What Happens in Piccadilly - Chasity Bowlin Page 0,101
in his bed, her normally alabaster complexion flushed with desire. Winn kissed her again, even as one hand stroked the supple flesh of her thighs, soothing, coaxing, until they parted for him and he could touch her intimately. The heat of her was the sweetest kind of torment, but he endured it as he explored her body, learning the ways to please her. He noted which touches made her gasp, which made her moan, those that made her arch and strain against him. And then he noted those that made her tremble and cling to him as the pleasure built inside her. But it was the sound of his name on her lips as she came for him that would be forever emblazoned on his memory.
He couldn’t wait any longer. Moving between her parted thighs, he hitched her knees high on his hips until he was nudging inside her. Slowly, carefully, he eased his way until he could feel the fragile barrier of her innocence. He kissed her, claiming her mouth just as he claimed her body.
When it was done, he went still immediately, struggling to breathe, struggling to cling to the last vestiges of his willpower. And then, slowly, she began to relax again, her hands which had been fisted against his back slowly eased until he felt the splay of her fingers along his sides.
“That wasn’t exactly what I anticipated,” she said.
Winn smiled then, kissing her again. When he drew back, he replied, “We aren’t quite finished yet… and it only gets better from here.”
And then he showed her. With slow, rhythmic strokes, he built that perfect tension once more, until she was clinging to him, her back arched and her head thrown back in beautiful abandon. With more patience than he knew he possessed, he held his own pleasure at bay until she crested that peak again. Then he followed her over the edge, thrusting deep, holding her to him as her soft cries echoed around them.
Eventually, the room grew quiet, even their ragged breaths settling until they were just soft whispers of sound. Rolling to his side, Winn pulled her with him. He found himself unwilling to let go of her, even for a moment. And luckily for him, she was content enough to rest easily in the circle of his arms, her head on his chest and one of her hands clasped in his.
Neither of them spoke, but then again, they didn’t need to. They’d already expressed the depths of their feelings for one another. There was something almost sacred in that silence as they lay there together, as if to speak would break the fragile spell that held them cocooned together away from the world and all the ugliness it could hold. Eventually, they fell into a deep sleep just that way, entwined together, wrapped in the tangled bedding and one another.
Chapter Twenty-Four
A verston was in his study. Seated in the chair across from his desk was a woman he should have resented, a woman he should, based on everything that had been drilled into him since childhood, despise. And yet, he found himself glad of her presence, glad to have her there in the home where he’d welcomed so very few visitors. In the weeks since his newfound cousin had been married to the Earl of Montgomery, they’d been frequent visitors to his home and had welcomed him on numerous occasions into theirs. It was a strange feeling to find himself suddenly welcomed into a loving family when he’d never known such a thing truly existed before.
That wasn’t true, of course. He’d known that people could love and be loved by their families. Charles Burney had shown him that. Thoughts of the young man he’d shared such a brief romantic interlude with often crossed his mind and brought with them a pang of sadness and a wealth of regret. After all, if he hadn’t sought to further his association with Burney, then his grandmother would never have begun plotting against him. He’d all but painted a target on Burney with his attention. It was a bitter pill to swallow.
“Are you well?”
Averston looked up, noting the worried expression on Calliope, Lady Montgomery’s, pretty face. “Quite well, Cousin. Thank you.”
Forcing his attention back to the document before him, he went over it again and again. Yet no matter how many times he read it, he still could not make sense of it.
“You’re mad. They’ll lock you in Bedlam for this,” he said.