A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)

She gave a little nod, and he advanced again—this time sheathing himself in one long, gliding thrust that seemed interminable in all the best and worst ways. When at last he was fully seated, he stretched his body over hers, guarding her between his arms. “Isabel,” he whispered, closing his eyes and reveling in the blissful sensation of her warm, wet body gripping him, holding him.

Her body made a home for his, her legs spreading a bit wider to cradle his hips, her soft br**sts cushioning his chest. When he felt her relax, and every muscle in his own body tensed, only then did he start to thrust. Slowly, at first. As gently as he could. And then, bracing himself on his elbows, he drove a bit harder, a bit faster. Which was a mistake, because as he drove harder and faster, she began to make little sensual noises with each thrust. And those magnificent br**sts began to dance to his tempo. Which aroused him further, pushed him harder and faster

—until he knew he was striking a most inconsiderate pace, for a gentleman bedding his lovely, innocent virgin bride.

But damn if she didn’t give everything he asked, and then more. Her body yielded to his, moved with his in ways that made his mind go blank. She felt so good. He was on the verge of abandoning gentleness in favor of brevity and making a desperate surge toward climax, when he looked down to find those solemn, dark eyes staring up at him.

“What should I do?” she asked. “Tell me what to do.”

And that was when Toby changed his mind. For this, he would take his time.

“Tell me what to do,” she repeated. “I… I want to please you.”

Just the words shot a thrill down his spine. His jaw clenched. “You could touch me.”

Her eyes skipped over his body. “Where?”

“Wherever you like.”

She frowned, and stayed still.

“My chest,” he said hoarsely, making the decision for her. “Help me remove my shirt.”

She grasped the hem of his shirt and gathered it toward his shoulders, and together they worked his arms free before she pulled it over his head. Then, slowly, she reached for him with both hands, until her fingertips rested against his chest. “Like this?”

“Yes. God, yes.”

Her touch feathered toward his shoulders, tentative and achingly sweet. He allowed himself to move again, just the slightest of nudges into her intimate embrace. Then her thumbs brushed his ni**les, and he had to freeze again, to keep from spilling his seed that instant. That would have been a tragedy, because this was too good to rush.

Using just the pads of her fingers, she cautiously skimmed every contour of his chest, his shoulders, his upper arms. Such light caresses, so devastating in their tenderness. His every nerve, every capillary pressed to the surface of his skin, eager to meet her seeking fingertips. He felt alive, in ways he’d never felt before.

Her fingers skimmed up his neck, pausing against his throbbing pulse.

“Kiss me there,” he said, realizing too late that his tone was a bit brusque. To be ordering his wife about on their wedding night, without so much as a “please” … he’d always prided himself on being a patient, solicitous lover. But Toby was several inches deep in paradise, and his hands were full of Isabel’s generous curves, and charm was simply not within his grasp. She didn’t seem to mind. Without so much as a blink, she craned her neck and pressed her lips to his pulse—once, then again. His low moan of pleasure earned him a third.

“Like that?” she asked, her breath tickling his throat.

“Yes. More.”

She trailed light kisses over his neck and chest, and the torture of her velvet-soft lips was even more exquisite than that of her fingers. Impatient with need, his hips drove home of their own accord. Startled, Isabel fell back against the pillow, her swollen lips parted in invitation. And Toby was never one to refuse an invitation.

He kissed her hungrily as he began to thrust again, relishing the sensation of pressing himself into her two ways at once. Her lovely, fresh scent wreaked its familiar havoc on his senses, but now that hint of verbena mingled with the heady aroma of arousal—his, hers. Theirs. Oh, this was good. So good. Better than he could have dreamed.

And still he wanted more.

“Isabel.”

“Yes.”

“Wrap your legs around my waist.” She obeyed. Another terse command, another accommodating response. It drove him wild, to know that she would comply with his every wish, willingly. Even eagerly. It seemed the more curtly he spoke, the more aroused she became. Those serious eyes were now heavy-lidded, drugged with desire, and her breath was a shallow tide in her chest, lifting her bosom as it ebbed and flowed. He growled, “Hold tight to me now.”

Yes, she loved it. She ground against him, her mounting desire evident as she laced her fingers behind his neck.