Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)(69)

He grinned. “No complaint.”

“Very good.” She bent her head to his throat and touched her tongue to the underside of his jaw. The beginning of what would be, if she had her way, a sleepless night spent exploring every inch of his body.

They might not have all the time in the world, but they definitely had tonight. And she was going to make the most of every second.

Chapter Seventeen

Awareness filtered in some time well after dawn. When she woke to bright sunlight leaking through her eyelashes, Meredith kissed the forearm wrapped protectively about her chest. It was worth the lost time, just to wake up in his arms. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d slept through a sunrise. This was a luxury indeed. One to which she could too easily become accustomed. Rhys stirred, nuzzling her hair. They lay on their sides, nestled like spoons in a drawer. At least one part of him was awake and ready to greet the day. The hard ridge of his arousal prodded her hip.

She wriggled her bottom just a little, teasing him. From the way his breath caught in his throat, she suspected he was awake. For all she knew, he might have been lying awake that way for hours, hard and patiently aching for her.

And in that case, he could wait a few minutes more. Keeping her eyes shut tight to feign sleep, she casually stretched and nestled deeper into the hard contours of his body. He dropped a kiss against the back of her neck, as if to test her wakefulness. Remaining immobile was a struggle, but she managed it. His hand came to life where it lay draped casually over her breast. He drew a lazy circle around her nipple, then tweaked it with a pinch. She couldn’t help but moan.

He knew she was awake. She knew he was, too. But they kept up the little game they were playing. Somehow they’d tacitly agreed on the rules. Eyes closed. No words. Just touch and a steady, inexorable progress toward joining. It was a game they would both win.

She parted her legs a few degrees, and his erection slid between her thighs. The two of them lay that way for a moment, savoring that last bit of anticipation. She was wet for him, and he was impressively hard. A little tilt of her pelvis was all it took. He glided into her slippery cleft in one smooth thrust.

Though her breathing came fast, Meredith forced herself to be boneless. As passive as possible. She hoped the mounting tension of their game would drive him past the point of tenderness. All night long, they’d guided one another through an exploration of different positions, taken thorough tours of each other’s anatomy. He’d loved her with a sweet, earnest purpose that touched her heart. But this morning, she wanted him to be the aggressor. She needed to feel all the strength and power in that big, hard body. She wanted to be overwhelmed.

When the wait became unbearable, she broke the rules and whispered, “Take me.”

His teeth scraped her shoulder. With a low growl, he flipped her onto her stomach, wedging her legs apart with his thighs. He gave her just what she wanted, driving into her hard. So hard, she grabbed the pillow to muffle her cry. The bed creaked and rattled with each stroke.

Yes. Yes. This was exactly what she craved. To feel powerless beneath him, utterly at his mercy. She’d spent so much of her life being strong. Marshalling all her available fortitude to run the inn, take care of her father, look after the village. And she’d built up formidable shields to protect herself and those around her. It was a relief and a joy to be dominated, to relinquish all power and feel those barriers stripped away by someone she knew and trusted.

Someone she loved.

He rose up between her legs, grasping her hips in his massive hands and lifting her to her knees. His fingers curled around the cheeks of her backside, guiding her motions, spreading her open for his deepening thrusts. By the light smack of his thighs kissing hers and the roughened quality of his breath, she suspected he was watching their joined bodies. She wished she could watch, too.

He clutched her hips tighter still, kicked into a faster rhythm. “Come for me. Do it now.”

Releasing the pillow, she slid one hand down her belly, between her legs. She pressed the heel of her hand against her mound and curled her fingers back, so they teased his shaft with every stroke. The pressure of her palm just where she needed it, the very proof of his own need, hard and hot against her fingertips—she hurtled headlong into a soul-shaking climax, crying out against the pillow.

He followed her seconds later, and together they collapsed to the mattress. He lay half atop her, half to the side. His breath was a rasp against her ear. She loved the heat and the weight of him, pinning her limp, wrung-out body to the bed. She could get used to this. She really could.

For the first time since Rhys had mentioned marriage over boiled eggs and coffee, Meredith let herself believe, just for a moment, that it might truly be safe to get used to this.

“You know,” he said after a minute or two, rolling onto his back, “I think I’ve changed my mind.”

“You have?” She propped her chin on one arm, tried to sound nonchalant. All the while, her heart was hammering the mattress.

“We’ll have to find a bishop,” he said. “Get a special license. There’s no bloody way we’re waiting another fortnight for that curate to come back.”

She collapsed to the bed with relief.

“I’m serious,” he said. “We’ll take the coach and set off for London today.”

“Rhys, we can’t do that. Father’s expecting me back on schedule. And we’ve all those things to buy for the inn.”