Chapter 30
It was early morning when Emily finally woke and opened the bed curtains. A light breeze stole through the window Damien had cracked open. He was sitting at the table before a brace of pistols and a breakfast tray. Emily sat up, grateful for the food and the consideration he had shown by drawing the curtains around the bed before their breakfast had been delivered. How had she slept so soundly?
“Good morning,” she said, poking her head through the curtains. “I hope you don’t have an immediate reason for putting those pistols out on the table.”
He looked up, his hard face so handsome in the half-light that she sighed with longing. He had already shaved, she realized. His linen shirt and black pantaloons made her embarrassed that she had slept so deeply in her disheveled nudity.
“How do you feel?” he asked, as she swept her hair off her face.
Wicked. Wonderful. Uncertain. “Well enough,” she said, blushing at her thoughts.
“No physical complaints?”
“Nothing that I care to discuss.” She bit her lip as he rose from the table and approached the bed. “Are we staying in this room all day?”
“I regret not.” He pushed aside the curtains and sat down on the bed beside her.
A moment later his hand swept down her back to her bare hip. She was in the same predicament as the night before, if only a little better prepared. He cradled her face in his other hand for a kiss that she hoped was a prelude of pleasures to come.
“I don’t think my heart can withstand this, Damien.”
“Neither can mine. But it’s a decent way to die.”
His tongue penetrated her mouth. She lifted herself to meet him, but he pushed her farther down onto the bed. Still kissing her, he cupped the fullness of her breast in his palm. The instant dampness she felt between her thighs disconcerted her. She had turned into a wanton in one night.
As if he sensed her readiness, he stroked his hand along her outer thigh and into the warmth between her legs. She turned her head, needing to catch her breath, needing him even more. Tremors ran through her not only at the intimacy of his touch, but also at her desire for it. She felt tender inside, and yet her body’s moisture eased the burn, the intrusion of his fingers to prepare her for their coupling. She started to hide her face in the pillow. She heard him unfasten the flap of his trousers. She wanted to plead for him to stop, or to move faster, or maybe to slow the rush of blood through her veins.
“Damien,” she said, daring a look at the starkly handsome face of her husband as he stood poised, his shaft in hand, ready to enter her. “Aren’t you even going to remove your boots?”
“Yes. No.” He threw back his head. “Will you forgive me if I don’t?”
“I think boots might leave marks on the bedding.”
“Emily, please. This is not something you’re supposed to think about. At least not when I’m ready to burst.” He inhaled. His eyes locked with hers. “Tell me if this is too soon. Tell me that I am causing you discomfort. But do not expect me to care that my boots might damage the blessed sheets. I can afford to replace them. Do you want me or not?”
She glanced down from his face to his flat stomach and full erection, and nodded before she closed her eyes. There was no point in denying with words what her carnal self had so unashamedly admitted.
“Thank you.” His raw voice quickened her pulse. The bed clothes slithered to the floor. “Place your legs around me, Emily.”
His sexual power pulled her from the mist that permeated her thoughts. She had unlocked her knees and lifted her legs to grip his buttocks when she felt his deep thrust inside her.
“Sweetness,” he whispered in a low voice, sheathing himself in her depths.
His untamed sexuality made her shiver, made her feel a little wild. She raised her bottom from the bed to take as much of him inside her as she could. He kissed her again, groaning into her mouth, and gave her more than she expected. She swallowed a cry. It hurt a little, but her body wanted more. Her body needed every inch of him.
“God,” he muttered, withdrawing only to surge back inside her.
Sensation took over. She put one hand over her face, certain he would pummel her through the mattress. She would beg him in silence for more and more until she broke into pieces.
“I’m going to fill you with come,” he said above her, his voice deep, distant.
She spiraled out of control. She grasped his wrist with her other hand, whether holding on to him or holding herself back, she was at a loss to know.
? ? ?
He was still buried inside her when Emily worked up the nerve to open her eyes. He offered her a smile that filled her with sweet humiliation, as though to say he knew he’d unhinged her and would do so whenever he pleased.
She met his stare. “You don’t have to gloat.”
“A gentleman doesn’t gloat.”
She laughed in reluctance. “But he does rob a lady of her reason?”
“Yes. Of course. It’s only fair when she has disarmed him of his wits. I’m sorry to tell you that now we must get dressed. I’ve lost track of time since yesterday afternoon.”
Emily sighed as he withdrew from her and refastened his trousers. How easy it was for a man to take his pleasure and return to the ordinary world. But had he implied that she had been responsible for their mutual loss of control? If he needed time to adjust to her innocence, then surely she could reciprocate and make accommodations for his impropriety.
She put on her robe and went to the washstand, grateful to see soap and fresh water for her toilet. Her hair needed brushing, and she was wishing for her maid when Damien cleared his throat.
“You might want to move a bit faster than usual,” he said. “I’ve invited your brother, your maid, and Winthrop to take luncheon with us before we set out on the road.”