Talk Sweetly to Me (Brothers Sinister #4.5)(36)

“There we are,” Rose said, feeling her lips curl into a smile. “Stephen Shaughnessy, Actual Man.”

He let out a laugh—but before he could say anything else, before she could lose her nerve—she took him entirely in her hand, caressing him from tip to stem. It was the most amazing thing, the male organ—responsive, moving ever so slightly with her every touch. His breath grew uneven; his shaft pulsed in her hands, growing harder and longer.

“Rose.” He set his hand on her shoulder. “Let me have a turn at you, love.”

She looked up at him. And then, ever so gently, he pushed her down to the bed. Her heart was beating wildly; she couldn’t quite believe she was about to do this.

But then he came over her. He let his weight settle into her, slowly, ever so slowly, until their hips fit together, until her br**sts brushed his chest through her last under layer. He kissed her first on the shoulder, then on the chin, and then, tilting her head up, on the lips. That kiss on the lips didn’t stop. She let herself sink into it as his body settled against hers. They were hip to hip, separated only by the sheer fabric of her chemise. It was both too much and not enough. Their bodies found a rhythm together, a push and pull like heartbeats, like the tide of gravity between them.

He pulled away from her—only long enough to sweep her chemise up her body, to bare her to the cool air. He took off his shirt, revealing wiry muscles. And then he looked in her eyes. “Four months,” he said with a shake of his head. “Truly, we’re going to have a four month engagement?”

“It will have to be long enough to forestall all gossip.”

“Four months.” He made a noise, but he was smiling at her. “Then I’ll fetch a French letter and we’ll be very careful.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that.

He turned from her momentarily, and found something in his dresser. He fitted this to his erection, and then turned to her. “Now it’s my turn to prepare you.”

He advanced on her. But instead of getting atop her once more, he spread her legs and then very slowly, slid his fingers between them.

“God,” he said, “you’re beautiful. Beautiful and wet for me. And I can’t wait to taste you.”

And then he did. He set his mouth to her, and she felt the sure sweep of his tongue. It was the most shockingly intimate thing she’d ever experienced—entirely beyond her imagination—to have him doing this, tasting her, finding that nub there. He slid a finger inside her. Her breath caught. Between his hand and his tongue, she couldn’t think, could only experience a sweet pleasure, growing. Her body felt restless. She pushed against him, wanting…

He pulled back ever so slightly. And then, while her body was still desperate for more, he kissed his way up her hips, her navel. His mouth left a warm imprint against her belly, rising up her body rib by rib until he found the rounding edge of her breast.

He took her nipple in his mouth again just as he began to move his finger inside her. Those two points—so deliciously, utterly warm—drove her into a frenzy. She was close to something, so close, and if only he would…

But he didn’t. He took his hand away. She almost protested, but he came over her again. This time, he set his erection to her cleft.

“Rose, darling.”

She looked up at him.

“I love you,” he said.

He slid into her. She’d expected it to be painful and rough, but by the time he entered her, she was already wet and ready for him. There was a pinch—she caught her breath—he stopped…

And she could feel the tip of him inside her, warm and hard, could feel him on top of her, his muscles cording as he held himself back. She reached up tentatively and set her hand on his chest. Very slowly, she drew her fingers down his chest. He made a noise in his throat; his hips flexed, and he slid inside her another inch, and then another, moving slowly until he had filled her completely. Their bodies were joined intimately. She looked up at him…

He smiled, reached down, and brushed her cheek.

“Well,” he said. “I had better make sure that you like this. Because four months from now, I’m having you again and again and again.”

He moved his hips, pulling out of her and then sliding back—over and over, until that rhythm they’d found before swept them both up. Until her skin seemed to catch fire, and his hands came to her hips. She felt herself come apart around him; he gritted his teeth and then, just as she thought she could take no more, gasped and pounded into her one last time.

They drifted afterward. They’d scarcely slept the night before, and she could not keep her eyes open. She fell asleep to the feel of his fingers against her temples, and the soft murmur of his voice.

“Damn,” he said. “Four months.”

“FOUR MONTHS.”

It was six that evening, and Rose’s parents—who had journeyed hours through ice and snow to see their first grandchild—sat at the dinner table, frowning at Stephen Shaughnessy.

“Four months,” her father repeated. “Is there any reason the engagement must be so short?”

They had already interrogated Stephen on his finances and his family. Her father had muttered when he’d said he was Irish, and frowned when he mentioned that he did some work for a newspaper. Rose had thumped her father, urging him to behave…and when Stephen gave a cheeky answer, had done the same to him. But Stephen had actually comported himself in an almost respectable manner.