She nodded. Yes, she did deserve that. After everything they’d been through together, she was no longer just his mistress. She was his lover. His beloved. She wanted—if only this once—to know what that felt like.
He kissed all around her breasts, finally drawing one nipple into his mouth. He tugged on it with his teeth and tongue until the other ached. She pressed her own hand to her chest, rolling the neglected nipple between her fingertips. Seeing this, Captain Neill switched sides, alternating between breasts until Angelica grew dizzy. All the while, the one place he should be giving all of his attention went untouched.
She didn’t understand.
When she’d lain with her lover, or offered herself up to Captain Neill, both men had rushed to push inside her. That was sex, a man’s member thrusting into her. Why was he taking his sweet time? Didn’t he want to come?
Groaning in frustration, Angelica dragged his hand from her bosom and pressed it between her thighs. She had never needed to be made love to so badly. Her body trembled with wanting.
Captain Neill laughed softly as he stroked her. He knew she was impatient. He was making her wait…for what?
He pressed one long finger inside her, then two. He stroked upward, rocking against her. Angelica felt her hips lift up from the mattress. His tender touch was torture. She burned hot, and felt cold. Her breasts ached, so she squeezed them. Perspiration pooled at the base of her spine.
She whimpered, and he asked, “Is that it—right there?”
He stroked once more, just to be sure. His fingertips flexed and pressed against a place that made her tremble all over. When he asked a second time, Angelica nodded. She couldn’t find her words.
Captain Neill eased himself between her slackened thighs. He slid into her with none of the usual resistance. There was no bite of pain as he found his mark. How odd. She was suddenly so very slick and wet.
He moved with her, seeming to reach the perfect rhythm right away. Her hips rose to meet him, thrust for thrust. She pulled up her knees, resting her heels on his pumping backside. He inched deeper, again finding that strange, inner spot she liked, and she cried out.
She clamped her hand over her mouth. She’d moaned like a whore. The sound of her own pleasure was vulgar and wanting. Captain Neill eased her hand from her face. “Scream it, if you like. They’ll never hear you over the music.”
As he plunged into her, keeping the same slow, pointed rhythm, Captain Neill took her palm, and placed it against his own face. He wanted her to see what she was doing to him. For the first time, he wanted her to see him.
Angelica’s thumb traced his bottom lip. His mouth was open, panting. Her fingers caressed his strong nose, and firm jaw. The dimple on his chin. The tiny, puckered scar near his temple, and his sweat-dampened brow, where his hair flopped over to feather her knuckles.
“Sweet Angelica.” He nuzzled her hand.
She felt love in her heart, and warmth between her legs. She sensed her own pleasure building. Knowingly, Captain Neill rocked right where she needed him the most. As his hips purposefully ground against hers, Angelica felt something unfurl within. She knew it—she’d driven herself there before—but never like this.
She felt no shame. No desperation. This time, when she called his name out into the blackness, he was there.
Angelica let orgasm wash over her. Captain Neill followed a moment later, sobbing into her palm.
She’d never dreamed it would be like this. That, after all the mistakes, the betrayals, she could still feel wholesome. What they had done tonight did not feel naughty. It did not feel cheap or sordid. Despite the fact that she’d just come hard against the man inside her, Angelica felt pure.
She laughed. What a ridiculous way to feel at a time like this.
Yet, Captain Neill seemed to understand her secret. “I told you it would be beautiful.”
Perhaps he, too, felt made anew.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
She stroked her hands lovingly over his shoulders, and down his arms, but stopped when she encountered the puncture marks. Brody had almost forgot they were there—the last reminders of his morphine addiction. He watched her fingertips explore the raised, darkened scars that would likely never fade. His heart sank. What had he done to himself?
He swallowed back the shame. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
“Not for me, surely…”
She shook her head. “I’m only sorry that you suffered. That your life before was so miserable this was the only way you could cope.”
“Things are better now.”
“Yes, they are.” Angelica smiled. Her blank, blue eyes sparkled, and Brody knew she was truly happy. He had made someone happy, just by being himself—tortured, imperfect soul that he was. She reached up to trace the smile on his lips. “I do love you so very much.”