Surrender of a Siren (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #2)

He peered at her frock in the darkness.

Bloody hell. Stripes.

Gray started to roll her over, looking for laces or hooks or some other ridiculous device contrived by the devil to thwart men.

She shook her head. “Next time.” She wriggled beneath him, drawing her skirts up to her waist. The erotic dance of her hips had him trembling with need. “Next time, we’ll go slowly. We’ll do everything you told me this morning, and more.” She gasped as he palmed her breast through the wet muslin. Her fingers hooked under the waistband of his trousers, and she looked up at him with a bold, smoldering gaze. “But I need you now, Gray.”

With a low groan, he leaned over to suck one pert nipple straight through the layers of shift and frock. She moaned and arched against him, working his buttons loose with one hand, until her fingers slid down into his smallclothes to caress the swollen head of his erection. Oh, God. He needed her now, too. He needed her now, and again later, and perhaps a third time that night. And tomorrow and the next day and every day after that. He was pulsing with need, straining into her touch, and as her fingers curled around him, they both gasped.

She stroked him gently, so sweetly he wanted to weep for the joy of it. He slid one hand up her thigh to find her hot and wet and grinding against his palm. Next time, he promised himself. Next time, he would take the time to touch her and taste her and learn her responses and watch her beauty unfurl at the peak of passion.

But she needed him now, and he needed her now, and now wasn’t a minute or even a second later. Now was now. Gray brushed her hand away, positioned himself at her hot, wet entrance, and thrust. She cried out, digging her fingers into his arms so hard he nearly cried out, too.

Oh, God. She was so tight. Too tight. Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks even as she tried to look brave. And Gray finally understood that elusive, un-nameable sweetness that always lingered about her, beneath the powder and rose water.

It was innocence.

His little siren was a virgin.

“Why—” His breath hitched in his chest as he struggled for control. “Oh, sweet, you should have told me the truth.”

“I’m telling you now.” She swallowed hard, sliding one hand up to cradle his face. “Only you, Gray. Now and always. Only you.”

“But what about—”

She silenced him with a finger to his lips, then trailed the touch slowly down his chin, down the center of his chest. “There’s never been anyone else. Only you.”

Gray shook his head, uncertain what to believe. Her words were some sort of miracle, and so were her thighs cradling his hips, and her hair fanned out like a shining halo around her head. A fierce, primal joy flooded his chest, to know that she was his, and his alone.

His to possess; his to pleasure.

He shifted his weight on his hands, and as he did, he sank another inch into her. They both winced.

His to hurt.

“Sweetheart, I can’t bear to hurt you.”

“It’s all right,” she said through quivering lips. “Honestly, it feels better already.”

He knew she was lying. He rocked his hips backward with every intention of withdrawing, but she hooked her legs over his.

“No,” she gasped, her body tightening around his in every way imaginable. “You can’t leave me. You promised.”

He groaned as the exquisite friction pulled him back in. Gritting his teeth to restrain himself, he sank into her slowly. Her eyes grew wide, but she gave him a brave nod of encouragement.

“Yes,” she breathed as he finally buried himself to the hilt and they were completely, perfectly joined. The feel of her surrounding him, holding him—it was like nothing he’d ever dreamed. He squeezed his eyes shut and rocked again slowly. Back and forth, he gently pistoned his hips, grinding against her. Until she said it again, this time releasing the word in an erotic sigh. “Oh, yes.”

It took every ounce of willpower Gray possessed not to lose control that instant and simply drive into her again and again. But she’d trusted him to make love to her, not rut with her. She’d trusted him to be her only one. Now and always. So he kept up the slow, steady rocking of his hips. Feeling her body caress his with each small, measured thrust.

She shut her eyes, and her head rolled back against the pillow. “Oh, Gray,” she moaned, arching into his subtle thrusts now with tiny tilts of her hips. He bent to suckle her breast again, licking the soft peak through the rough, wet fabric.

She clutched his shoulders. He froze, panting above her. His hands fisted in the bed linens as he grappled for control.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m all right.”

“Are you sure?”