One Night With You (The Derrings #3)(26)

Her fingers wove through his hair, luxuriating in the softness, in her freedom to touch the chestnut locks that she had spent many a summer day watching ruffle in the wind. His hands released her derriere and she fell back, boneless, ready to melt down the tree's rough length. Still, their lips clung, drinking, tasting, devouring each other as his hands moved to her bodice. She gasped into his mouth when he cupped her breasts through her dress. With a growl, he wrenched his lips from hers, dragging his mouth down the column of her throat as he tugged her dress down, sucking, nipping at the cords along her neck. She heard a tear, but didn't care. She needed his hands on her, skin to skin.

Her head fell back on the tree, a cry rising up in her throat as he clasped her breasts, his touch reverent, too gentle for her tightly wound body that wept for fulfillment. Her head lolled side to side, a hoarse plea on her lips. "Please."

His hold tightened, his rough palms chafing the tender skin. He took her nipples between thumb and forefinger and rolled the pebble-hard peaks until she thought she would fly from her skin. She arched her spine off the tree, closing her eyes as shards of pleasure-pain spiked through her. His breath fired against her throat. She opened her eyes to his gleaming down at her in the dark, as though lit from within. He lowered himself, crouching at her feet. She felt his hands on the hem of her gown, then at her ankles, then her calves. Up they slid, skimming past her garters with astonishing speed before finding the slit of her drawers.

He stood then, his fingers teasing the inside of her thighs until she instinctively parted her legs wider.

"That's it," he murmured, his fingers slipping higher, stroking her before one finger pushed inside her, easing in with tormenting slowness until she nearly wept from pent-up desire. He used his thumb, rolling it over that little nub in fast circles.

"Ah, you feel so hot. So sweet."

She moaned, shuddered against his hand.

"I wager you taste sweet, too," he breathed thickly in her ear. Overcome with sensation, her legs gave out.

He caught her then, lifting her up and wrapping her legs around his hips. She had barely recovered her breath from that assault on her senses when she felt him, large and insistent, pushing at her entrance.

Their eyes locked, his burning brightly in the dark. He stopped, held himself there. His shoulders tensed beneath her hands, restraint humming through the corded muscles under his jacket.

"Please," she choked, her voice not her own, but some other wanton creature born of the night, where dreams hid and she ceased to exist.

Then he moved, shattering everything she thought she knew about herself, about him, in a single thrust, embedding himself deeply inside her, filling her in a way that was more than physical. More than life as she knew it.

He groaned, the sound reverberating from his body and into hers. With one hand on her bottom and the other gripping her thigh, he moved powerfully, stroking in and out of her. Again and again. His fingers dug into her thigh, pulling her leg higher for a deeper penetration, for pleasure so intense it bordered pain. The incredible friction drove her mad. She writhed between his hard body and the tree, desperate, searching for something she didn't know, something elusive, something that seemed both near and far away.

"That's it. Let go," he breathed in her ear, taking the lobe between his teeth and biting down, hard, sending a bolt of need bursting through her.

The ache that had started from the moment their mouths met increased, tightening every nerve in her body until she felt on the verge of snapping, exploding into pieces. His thrusts grew harder, faster, stoking the fire within her until—at last—she exploded, bursting from within, shivering like an apple blossom spinning through the wind.

Her internal quivering gradually ebbed and she fell limp in his arms, her cheek resting on one broad shoulder. He joined her, shuddering against her, grinding her to the tree. She felt him pulse within her, the slightest movement in the still and sudden aftermath. She remained just so for several moments, pinned between him and the tree until he removed himself from her with a rustle of clothing and stepped back. Her chest rose and fell with deep breaths. Still, she did not move, too afraid, too worried that her legs would give out beneath her, that she would blink and wake in her small bed. Alone. The same.

Cool air crawled over her. A chill chased over her skin, puckering her nipples, returning her to herself, reminding her to pull her dress back up. Feeling less exposed, she lifted one foot, prepared to step from the tree, but her knees wobbled and her legs quivered. Deciding it best not to collapse in an undignified pile, she leaned back against the tree, giving herself further time to compose herself.

"Aurora," he whispered, and his fingers grazed her cheek. They brushed the stiff edge of her domino and she jerked, her heart lurching painfully. Despite the dark, her hand darted to her face to make certain her disguise was still in place.

"Don't you think it's time you showed me your face?" he asked, the husky murmur of his voice rolling over her. "And perhaps we can even exchange names." Beneath the teasing ring of his voice, she detected a determination, an edge. Seth had just made love to her in a garden. Against a tree. He would want to see her face, know her name. Curiosity alone demanded it. And damn if a part of her didn't want to reveal herself, didn't want to see the expression on his face when he saw it was she—Jane. But the other part of herself, the voice of logic—the realist—knew his reaction would likely be one she did not want to see.