“I don’t care,” she gasped.
He gazed down at her in a most amused manner, then…whatever he’d done…did it again. “I think you do.”
“No, I don’t. I don’t. I—”
He did something else, something on the outside, and her entire body felt it. “You’re so ready,” he said. “I can’t believe it.”
He moved, positioning himself above her. His fingers were still delivering their torture, but his face was over hers, and she was lost in the clear blue depths of his eyes.
“Gareth,” she whispered, and she had no idea what she meant by it. It wasn’t a question, or a plea, or really, anything but his name. But it had to be said, because it was him.
It was him, here with her.
And it was sacred.
His thighs settled between hers, and she felt him at her opening, large and demanding. His fingers were still between them, holding her open, readying her for his manhood.
“Please,” she moaned, and this time it was a plea. She wanted this. She needed him.
“Please,” she said again.
Slowly, he entered her, and she sucked in her breath, so startled was she by the size and feel of him.
“Relax,” he said, only he didn’t sound relaxed. She looked up at him. His face was strained, and his breathing was quick and shallow.
He held very still, giving her time to adjust to him, then pushed forward, just a little, but it was enough to make her gasp.
“Relax,” he said again.
“I’m trying,” she ground out.
Gareth almost smiled. There was something so quintessentially Hyacinth about the statement, and also something almost reassuring. Even now, in what had to be one of the most startling and strange experiences of her life, she was…the same.
She was herself.
Not many people were, he was coming to realize.
He pushed forward again, and he could feel her easing, stretching to accommodate him. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her, and he had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to eliminate the pain completely, but by God, he would make this as perfect for her as he could. And if that meant nearly killing himself to go slowly, he would.
She was as stiff as a board beneath him, her teeth gritted as she anticipated his invasion. Gareth nearly groaned; he’d had her so close, so ready, and now she was trying so hard not to be nervous that she was about as relaxed as a wrought-iron fence.
He touched her leg. It was as rigid as a stick.
“Hyacinth,” he murmured in her ear, trying not to sound amused, “I think you were enjoying yourself a bit more just a minute earlier.”
There was a beat of silence, and she said, “That might be true.”
He bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Do you think you might see your way to enjoying yourself again?”
Her lips pursed into that expression of hers—the one she made when she knew she was being teased and wished to return in kind. “I would like to, yes.”
He had to admire her. It was a rare woman who could keep her composure in such a situation.
He flicked his tongue behind her ear, distracting her as his hand found its way between her legs. “I might be able to help you with that.”
“With what?” she gasped, and he knew from the way her hips jerked that she was on her way back to oblivion.
“Oh, with that feeling,” he said, stroking her almost offhandedly as he pushed farther within. “The Oh, Gareth, Yes, Gareth, More Gareth feeling.”