And she couldn’t even bring herself to look at him for reassurance, since their position was—“It’s rather awkward, isn’t it?”
He made a strangled sound she would have sworn was a laugh. Then he brushed her temple with his lips and whispered, “That only means . . . I’m doing it wrong.”
“How is that possible? You must have had plenty of practice.” All at once his remarks about how his reputation was undeserved flooded her mind, and she jerked her gaze up to him in shock. “You have done this before, right?”
She knew he was laughing when he bent his head to hers, his shoulders shaking. “A few times, yes. Just not with an untried maiden.” Then his shoulders stilled, and his voice gentled. “And certainly never with a woman I wanted as much as I do you.”
The tender words softened her, which oddly enough, made it feel like his flesh inside her wasn’t quite so intrusive. “Do you mind if I . . . um . . . move a little?”
He groaned and muttered something that sounded distinctly like, “God save me,” before adding, “Move as much as you please if it helps. Actually . . .” He pulled one of her knees up and murmured, “Better?”
“I . . . I think so.” She lifted up her other knee and shifted experimentally beneath him. With a moan, he slid farther inside her, sparking the most amazing sensation down there. Quite . . . enjoyable. “Ohh, yes! Much better.”
He gazed down at her with a sly satisfaction. “More of that?” he rasped, rocking against her in a very provocative manner that had his member going in and out of her.
She was panting now and clutching his arms. “Much, much more.”
Because the more he thrust inside her, the better it felt. The heat of it stunned her, made her arch up against him. And that delicious feeling along her nerves from their encounter earlier in the day had begun again, somewhat muted at first, but still there beneath the surface like an echo of pleasure in her bones.
“You feel like heaven to me,” he choked out. “An angel come to earth.”
“An angel wouldn’t . . . do this,” she couldn’t resist pointing out.
“Then, a fallen angel,” he said roughly, nuzzling her hair. “Fallen right into my arms.”
She undulated against him, and the delicious feeling became a crackling lightning in her blood, so wonderful . . . so heavenly.
Perhaps he was right—this was like heaven . . . and she was falling . . . falling so far, so fast that she couldn’t catch her breath . . . couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but hold on to him and let the rushing wind take her down . . . down into—
“I’ll catch . . . you,” he whispered as he pounded her harder and deeper with each successive thrust. “Trust me, sweetheart. Just . . . let . . . go.”
So she did. She gave herself up to the glory that was Grey inside her, and she let him tug her down with him into insanity. It was marvelous. And as she reached her release again, her body shook and quivered like an earthquake in the soul.
Only Grey could make her quake. Judging from the cry he gave as he drove deep into her and then strained against her, she was the only one who made him quake, too.
“My fallen angel,” he breathed as he spilled himself inside her, then slumped atop her. “I’ve got you now.”
He certainly had.
And when that dawned on her, to her horror, she began to cry.
Chapter Twenty
Concern gripped Grey. Had he hurt her?
He still shook from the power of his release—beyond anything he’d ever known—and it was all he could do to drag himself out of his pleasure to take care of her.
“Beatrice . . .” he murmured. “What’s wrong?”
She seemed to fight to catch her breath. “I didn’t expect it to be so . . . so . . .”
“Uncomfortable?” he prodded.
She shook her head no. “So wonderful!” she wailed.
It took him a moment to realize what she was saying. Then with relief, he rolled off her and stifled a chuckle. Propping his head up with his hand, he lay on his side to stare at her. “Sorry, sweetheart. I was afraid I’d bungled things.”
He left the bed to dig his handkerchief out of his trouser pocket, then crawled back next to her and handed it over.
She took it gratefully, blotting her eyes and blowing her