Which she supposed it was. With a healthy dose of alarm.
“George,” she said cautiously, “I know that this will work, because, goodness, it has worked for centuries, but I have to say, this does not look comfortable.” She swallowed. “For me.”
He kissed the corner of his mouth. “Trust me.”
“I do,” she assured him. “I just don’t trust that.” She thought of what she had seen in the stables over the years. None of the mares ever seemed to be having a good time.
He laughed as his body slid over hers. “Trust me,” he said again. “We just need to be sure you’re ready.”
Billie was not sure what that meant, but she was having a difficult time even thinking about it because he was doing very distracting things with his fingers. “You’ve done this before,” she said.
“A few times,” he murmured, “but this is different.”
She looked at him, letting her eyes ask her question.
“It just is,” he said. He kissed her again as his hand squeezed its way up the length of her thigh. “You’re so strong,” he said softly. “I love that about you.”
Billie took a shaky breath. His hand was at the top of her leg now, spanning the whole width of it, and his thumb was very near to her center.
“Trust me,” he whispered.
“You keep saying that.”
His forehead rested against hers, and she had a feeling he was trying not to laugh. “I keep meaning it.” He kissed his way back down her neck. “Relax.”
Billie wasn’t sure how that was possible, but then, just before he took her nipple in his mouth again, he said, “Stop thinking,” and that was an order she had no trouble following.
It was the same as before. When he teased her this way she lost her mind. Her body took over, and she forgot whatever it was she’d thought she feared. Her legs parted, and he settled between them, and then oh God, he was touching her. He was touching her and it felt so wicked and so divine, and it just made her want more.
It made her hungry in a way she’d never been before. She wanted to draw him closer; she wanted to devour him. She grabbed his shoulders, pulling him down. “George,” she gasped, “I want —”
“What do you want?” he murmured, sliding a finger within her.
She nearly bucked off the bed. “I want – I want – I just want.”
“So do I,” he growled, and then he was opening her with his fingers, spreading her lips, and she felt him pressing at her entrance.
“I’m told it will hurt,” he said regretfully, “but not for long.”
She nodded, and she must have tensed up, because he once again crooned, “Relax.”
And somehow she did. Slowly he pushed inside. The pressure was stranger than it was great, and even when she felt a light stab of pain, that was overshadowed by her need to keep him close, then closer.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded again.
“Thank God,” he groaned, and he moved forward, entering her more deeply.
But she knew he was holding back.
He was gritting his teeth and holding hard, and she would swear he looked like he was in pain. But at the same time he was moaning her name as if she were a goddess, and the things he was doing to her – with his member and his fingers, with his lips and his words – were stoking a fire that consumed her.
“George,” she gasped, when the tightness within seemed to grab her from the inside out. “Please.”
His movements grew more frenzied, and she pushed back, the need to move against him too overwhelming to ignore. “Billie,” he groaned. “My God, what you do to me.”
And then, just when she was certain she could take no more, the strangest thing happened. She grew stiff, and she shook, and then the moment she realized could no longer so much as draw a breath, she shattered.
It was indescribable. It was perfect.
George’s movements grew more frenzied, and then he buried his face in the crook of her neck, muffling his hoarse cry against her skin as he plunged forward one last time within her.
“I’m home,” he said against her skin, and she realized it was the truth.
“I’m home, too.”
Chapter 24
W
hen George went down to breakfast the following morning, he was not surprised to learn that Billie was still abed.
She had not, he thought with some satisfaction, had a restful evening.
They had made love three times, and already he could not help but wonder if his seed was taking root within her. It was odd, but he’d never given much thought to having children before. He’d known he must, of course. He would one day inherit Manston and Crake, and he had a sacred duty to provide the earldom with an heir.
But even with all that, he had never imagined his children. He had never pictured himself holding a child in his arms, watching him learn to read and write, or teaching him to ride and hunt.