Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)

He deserved to be loved.

Fully awake now, they lay side by side, facing one another. Meredith propped her head on one elbow and reached her other hand between them. It didn’t take long to find what she was seeking. It was a big enough target, after all. Not exactly the proverbial needle in a haystack. She’d been delighted to learn that her memories of his body hadn’t been some combination of time’s distortion and her youthful inexperience. Over the years, she’d compared every man in her life to her memories of Rhys. Here was just one more way those other men had come up lacking.

She stroked him slowly, watching his eyes flutter with pleasure beneath closed lids.

“God, that feels good,” he said.

“You sound so surprised,” she teased. Gentling her tone, she asked, “Was it really so bad before?”

“The first time? Hell, yes.” He opened his eyes. Brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, he said, “Worse for her than for me. Poor girl screamed like she was being murdered. We didn’t even finish. Everything about it was just … wrong.”

“Are you sure she wasn’t enjoying herself?” Meredith smiled. “Maybe she was just the screaming sort. Some women are.”

His brow creased. “Are you the screaming sort?”

“No,” she said quickly, inwardly resolving not to make so much as a peep. “No.”

“Then how would you know some women are?”

“I own an inn, Rhys. The walls aren’t very thick.”

She slid her hand further down, reaching to cradle his heavy sac in her hand and delighting in his low groan of pleasure. He clasped her hip and pulled her against him, grinding his thick shaft against her belly. She threw a leg over his narrow hips, opening herself to him. A clear invitation.

Still he hesitated.

“I’m ready,” she assured him. “And I’m not a virgin or a screamer. Everything will be fine.”

“It has to be better than fine.” His hand ranged over her hip, and he reached down to stroke her cleft, probing with his fingers to test her readiness and groaning with satisfaction when he found her quite ready indeed. He slid his thumb to her pearl and gently massaged. “This has to be so damn unbelievably good that you want to do it again, and again, every day for the rest of our lives.”

“Every day?” she teased. “Such stamina.”

“We’ll be making up for a lot of lost time.” Pausing, he gave the appearance of serious consideration. “Every day for the next decade, at least. After that, it will depend on the state of my joints.”

She threw back her head and laughed.

When he began to kiss the hollow of her neck, Meredith decided this was the time. She grasped his erection firmly and guided it to the damp, needy ache between her legs.

She stretched; he nudged.

And then he was inside her, just an inch. They drew a shaky breath together.

Now an inch more.

She bit her lip to keep from moaning. Truth be told, he was big, and she was very out of practice, had never given birth. She was probably as tight as a widow could be. It hurt, but deliciously so.

They stared into one another’s eyes as he fed her another inch of his length, then two.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded, breathless. “Give me just a moment? Just like this.”

“I’ll try.” He gritted his teeth through a few beats of her pulse. “God, I can’t wait, I … I need more.”

“I—”

A gasp took the rest of her willing reply, as he clutched her hip and thrust.

Meredith buried her face in his shoulder. I will not scream. I will not scream.

“Are you well?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Are you certain?”

“Oh, yes,” she squeaked through clenched teeth.

After a moment’s rest, she dragged in a deep breath, then released it slowly. He rocked against her, in the gentlest of thrusts. Their natural moisture spread, easing the way. When he thrust again, she could tell he slid deeper than he’d intended. A groan rumbled from his chest, loosening her tense muscles.

And then, suddenly, it wasn’t painful anymore. It was very, very good.

She worked against him, struggling to take him deeper, desperate for more. More heat, more friction. The firm slide of him against her taut, sensitive flesh.

She lifted her head and opened her eyes so she could watch his expression as they established a rhythm. Slow. Steady. Devastating. With each thrust, he sank a bit deeper, stretched her body a bit wider, prodded her one step closer to the brink of ecstasy.

His face was a mask of concentration—eyes intent, brow furrowed, lower lip folded under his teeth. He seemed to be gauging her reactions just as carefully as she was watching for his.

“Is it good?” she asked, breathless.

“Hell, yes. You feel so …” He grit his teeth as her intimate muscles squeezed in response. “… so much better than my hand.”