, pressing the length of her body to his. Her br**sts rubbed against his chest, deliciously warm and soft.

Desire blazed through him. And suddenly, Gray was right back in the middle of an inferno.

She popped up on her toes, pressing her lips to his with a fierce urgency. An urgency he shared. The desperate energy that had fueled his race against the flames still ricocheted through his body. Gray felt it humming in his bones and pounding in his blood. And now he poured it all into kissing this woman, lashing his arms around her and lifting her body against his. Crushing her soft belly against his growing arousal.

Her lips parted beneath his, and he eagerly accepted the invitation. Their tongues tangled, tasted, teased, each of them giving and taking in return. Finally Gray broke away, sliding one hand down to cup her bottom as her fingers twined tightly into his hair.

“I’m so sorry,” he said between kisses. “For what I said that night. For leaving you earlier. I never meant—”

“I know,” she whispered, wrapping a leg over his hip and shinnying up his body. Her lips grazed his ear. “I know. Just don’t leave me again.”

“Never.” The word burst out like an oath or a prayer, and God help him, he meant it. “Never,” he repeated, looking straight in her glimmering eyes. Then he sealed the vow with a kiss, deep and desperate and true. “Oh, God,” he groaned when their lips finally parted.

She kissed him again, working her warm, slender fingers under the collar of his shirt to stroke the chilled flesh of his shoulders and back. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling the beautiful scent of her. He’d forgotten how roses smell sweetest after a rain. Trailing light kisses down to her collarbone, he began carrying her toward the bed.

“Make love to me, Gray.”

She didn’t need to ask it. They both knew what was going to happen. But Gray felt the significance of her words. He might have bedded ladies and whores the world over, but for the first time in his life, he was going to make love to a woman. And not just a woman. His woman. And this idea that should have been so unthinkable, so frightening—to his surprise, Gray found it wildly arousing. They tumbled together onto the narrow bed, and she began pulling his shirt free of his trousers. He rose up on his knees and impatiently yanked it over his head.

He peered at her frock in the darkness.

Bloody hell. Stripes.

Gray started to roll her over, looking for laces or hooks or some other ridiculous device contrived by the devil to thwart men.

She shook her head. “Next time.” She wriggled beneath him, drawing her skirts up to her waist. The erotic dance of her hips had him trembling with need. “Next time, we’ll go slowly. We’ll do everything you told me this morning, and more.” She gasped as he palmed her breast through the wet muslin. Her fingers hooked under the waistband of his trousers, and she looked up at him with a bold, smoldering gaze. “But I need you now, Gray.”

With a low groan, he leaned over to suck one pert nipple straight through the layers of shift and frock. She moaned and arched against him, working his buttons loose with one hand, until her fingers slid down into his smallclothes to caress the swollen head of his erection. Oh, God. He needed her now, too. He needed her now, and again later, and perhaps a third time that night. And tomorrow and the next day and every day after that. He was pulsing with need, straining into her touch, and as her fingers curled around him, they both gasped.

She stroked him gently, so sweetly he wanted to weep for the joy of it. He slid one hand up her thigh to find her hot and wet and grinding against his palm. Next time, he promised himself. Next time, he would take the time to touch her and taste her and learn her responses and watch her beauty unfurl at the peak of passion.