A Hamilton Family Christmas - Donna Kauffman Page 0,114

inside her ... and she was done following his lead.

As she’d anticipated from the first time he’d put his hands on her, their mating was raw, bordering on ferocious. As soon as she slid her hands from beneath his and took his face to yank his mouth to hers, he roared fully into her, losing any semblance of control.

Theirs was a needy, pounding mating. She gasped, he groaned, she screamed . . . and he came. It was glorious and intense and completely outside any realm of intimacy in which she’d ever indulged. In fact, no one had ever made her come alive like that. Certainly, no one had claimed her, ever.

But that was exactly how she felt, when he let himself rest his weight on top of her as he tried to find his breath. He started to move away moments later, but she slid her heels higher up his thighs and her arms around his neck. “I like this,” she whispered.

“Mmm,” was all he managed, but he stayed there a moment longer.

Would he simply roll off her now, she wondered? Get up, tell her it had been nice, and head out the door? Did he expect they’d do this again? How long would he be staying in town? Did she dare take up with him, knowing that one or both of them would be leaving Hamilton for good? Him for certain, which was all that mattered. She had no idea when he was planning on heading back to Ireland, but she knew enough to realize that she wasn’t cut out for playing games.

He kissed the side of her neck, her cheek, the bridge of her nose, and then gently, her lips, before he moved off her.

She was surprised by the gentleness, and by her accompanying prick of tears. She squeezed her eyes shut briefly, willing them away, so she could be all casual and unconcerned when he made his excuses. Instead he surprised her further by rolling her to his side and tucking her body up against his. She glanced at him, but his eyes were closed. He was toying with the hair on the back of her neck, urging her cheek down on his chest.

She fit naturally—too naturally—against him. It felt good. Okay, better than good, it felt bloody fantastic, she thought, smiling privately. She didn’t move away, or roll to the side of the bed and initiate his leaving. Although that would certainly have been the wisest thing to do. She’d worry later about the wisdom of drawing out the moment. She thought about the unexpected gentleness in him and snuggled closer, the motion purely instinctive.

For now, he was there, and he was hers.

9

Well, that had been . . . something, hadn’t it then?

He should be pulling on his trousers, making his excuses. And getting right the bloody hell out of there.

Instead he was tugging her closer, molding her against him, feeling his heart still racing beneath her soft cheek. He couldn’t seem to keep his fingers out of her hair, nor could he stop wanting to tip her head back, lean down, and kiss her some more.

Like a starving man, he was. A man whose appetite had been well and surely slaked . . . though his body was done for, the rest of him wanted what it wanted, which was Melody Duncastle, plastered to his sweaty, happy side. And what was the “rest of him” he referred to? There was only one part he should be—could be—concerning himself with. And that part was temporarily out of commission.

He stroked her hair, closed his eyes, and tried like hell not to think about those other parts. He should be grinning like a loon, happy to have had a hearty round of it. That was what he’d thought he wanted, was it not? Just put out the fire, so the only thing left afterward were ashes.

Only that’s no’ how it felt.

He wanted her again. And very likely again after that. His body might not be up to the task, but that didn’t slake the desire. The pure sexual craving.

Even as he thought it, he knew his feelings went far, far beyond that. He didn’t only want to have her, watching her slowly come apart under his tongue, sinking into her, driving into her, rushing up and over her like a roaring train, and taking her with him. He wanted all of that, aye, indeed he did.

But he wanted far, far more. He wanted to know her. To