Drunk on Pen.
But it was still not enough.
He tore his lips from her quim and rose, wiping her juices from his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling like a barbarian as lust and the need to possess her roared through him with libidinous fire. How beautiful she looked, naked and sated, her cheeks flushed, hair wild around her. He wished he could freeze this moment, preserve it in a painting that he might never forget the exact shade of her eyes, the fullness of her lips. That he would never forget the charmed evening she had been his.
Because she never would be again, after this.
He pushed the unwanted reminder aside as she reached for him, her fingers flying over the fall of his trousers, freeing him to her eager touch. And then, although it had never been his intention, she leaned forward, bent her head, and took him into her mouth. Slid from the bed to her knees before him as he clutched at the mattress and willed himself not to explode.
Her lips were soft and silken, exploring him hesitantly. As he looked down to watch the magnificent sight of Pen with her mouth on his cock, she swirled her tongue over the tip, catching a bead of mettle already leaking from his slit. He gripped the bed against a sudden, crushing wave of desire.
If she kept that up, he was not going to last.
“Enough.” Gently, he disengaged himself from her, drawing her to her feet.
Her questioning gaze met his, searching. “Have I done it wrong?”
The breath left him in a rush, half laugh, half groan. “Christ no, darling. You have done it quite right. Too right. I do not dare trust myself.” He kissed the bridge of her nose to distract himself from the potency of his need.
Her response was to help him off with his trousers. They spilled onto the bed together, wrapped in each other’s arms, limbs entangled. Garrick settled them so that Pen was on her back, his body between her thighs, his weight resting on his forearms. He had not come to her tonight to make her his. But now that he was here, body poised to take hers, he could not fathom any other outcome.
He could still taste her on his lips as he bowed his head and took one of her nipples into his mouth. Her hands were on his shoulders, threading through his hair, nails raking down his skin. How right she felt, tucked against him, warm and soft and willing. How very much like his.
For tonight only, he warned himself. Any more than this would be unwise. He had responsibilities awaiting him, a betrothal that could not continue to be indefinitely delayed. But he would fret over that later, when he was capable of coherent thought. Now, all he wanted was the woman in his arms, with her gold-flecked hazel gaze searing into his, lips begging to be kissed.
He took the peak of her other breast into his mouth, loving the sounds she made, the responsive way her body bucked and writhed against his. Garrick’s cock was stiff and high against her inner thigh, the warm, silken skin there a brutal tease of what was to come.
He longed to thrust into her, to fill and fuck her, take her hard and fast. But it occurred to him that he did not know just how experienced she was. The women he had known in the past had been far from innocent. He had preferred it that way, for experience rendered the mutual slaking of passion that much more efficient. He had never had cause to wonder.
But although he had once suspected Pen of being a conniving jade, plying her wiles to secure a title and a fortune, he knew he had been wrong about her in more ways than one. He kissed the curve of her breast, charmed by a mole he had failed to notice in the shadows previously. It was shaped like a heart. He flicked his tongue over it, tasting her salt and sweetness.
What a wonder she was.
How had he lived his life thus far without her? How would he live it after?
More unwanted thoughts, chased as he dragged his lips over her collarbone, then up the smooth skin of her throat to her ear. Her fingers glided up and down his back, trailing fire in their wake. He wanted to say something poignant, to praise her, to give voice to the sensations burning through him.
But words were lost.
All he could do was find his way to her lips and claim them with his own. His efforts to prolong the moment crumbled when she reached between them to stroke him. He jerked into her touch, losing more of himself by the moment. Soon, there would be nothing left. He was simply hers.
He leveraged himself onto his left forearm and wrapped his fingers around hers with his free hand, tightening her hold and encouraging her to stroke. God, yes. Her hand on him was the devil’s work. But sinning had never felt so right, so good, so perfect.
They kissed again, breaths mingling, bodies moving sinuously as one as she brought him dangerously close to the edge of release. On a moan, he tenderly removed her hand, reaching down to toy with her clitoris. Her legs opened wider, and she pumped into his touch, seeking more. He obliged, swirling over the bud until she was coming apart, writhing and reaching her second release.
Only then did he slick her dew over her entrance and his cock both.
Gripping himself, nearly mindless with the need to possess her, he pressed his cock to her soaked cunny. He almost spent then and there, so fierce was the rush of sensation. But this was not enough. He needed more. Had to be inside her.
He thrust, and then he was surrounded by her tight, pulsing heat.
Heaven on earth.
That was what this was, what she was. He had to hold himself still for a moment, to control the roaring need to take her and allow her body to adjust to his. He kissed her throat, the place that drove him to distraction on her—that quivering little hollow at the base where her pulse was racing furiously. He rubbed her pearl with his thumb until she tightened on him, pulling him deeper, her hips tipping upward in a seeking motion. The needy sound in her throat was all he had to hear.
He thrust again, stretching her, filling her. She was all tight, wet heat, constricting on him. He understood without a doubt that he would never know another moment as exquisite as this one, nor another woman. She was meant for him. Made for him. As impossible and wrong as it was, the truth was evident in the way their bodies joined, becoming one. Another thrust, and he was completely inside her, seated deep.
He raised his head and kissed her slowly, lingeringly, and they began to move together, finding their rhythm. His restraint only lasted for a handful of pumps. The combination of her full breasts straining against his chest, her tongue in his mouth, and her cunny clenching on his cock already had him on the brink of orgasm.
He should withdraw. He was going to withdraw. He had every intention of being honorable, of making certain he would not leave Pen with ramifications of this wild night of passion.
But then, her cunny contracted around him, and the sensation was so exquisite, his mind went empty. He forgot everything. His name, his intentions to do right by her, the need to hold tight to the reins of his control. The warmth of her wrapped around his cock, the pulsing of her body, the wetness of her own release, proved far too much.
He came. Emptied himself into her as waves of bliss pounded up his spine and exploded in his skull. The jet of his seed into her body felt right. It was the first time he had ever spent inside a woman, but he did not fool himself that it was the novelty of the sensation that triggered the intensity of his reaction.
Rather, it was the woman beneath him.