Helena’s expression filled with incredulous delight. “Really?”
“Really.” Still his inconvenient conscience wouldn’t let him finish there. Dear Lord, he earned his place in heaven today. He hoped the Recording Angel was listening in. “Promise you’ll stop if it becomes too—”
Heavy eyelids descended. “I like it.”
The devils prancing about in his heart settled. Her willingness made no sense in any universe he inhabited, but he couldn’t doubt she meant it. “Then by all means, continue.”
An excited huff of laughter escaped her. With one hand, she gathered her hair behind her neck, while the other circled the thick base of his cock.
Control became more ragged when she lowered over him. He clawed at the cushions and prayed for fortitude through an interval of excruciating pleasure before she found her rhythm. When she did, she rocketed him into a volatile new world of heat and sensuality.
That fiendish tongue prolonged the torture, and she stroked his balls in a caress that crashed through him like cannon fire. His breath emerged in guttural grunts. Every muscle strained toward climax. Every ounce of will kept him from surrendering.
Through the gathering storm, he remembered she was a fine lady. He couldn’t lose himself in her mouth. Yet with every second, release rushed nearer.
Ignoring her rules, he plunged shaking hands into her hair. He had to stop her before it was too late. The words scraped out of his tight throat. “Helena, I’m too close.”
She raised her head. “Give yourself to me.”
The husky, urgent command smashed through him. His hands clenched in her hair. “You don’t understand.”
“Yes, I do.”
Without waiting for an answer, she bowed her head and swept him into sizzling paradise. She squeezed his balls with exquisite pressure.
It was beyond bearing. He couldn’t hold back. He wanted this too much.
With a drawn-out groan, West arched against the cushions and gave himself up to flooding ecstasy.
***
West’s guttural cry woke Helena from exhausted sleep. It was the dead of night and her bed was shaking.
An earthquake?
She took a few disoriented seconds to realize that West was shivering and moving restlessly beside her. He’d kicked aside the covers, although the night was cold and the fire had burned down to hot coals.
“West?” She leaned over him and placed one hand on his bare shoulder. Dear Lord, he was bathed in sweat, and his skin burned under her touch. In the dark, she fumbled for her nightdress and dragged it over her head.
She should have seen this coming. He’d been quiet all evening. She’d wondered if the direction of their affair worried him. It certainly worried her.
During those tumultuous hours in the summerhouse, they’d forged a profound connection. Profound, and troubling. As Helena fell further and further under West’s spell, the prospect of living without him became unbearable.
What a fool she was to think she could emerge unchanged from such incendiary passion. Now the awkward question was where they went from here. She still shrank from marriage. But the prospect of sending him away in a few days left her desolate. She felt lost and confused, and unable to make her next step.
Tonight when he’d come to bed, he’d settled down with her in his arms and dropped into exhausted sleep. It had all felt horribly—wonderfully—matrimonial.
Even worse, nestling beside him in drowsy contentment, she had the oddest fancy that this was where she belonged.
She pulled the blankets up and smoothed the damp black hair back from his high forehead. “Hush, sweetheart. Shhh.” She hardly noticed the endearment.
At least her touch brought him a measure of comfort. As the terrifying shaking eased, he opened his eyes. “Helena.”
She caught his hand. “You’re sick.”
“Damn it. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be a fool.” She rose from the bed and lit a couple of candles, then almost wished she hadn’t. West looked appalling. White and drawn, eyes sunk back in his face.