“Like this?” she asked, wanting reassurance.
“God, yes, just like that, yes . . .” He reached for her head and pulled her in for a profoundly enthusiastic kiss.
Gaining confidence, she continued to move on him, discovering that when she arched and pushed her hips forward on each downward thrust, she could accommodate the entire length of him, her mound rubbing against delicious firmness. It caused a deep jabbing ache each time she did it, but the growing pleasure soon outweighed the pain. Overwhelmed with lust, she began to push harder, almost slamming on him, gulping for breath as an intense hot wave of fulfillment began to roll up to her.
“Phoebe,” she heard him gasp, “wait . . . easy, now . . . not so rough. You’ll hurt yourself, sweet . . .”
She couldn’t wait. The need was excruciating, and all her muscles were tightening and clenching in anticipation of relief.
A whimper escaped her as West brought it all to a sudden halt, clamping a forearm beneath her churning hips, easily lifting her away from his shaft.
She shuddered hungrily. “No, it felt good, please, I need—”
“It may satisfy you at the moment, but you’ll be cursing me later when you’re too sore to walk.”
“I don’t care. I don’t care.”
Phoebe continued to protest weakly as he lifted her up and carried her to the bed, her senses in a frenzy . . . He was saying something quietly, something about patience or . . . but she couldn’t hear over the thunder in her ears. Her legs splayed wide as he dropped her onto the mattress, his big body settling between them, and she cried out as he slid back inside her, his hardness stretching her lusciously. He began to pump in a slow, steady motion that wouldn’t alter no matter how she writhed and begged him to go harder, faster, deeper.
His mouth went to her breast, sucking at a nipple, tugging sweetly in time to his thrusting. Her body contracted every time he pushed inward, clasping him hungrily, sensation building until a powerful climax began, wringing every inch of her body with raw force. She fell silent, her hips locked in a steep arch against his weight. Still the measured rhythm went on, extracting every last flicker of sensation. He was tireless, unhurried, using himself to satisfy her.
At last Phoebe collapsed down on the bed, shivering uncontrollably. West plunged into her . . . once, twice, thrice . . . and pulled out to crush the thick wet rod of his sex against her stomach. He buried a savage growl in the bedclothes and clutched the mattress on either side of her so hard she thought he might gouge holes in it. As she felt the hot spill of his release, an unfamiliar croon came from her throat, a sound of primal satisfaction at having pleased her mate.
West began to roll off her, but she locked her arms and legs around him to keep him there. He could have broken her hold on him with laughable ease, but he stayed obediently, striving to regain his breath. She relished the feeling of being anchored by his weight, the mat of hair on his chest teasing her breasts, the fragrance of sweat and intimacy rising freshly to her nostrils.
Eventually he brought his mouth to hers, kissing her softly before he left the bed. He returned with a damp cloth, wiping her in careful strokes, performing the lover’s service with exquisite gentleness.
Dreamy and limp with relaxation, Phoebe turned to face him as he lay beside her again. West smoothed back stray locks of hair from her face and stared into her eyes. She felt as if they were still beyond the reach of the world, entangled even though their bodies were separate. He was part of her now, his name emblazoned on her skin with invisible but permanent ink. With a single fingertip, she traced the strong line of his nose and the edge of his upper lip. What have we done? she wondered, almost frightened by the connection between them, the unbreakable strength of it.
It seemed, however, that her companion’s thoughts were focused on more immediate concerns.
“Will it be time for breakfast soon?” West asked hopefully.
“You poor man. Every day is an unending struggle to satisfy one or another of your appetites, isn’t it?”
“It’s exhausting,” he agreed, kissing his way down her arm.
“I’ll slip inside the house first, and you can follow a few minutes later. I’ll make sure you’re well fed.” Phoebe grinned and tugged her arm away. “We must keep up your strength for all that accounting work.”
Chapter 27
As the midday sun slanted gently through the study windows, West leaned over a row of open ledgers on the oak table. He cross-checked entries and occasionally paused to rummage through folders of correspondence and legal documents. Phoebe sat quietly at the table, providing answers when she could and making notes for her own reference. She took pleasure in the sight of him, shirtsleeves rolled up over his muscled forearms, his trouser braces crossing over his broad back and down his front to his lean waist.