A Taste of Desire Page 0,86

she could do nothing but succumb blissfully, helplessly.

Spent in the aftermath of her first orgasm, Amelia was insensate to her surroundings, everything, until she felt the thrust of his manhood at her entrance. Then he was plunging into her. She winced and gasped at the burn of his possession. It had come so unexpectedly. She hadn’t had time to prepare herself for the stinging pain, nor the tightness of the fit.

If Thomas hadn’t been so caught up in the sweet, unbearably tight clasp of her body, he would have halted—or at least paused—when he met the resistance of her maidenhood, before tearing through it like a marauding bull. But with Amelia, he had no such restraint. And even when his mind fully grasped that he had just taken her virginity, he could not stop the advance and retreat of his hips as he plowed into her. All he could do was try to make it as good for her as he could.

He sought her lips and caught her anguished sob in his mouth as his tongue mimicked the mating of their bodies. She had initially gone stiff with the pain of his penetration, but under his avid ministrations, her body began to relax. Soon Thomas was tearing his lips from hers, ducking his head, and encompassing her nipple in his mouth to suckle strongly. Amelia let out a hoarse moan, allowing her legs to encircle his hips, drawing him deeper into her.

Thomas quickened his pace, now slamming into her with such ferocity he had no doubt he’d leave her sore. The knowledge, however, did not stop him. And to his disbelief, he felt her stiffen and claw at his shoulders as she reached her peak once again. With that, his body convulsed and shattered in a release so staggering in its intensity, he let out a guttural cry that exclaimed his unadulterated satisfaction.

It took a while for him to recover from what had just been the most mind-blowing climax of his life—thus far. Only then did he realize he was resting heavily on Amelia’s delicate frame, his mouth nuzzling her breast.

Not a man who liked to cuddle as so many women craved after sexual intercourse, Thomas was disconcerted to discover he didn’t immediately want to bolt from the bed. Yes, it was his bed, but he had no desire to hustle Amelia back to her chamber. This, of course, was downright terrifying.

Good Lord, what have I done?

Amelia lay stiff beneath Thomas as he remained buried inside her. Lord, there hadn’t even been talk of the future, no promise of marriage, just the most exquisite pleasure her body had ever known. This was not how it was supposed to be.

Slowly, he slid from atop her, his chest hairs abrading her nipples, his sweat-dampened abdomen sliding over hers in a sensuous dance. Once again, Amelia could feel herself drowning into the misty haze of passion—lurid, decadent passion.

“A virgin.”

His tone said it all, hushed and incredulous. But it jerked her back to the harsh edges of reality. Not anymore she wasn’t.

Soon mortification replaced the vestiges of ardor. Amelia couldn’t bear to look at him, much less respond. She heard, rather than saw, him get out of the bed, taking all of his heat with him. She caught the edge of the counterpane and draped it over herself.

Thomas came into view as he padded toward the dresser. Amelia knew she should avert her gaze, but the sight of his buttocks, flesh and muscle sculpted to magnificence, captivated her. He opened the top drawer and yanked out a small piece of toweling and with it, several envelopes fluttered to the carpet.

Clasping the counterpane tightly to her breasts, she came up on the bed, her attention now riveted to the floor.

Thomas shot a quick glance at her, let out a mild curse, and started grabbing for the envelopes.

“No!” Heedless of her state of undress, she scrambled from the bed to his side, having discarded the cover in her haste. She grabbed his wrist, stopping his hand in midair, and stared at the now crumpled papers in his hand and the third, which lay on the carpet pointing at him like an accusing finger.

“These are my letters,” she said softly. While her mind reeled, her heart echoed a hollow beat in her ear. In black ink, Lord Clayborough’s name and address stood in stark relief against the pale yellow envelopes. Her handwriting. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he hadn’t received them. Thomas had had them