Chapter Six

He wanted to lick every inch of her creamy skin and suckle on her pert breasts with those oh-so-enticingly pink tips. The dark hair at the juncture of her thighs, too, he wanted his tongue there. His fingers. His cock. He wanted to claim her and make her his in the most fundamental of ways.

Sebastian was a lover who knew what he wanted, but he never expected to own the woman he held in his arms. He would move on to other lovers and so would she. But this woman... she was bringing out an element of his personality he had never experienced before: The selfish desire to keep her entirely to himself. But wasn’t that what her late husband had done?

He had seen the expression on her face when she spoke of her marriage, and it was enough to cool even his passion. For a moment anyway. To be gazed at and admired and rarely touched, and then blamed for that touch—it was horrifying to a man who relished the earthy sounds and smells and sensations of intercourse. That she had been denied those basic pleasures for so long made him all the more determined to introduce her to them now.

He wanted to show her how desirable she was, and how only a fool like Winstanton would stand at a distance and stare at her while he brought himself off.

Seb slid his hands beneath her, cupping the globes of her bottom and squeezing that delectable flesh, before he maneuvered her farther back onto his bed. Obediently she lay there, watching him, but her body was a little tense. To relax her, he kissed her, stroking her tongue with his, as he spread himself out above her. She was smaller than him, and more delicate, but he dismissed the idea that she was breakable as he pressed his body lightly along her length, his knees and elbows taking most of his weight. Her scent was addictive, and he nuzzled against her throat, sucking and licking in the hollows and crevices.

The tips of her breasts were pressed to his chest, and she must have enjoyed the sensation because she rubbed against him. He nudged her thighs apart with one of his, and reached down to finger her lower lips, discovering her wet with the essence of her desire. It was the proof that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her, and he didn’t hesitate to push one finger gently inside her, while his thumb stroked the bud already swollen and eager for his touch.

She let out a surprised cry, hips rising, while she arched back her head.

“Yes?” He bent again to her throat to taste her skin, while he circled his thumb with more resolve. She was going to come if he kept up his attentions—he knew the signs. Her legs were tangling with his as she tried desperately to get closer, and he felt her soft, quick breaths against his shoulder as she answered him in murmurs and moans.

“Please,” she managed, reaching down to place his cock where she wanted it.

He was so hard he ached, and it was a relief to push himself inside her. Slowly, he reminded himself. She was not an experienced lover, and he didn’t want to rush her or hurt her. He wanted her enjoyment to be as great as his. He withdrew, brushing against her most sensitive part, and then pushed inside again. Deeper now. She was hot and tight, and he thought at this moment he could die happy. He was fully inside her now, so deep that his body felt a part of hers. Blindly, he kissed her, aware of nothing but the physical sensation, and the quickening spiral of pleasure.

Her hands were clutching at the bunched muscles of his buttocks, feeling him move as he rocked against her. With a gasp, her mouth searched for his, as if he were the only thing keeping her tethered to the bed.

Once again he reached down to stroke between her legs, withdrawing almost all the way out of her body, before pushing in again, rocking against her in this most ancient and fundamental of ways.

“What do you need?” he asked, between kisses.

“You,” she said. “I want you.”

She was close to her climax, and even as he thought it, her body tensed, and then she cried out so loudly he muffled the sound against his lips. He moved quickly now, eager to join her, as the flood of feeling grew and grew. He heard her cry out again as he soared upward.

The wave of pleasure that engulfed him was almost too much to bear. With his face pressed into the pillow beside hers, he lay gasping and shuddering, aware of her body boneless in his arms. For a moment he couldn’t speak, could only lay in her warm grasp, as the world slowly righted itself.

It was an effort to roll over, but he knew he was too heavy for her. With a grunt he settled beside her, his shoulder brushing against hers, and finally turned his head to look at her. Her eyes were closed, but at his movement, her dark lashes fluttered and lifted and she blinked, staring up at the ceiling. She looked debauched, the marks of his mouth and hands on her fair skin, her hair a tangled mess, and her breasts heaving with each breath. But to him she was more beautiful like this than as that perfect woman who had first stepped inside his room.

Voices. He recognized that of the Fotheringham child, and then his parents, as they made their way back to their room. Laughter drifted from elsewhere in the inn, and he thought he heard Dodds, but it was all far away. Like a memory or a dream.

Could this be the most intense sexual experience he had ever had?

Realizing he was watching her, Catherine reached to cover herself, only to change her mind and let her hands fall back. Goosebumps erupted across her skin.

“You are cold,” he said, and began to draw the covers over her. A glance at the fireplace showed that the fire was now only an insipid glow. He rose and went to place more wood upon the coals, squatting as he used the poker to urge them into life.

When he looked back to the bed she was sitting up, watching him, one hand holding the covers to her breasts while her dark hair tumbled about her. He stood up, and her gaze raked over him, and then again, more slowly, as if she was implanting the memory of him in her mind.

All that attention went right to his cock. He was already moving back to the bed, ready for another round, when there was a knock on the door.

“Sir?” It was a woman’s voice, one of the maids. “Can I tidy your room?”

“No,” he said sharply and impatiently, “you cannot.” Then, remembering himself, “Not right now, thank you.”

Her steps faded away as Seb climbed onto the bed and reached for Catherine, his fingers tangling in her hair as he cupped the back of her head. He pinned her there and began to kiss her, slowly at first, exploring her lips and then using his tongue to take her mouth as thoroughly as he had just taken her body. She clung to him, her nails making little half-moons in the skin of his shoulders.

Seb smiled. She was as insatiable for him as he was for her. And that was good, because he meant to have her as often as time and stamina would allow before the road was cleared and they went their separate ways.