An English Lord's Love Affair

Chapter 20.2.1. Contradiction Of Courage And Softness

   Benedic marveled at the female perfection of her form, that a woman so delicately made could harbor such a warrior's spirit. She had no idea how she had saved him. If not for Charlotte, he would have lost all hope, all faith that held any goodness for him.

   She had believed in him when he had treated her with underserved cruelty, when he had behaved no better than an animal. He had not earned her loyalty, but she had seen through his mask of pain and rage to the man underneath. When he had gone on the attack, she had stood up to him and shown him reason.

   He loved the contradiction of courage and softness that made her so intriguing. He loved the way she touched him. When she pressed her palms against his belly, her fingertips brushing the arrow of hair that lay above his groin, his mind ceased to function. His lower body clenched in anticipation. It took all his restraint not to urge her hands lower to his thickening rod. His hips flexed in shameless enjoyment. The fragrance that drifted from her skin made him burn. How could the woman who rendered him this helpless have given him so much strength?

   "Charlotte," he said, his spine, his spine arching, his shoulders tensing at the sexual hunger smoldering in his blood. "We don't have enough time, and I need you so badly."

   She pressed ardent kisses on his strong throat, his chest, and when her soft lips brushed the base of his penis, every muscle in his body constricted as if in pain. Fluid heat flooded him, engorged his veins. He could barely breathe, stricken with a need he had never known. Her tongue curled against the crown of his erection like a wet flame. He was stunned, his body shaking. Passion came naturally to her. She was a born seductress, this woman he loved.

   "Charlotte," he murmured, his voice hoarse and uneven as he lifted her up to kiss her erotic mouth. His other arm locked around her waist, supporting her. "Charlotte," he whispered in her soft black hair. "My God, what you do to me."

   She arched upward, her belly pressing to his. His hand tightened around her waist, locking her to him. He kissed her and cupped her plump breasts in his palms. Her nipples hardened between the agile pinching of his fingers. She gave a deep moan, folding under him, vulnerable and inviting.

   He was on top of her. All over her. Holding her down with one hand against her midriff, parting her thighs wide with the other. His heart pounded as he stroked the wet curls of her sex. She melted against his fingers like honey, completely open to him, moist flesh that beckoned a man's touch.

   "Benedic," she whispered, her hips moving against his fingers. "I think my heart is going to stop."

   He felt an incredible surge of power, of pleasure. He might have wished for finer surroundings for her benefit, but for himself he did not care. All of his attention was focused on Charlotte, her ivory body nestled invitingly on the darkness of his cloak, her thighs spread wide to him, her blue eyes drugged with helpless passion. "What would you like me to do?" he whispered, teasing. "If it's too much, I could stop—"

   "If you dare . . ."

   He had no intention of stopping. He couldn't. He was going to take as far as he could. He brought her again and again to the brink, loving the breathless whimpers that broke in her throat. His fingers sank into the engorged folds of her sheath. He played with her until she was weeping for him to be inside her. She was his woman to worship, to please.

   She gave a cry as he slipped his hands under her bottom to enter her. She was so tight, he could have come on the first thrust. Instead, he braced his palms on the cloak and concentrated on controlling his movements, rubbing his shaft between the folds of her slick entrance before giving her what she wanted. The slow friction teased her until she was practically begging him to enter her, shuddering with lust. "Do it," she said.

   His mind reveled in the sensation of wet heat. She was completely open to him, her graceful body pinned to the floor, shaking with uncontrolled sensuality. He was going to learn how to pleasure her inside and out; he would make loving her an art. With tantalizing restraint he slowly embedded himself inside her.

  "I could die like this," he said, his head head thrown back, the muscles in his shoulders contracting in pleasure.

   He was lost in her. He loved how her body welcomed him. He loved the feel of stretching her to the hilt, filling her. This act he would not rush, no matter what awaited him afterward. His only thought was to sensitize her, to give her pleasure; he stroked her channel with slow, steady pressure, claiming her one inch at a time. She tensed, and he felt her inner muscles stretched by his thick member. He growled softly and rotated his hips, teasing her just a little more, sinking ever so slowly, so deeply inside her.

   He watched her eyes close in enjoyment, her neck arch, her belly tremble at his relentless attack on her senses. Each thrust tested his willpower, inflamed him. He felt the exact moment when she began to shatter, her womb convulsing, gripping him until he, too, was overwhelmed by sensation, overpowered with need. The world exploded, his hips bucked as he emptied his seed into her body.

   He had never known such earth-shattering eroticism in his life. He could not believe that their mating had been such a wild delight. He rolled onto his side, their bodies still joined, fragrant with the perfume of sex. He cradled the back of her head in his hands and lowered his head to kiss her. She was warm, shivering a little, but deliciously responsive. He forced himself to ignore the stirring of desire in his groin. He would grow hard inside her too easily. He wanted more of her.