CHAPTER 26

BEFORE SHE HAD EVEN finished her sentence, he had lifted her in his arms and walked a few steps to a marble bench set in a niche against the garden wall. It was covered in ivy and roses and hidden from view from the house.

He sat and arranged her so her legs straddled his lap, her voluminous skirts blooming around them. She experimentally moved her hips, and her flesh grazed the hard ridge in his trousers. He groaned, his hands diving under the froths of her skirts and petticoats to find the bare skin of her thighs. He squeezed, while his hands circled higher up the leg of her drawers, until his fingers were teasing the crease at the juncture of her legs, tearing a low moan of need from her.

He captured her lips while his skilled fingers sought and found the molten center of her. She went a little mad with want. Her hips thrusting and straining against his touch, while her hands clawed into his hair, dislodging the leather band that kept his long hair tied at the back, and then grabbing onto his locks for purchase.

It wasn't enough. She needed more. She needed the taste of his skin under her lips. Her mouth skated along the hard line of his jaw while his fingers kept playing with her, intensifying her need, propelling her further into madness.

Thalia tore at the knot in his necktie, unwinding it and discarding it. The collar of his shirt fell open, allowing her access to the strong column of his neck. She ran her tongue up and down it, savoring his salty, male essence, drawing a gasp of pleasure from him.

"My muse, you are killing me with want," he panted before inserting one long finger into her.

Her muscles closed greedily against the invasion, wanting more. Needing a fullness his digits couldn't provide.

Her hands left his hair to slide down his torso until she found what she sought, the buttons of his trousers, and started undoing them with frantic movements that spoke of her desperation.

"Thalia, no. Wait. Don't—" His warning dissolved into a groan as her fingers closed over his hard flesh. She squeezed, pumping slowly, touching him the way he had taught her, and was gratified when his thick member grew even thicker and bigger in her hands.

"Fuuuck..." He buried the agonized groan in her chest, nuzzling the tops of her breasts, exposed by the low decolletage of her gown.

"I want it in me," she confided in his ear, and his fingers seemed to falter as they spasmed inside her.

"I don't have a sheath," he whispered in a pained tone.

"It doesn't matter. Take me, Liam. Give me what I need."

His eyes met hers, lambent with need. As desperate as she must look.

"You trust me not to get you with child?"

She shook her head. "I don't care if you do. We are getting married, aren't we?"

His whole body stilled, the only movement his eyes searching hers with incipient hope.

"Is that a yes to my proposal, then?"

"Yes. Yes! Did you ever doubt it for a second?"

Her hands roved over his shoulders, closing on his hair, holding him still for a hungry kiss. She bit his lower lip, frantic with her need. His groan was feral as he withdrew his fingers from her cunny and repositioned her, notching his rod at her entrance.

"Take me, then, my muse."

She didn't have to be asked twice. With a mewl of delight, she sank down onto his length until he was buried to the hilt and filled her completely. The growl that tore from his throat was primal as he sank his teeth into her shoulder, then soothed it with his tongue.

"Bloody hell, my muse. It feels incredible without the sheath. I can feel your heat, your wetness, every pulsation of your flesh. It's so fucking delicious. I'm trying my hardest not to release too soon."

"I want to make you lose control," she replied, rocking her hips relentlessly against him, driving both of them insane with need.

"Not before you," he rasped.

"Make me, then," she challenged against his lips.

It was like setting kindling to flame. Holding her hips steady, he moved under her, his hips pounding into her relentlessly. She reveled in every forceful thrust, in the firm grasp of his hands that would surely leave finger imprints upon her flesh. She delighted in his rough possession, in his absolute lack of self-control.

The climax, when it came, broke upon them at the same time. They buried their simultaneous moans and groans of pleasure in each other's mouths.

Both of them lost to the passion of the moment.

Both of them won.

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