“How lovely,” she murmured as he repeated the action. Every time he moved, he found some new way to please her.
Sensation spiraled upward. Up and up with every stroke of his big, wonderful body. She was gasping, reaching, straining after something. Something beyond her knowledge.
Still he moved, inexorable as the ocean, powerful as the roll of the earth.
She rose and rose. Then he tilted her hips, plunged deep and her tension shattered into a million glittering stars. As the shining flood swept her away, she cried out his name.
Chapter Twenty
At last she’d called him James.
The satisfaction of hearing his name on Eleanor’s lips almost outweighed the satisfaction of feeling her clench around him in ecstasy. Well, perhaps not.
And none too soon. For hours, Leath had been on a tight rein, knowing that what he did tonight set the tone for their affair. Yet still he’d hurt her.
Then everything, praise heaven, had come right.
Quivering with reaction, she stretched beneath him. He kissed her with all the reverence in his heart. She was beautiful. Magnificent. A woman in a million. He didn’t deserve her, but by God, he meant to cherish her. While breath remained in his body, nobody would harm her.
He closed his eyes and at last sought his own pleasure. The measured, deliberate thrusts became choppier. Still, he didn’t let go. He remained desperately aware of her innocence.
She closed her eyes and her breath emerged in uneven gasps. Her hands linked loosely around his neck. Through the building storm, he saw that she looked utterly exhausted.
It had been a long night. And he was about to close it with a climax like none before. The surge of power began at his toes, flooded up through his legs then concentrated in his balls. The pressure was everywhere. His head. His lungs. His gut. His cock.
His muscles tightened to shredding. His heart hurled itself into his ribs. He sucked in a breath, then released it on a long, shuddering groan as his seed spurted into her.
He jerked once, twice. Then again.
The pounding rush extended beyond his experience. Whatever magic this woman possessed, he wanted more of it. This was a night of miracles.
She cried out with pleasure as every bone in his body dissolved to water. He hardly had energy to breathe. The urge to collapse upon her was overwhelming, but at the last minute, he rolled aside, taking her with him. The arms he lashed around her were heavier than stone.
“James…” she murmured sleepily, pressing her head to his galloping heart. “Dear James.”
The sound of his name blasted through him like cannon fire. The glow remained from those blazing moments when he’d spilled into her. He felt extraordinarily weary. As though he’d climbed the highest mountain or dived to the depths of the sea.
“Are you all right?” He couldn’t forget how tight she’d been, how tight she was now.
He spread his hands across the damp skin of her back and brushed his cheek against her ruffled hair. Her scent surrounded him, redolent with fulfillment.
She pressed closer. “I’m… wonderful,” she said, sounding awed.
“You are indeed wonderful.” He’d been awestruck himself, and he had a deal more experience than the virtuous Miss Trim. Except as he’d slid into her slender body, he’d felt untouched and renewed. Only with Eleanor could he call this an act of love.
Because he did love her.
Damn him for a numskull. He’d loved her for weeks, but he’d been too thickheaded to see it.
Joy flooded him. He’d never imagined falling in love. He had nothing against the idea, but he’d grown up without intimate friends and he’d never before felt a deep connection with a woman. He had colleagues, he had mentors, he had acolytes. The occasional lover. But nobody who addressed his soul as its equal.
From the first, Eleanor Trim had done that. Only she had seen him for the man he was.
She shifted, murmuring lazy satisfaction into his chest, and their bodies separated. He felt brief regret, then remembered that this was merely the beginning. They’d stay in this cottage a week and make plans. He couldn’t ignore the demands of his real life, but somewhere he’d find room for Eleanor.
The inescapable fact was that lying here, holding her, listening to the rain patter against the windows—the storm had calmed even as lightning had flashed in this room—this moment felt more real than anything before. His so-called real life was unimportant compared to his need to keep this woman. She was as essential to him as air.
He already saw that there would be repercussions. He was accounted a brave man, but apprehension at what he’d started here pricked cold and sharp at his contentment.