Lady Sophie's Christmas Wish - By Grace Burrowes Page 0,96
knew her. Half asleep, deep in the night, without even touching her, he knew she was there.
“Sophie, what are you doing in my bedroom?”
The shadows beside his bed shifted, and he felt a weight beside him on the mattress.
“I don’t want to talk.”
“Sophie, this is not in the least wise. You’re leaving tomorrow—” Two soft, rose-scented fingers settled over his mouth then slowly moved up along his jaw to caress the outer contour of his ear.
“You can send me away.” Her weight came closer on the expanse of the mattress. “I wish you would not, because you’re right. Tomorrow, I will leave.”
There was such desolation in three words, desolation that echoed in the very chambers of Vim’s own heart. She’d turned down a lifetime with him but was apparently willing to steal another hour in the dead of night. Then too, in the morning, she would give up the child.
“This is not wise, Sophie.”
She kissed him. Her lips connected first with his cheek, then wandered over to the corner of his mouth, then grazed the edge of his jaw.
“My dear, where is Kit?”
“Fast asleep in my room. Kiss me, Vim, please.”
It was the last thing she said for a long, long time—with words—but he sensed she’d come to know him too. Her hands as they skimmed over his chest and arms were sure on his body; her kisses on his skin were cherishing and unhurried.
For all she’d turned down his proposals, Vim was certain this was not mad, passionate lovemaking from Sophie, but loving. Maybe it was born of grief in anticipation of parting from the baby; maybe it was an indulgence before she fully resumed the mantle of Lady Sophia Windham.
Whatever her reasoning, it would be his privilege to accommodate her wishes on this one, unlooked for, final occasion.
“Straddle me, Sophie.” A whisper, only. She replied by arranging herself over him in the darkened confines of the canopy bed. His hands told him she was naked, not a stitch on her, and his heart told him it would be blasphemy to hurry.
He palmed her nape and levered up to find her mouth with his. For long, lazy moments, he kissed her. Chaste kisses at first, kisses that politely invited her to tenderness and flirtation, then—with a sinuous slide of his tongue—hinted at something more intimate and carnal.
For a time, she seemed content to be seduced, to be tasted and teased and coaxed, but then Vim heard a small sound of longing from her and felt her sigh against his mouth. He took this as a request and slid both hands down her sides, slowly, one rib at a time, savoring the feel of her as he mapped her with his hands.
She broke off the kiss as if listening for what his hands would do next, or perhaps to decide on her own strategy while he measured the span of her hips.
He moved his hands back up, settling them over her breasts so her nipples puckered against his palms.
Another sigh, while she let him have just a hint of her weight on his erection. Not enough to comfort, but more than enough to encourage. He rewarded her generosity by playing with her breasts, stroking them lightly, kneading gently, until she brought her hands up to cradle his grip more snugly to her.
More, then. His lady wanted more of him, so he obliged by arching his hips up, caressing her damp sex with his rigid flesh.
“Vim?”
“Soon. Kiss me, Sophie.”
She leaned forward, her breasts pressing into his chest, and settled her mouth over his. He shifted his grip to explore the length of her spine, the graceful sweep of muscle and bone that was her back. When she gave him her tongue, he steadied himself with two hands on her derriere and gave her his in return.
She groaned softly and found him with her sex again, moving over his length in a slow, hungry push and retreat. “Vim, I need…”
“Your wish, my lady…”
She went still, and he angled himself for penetration, pausing just at the point where their bodies would join.
“Is this what you wished for, Sophie Windham?”
The question had slipped out uncensored by reason, a genuine inquiry for all it was ill timed. At this instant, she wanted him for something, not for marriage but for comfort or passion or simple carnal oblivion.
She made a sound, perhaps of sexual frustration, and shifted her hips forward enough to capture him by half his length. The pleasure of it stunned him, sent all