of his tongue, the tug of his mouth on her core, the glide of his fingers within her. There was nothing in her world but that moment, nothing with more meaning.
She’d had a lifetime devoid of sexual satisfaction. Surely it wasn’t too sinful to want just a little before she turned back to duty again? Society might say it was, but Maris wished society to the devil for making her doubt her right to this particular joy. She could not have stopped her reaction to Reyn if all the patronesses at Almack’s wandered into the stable to object to her wantonness.
Maris shattered, even before she’d had the chance to remove Reyn’s clothes. Tears of gratitude welled in her eyes, but she sat up unsteadily and tore his loose shirt over his head. He had changed from his dinner finery, but to Maris it really didn’t matter what he wore. He was too lovely to cover up.
“It’s my turn.” Her hands shook too badly for her to unfasten his breeches. With a cheeky grin, he helped her. The grin vanished when he realized what she meant to do. “Maris,” he warned.
She looked directly into his sin-dark eyes. “I want to.”
There had been no time for this before, not when his seed had to be spilled into her womb. Maris was no expert. She took his member gingerly in her fist, but he placed his broad hand over hers and squeezed, showing her he couldn’t be broken. He was hard and so very warm, so very beautiful. She bent to cover him with her mouth, her unraveling braid falling on his thigh.
Reyn’s entire body convulsed with her capture. She had him precisely where she wanted him—flat on his back, at her mercy, for a change. She, plain Maris Kelby, could do as she liked with this gorgeous young man and all he could do was groan with pleasure.
He was so large, she divided her attentions to shaft and head, pulsing vein, and heavy stones. Reyn’s eyes were closed, his thick brows knit in what looked like agony. Maris knew better. She sheathed as much of him as she could in her mouth as he cupped the back of her head, gently guiding her movement until she tasted the beginnings of salt and sin.
He struggled to push her away in time, then tumbled her on her side, sliding in effortlessly behind her as if they’d practiced the movement a thousand times. He’d been worried, she’d remembered, about crushing the baby, and in this position she was safe. His hand swept with possession over her breasts and belly as he lost his control, whispering prayerful words she didn’t catch. With unerring precision he found her swollen center and brought her to climax, yet again.
Maris heard one of the horses snort, the driving rain, and Reyn’s jagged breath behind her. She was on the floor of a barn like a common trollop, the itch and smell of the horse blankets no aphrodisiac. Somehow, she didn’t mind a bit.
Reyn held her close, their skin slick and too hot. “Are you all right, Countess?”
She wiggled against him. “I could not be better, except if I could see your face.”
“This scarred old phiz?” he chuckled. “I can arrange that, but I’m not quite ready to give up your sweet sheath. Nature will deny me, soon enough.”
The tension had left his body, and, she hoped, his mind. Her actions spoke to him, did they not? She wanted him to be happy, to know—
Dear God. She had fallen in love with him, and it could no longer be denied.
When Henry died, she’d lost her husband and dearest friend. And she’d had to send her lover away, a man who in such a short time had breached her reserve and awakened her to the possibilities of—what?
There was the baby to consider. And David. And her own conscience. Maris had come to soothe Reyn, but was suddenly as agitated as ants under a quizzing glass in the sun.
They could engage in an affair, as long as her pregnancy was not an impediment. It was not the ideal solution. That would be a complete break, but Maris was not brave enough to do it. She wanted Reyn.
Did she still want the earldom for her son? That was not her dream, but Henry’s.
To have one’s cake and eat it too. Maris had never understood the phrase quite so accurately before. She was a gambler hedging her bets, and it was not a pleasant feeling.