Her Christmas Pleasure (The Merry Widows 2)

But life was too short to be so bitter.

“What do you need forgiveness for, Celia?”

“Not seeing, not realizing what we shared. And how I wish I’d said something sooner, for now you’re moving away. You’re going to go gallivanting around the world and experience new adventures while I sit at home.”

“I wouldn’t call my endeavors gallivanting.”

Her brows rose. “Oh, really?” She took one step closer toward him, casting herself in shadow. Hauntingly beautiful as her temper rose and her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Lord, she was gorgeous when she was upset. “You’re a handsome bachelor, Damien, with no ties. You could do whatever you want and see whatever you want. Be with—” she choked on the words, “—whomever you want. I envy your freedom.”

She envied him? Well, wasn’t that rich? “You don’t know what you speak of.”

“Oh, but I do!” A flurry of pale silk flew out behind her as she rushed toward him. She knelt before him like an adoring mistress, her delicate hands clutching his suddenly trembling knees. She touched him with such ease, implored him with a beseeching expression. “I have always envied you, Damien. You’re kind, loyal and true, and it’s so ingrained in you. You never seem to question your actions. You just…do. You decide you’re leaving England, so you put forth the plan. I could never be so…carefree. There are too many who rely on me.”

“You also rely on them. You have a loving family that takes care of you. And a son who loves and needs you.” She had everything he did not.

“And I appreciate them all, I do. I’m an orphan much like you, you know. My parents both died soon after I married Lawrence. Fever took them. And I wasn’t there to offer my care. I’ll never forgive myself for that.” She took a deep, shuddering breath, and her hands clenched his knees so tightly her fingernails bit through his breeches. “I cling to Lawrence’s family because they’re all I have. But I want more. I—I need more.”

“What do you want? What do you need?” Hope rose within him; he batted it down. He was foolish for even imagining what her answer might be.

She stared at him, her hands forcibly pushing his knees apart. Heat radiated from her lithe body, and her silken robe brushed against the insides of his thighs. His erection twitched, eager for her nearness, and he swallowed hard.

“I want you, Damien. I need…you.”

Damien stared at her as if she’d lost her head. His mouth dropped open, his fingers clutched the thick arms of the chair. She had no choice but to rest her shaking hands on his thighs for fear she’d crumple to the floor. The moment she touched his solid, muscular legs, heat ricocheted through her. Her entire body sprang to life, nipples hardening, chafing against the soft linen of her nightgown.

Touch me, her mind screamed. Take what I offer.

It was as if he heard her silent pleas. He came to life, moving so fast he turned into a blur of movement. He pulled her on top of him. She straddled his hips, resting her hands on his shoulders. His insistent erection brushed against the very core of her, and she sighed. Gasped when he thrust his fingers into her hair and tugged her down so she had no choice but to kiss him.

Their mouths crashed against each other, open and wet, his tongue seeking hers. The kiss was wild and unrestrained, brutal in its intensity. Unlike any kiss she’d ever experienced. She clawed at him with trembling, eager fingers. Stroking his silky soft hair, his cheek, the strong, square jaw shadowed with bristly whiskers. They scraped against her palm, thrillingly male, and she moaned low in her throat.

He groaned in reply, pulling her closer, as close as she could get. Her knees and thighs clamped about his hips, cramped by the confines of the chair. How she wished she could snake her legs completely around him. Lock her ankles around each other and feel the hot thrust of his erection move inside her.

Her eyes flew open at the wicked thought. Had she ever wanted Lawrence like this? Had she ever imagined him moving inside her, filling her, exploding within her? Their lovemaking had been enjoyable, but not like this. Not all-consuming and needy. She hadn’t even experienced the true force of Damien’s lovemaking yet, and already she knew it was so much…more.

That didn’t make her feel guilty as she believed it might. She was free.

Free.

He tore his mouth from hers and dragged his lips along her jaw and chin, down the length of her neck. All the while he whispered her name. Again and again, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was in his arms, as willing and eager as he. She murmured his name in return and pressed her lips against his temple while stroking his luxurious dark locks. His lips blazed a heated trail, sent tingles down her spine as he licked her throbbing pulse at the base of her throat. Nibbled there with his sharp teeth.

She gasped at the sensation. No one had ever bitten her before. It was rather…delicious.

Lost in the attention he lavished on her neck, she wasn’t aware of his busy hands. Only when he fumbled with the tie on her robe, brushing his long fingers against her stomach as he undid the length of silk, did she realize what he was doing—undressing her with a haste she found sweetly thrilling.

He shed the robe from her with ruthless efficiency, pushing the fabric from her shoulders. It hit the floor, and she opened her eyes to find him examining her with a devilish gleam. Drinking her in with such wonder she felt like a goddess. The way he looked at her made her feel like a goddess in simple linen.

Who shouldn’t have such an effect on a handsome, capable man such as Damien Morton.

“You’re beautiful.” His scorching blue gaze ignited a similar flame within her, and her breath caught in her throat. Never tearing his eyes from hers, he reached out and touched her. A simple brush of his knuckles against the tip of her right breast, his movements deliberate as his hand slipped down, then back up.

Slow. Methodical. Devastating.

Closing her eyes, she clutched him tight, desperate to hold on. Savored the feeling of his large knuckles brushing against her other breast, back and forth across her hardened nipple. She swayed toward him and wished for more, wished she was brave enough to ask, but the words clogged in her throat. A helpless squeak escaped her when his fingers drew together and pinched.

The pleasurable pain spiraled throughout her body and settled as an insistent throb between her legs. She arched her head back, whimpering when he did it again.

“Please, Damien.” He continued his deliberate torture upon her body and tugged on the ribbon and it unraveled at her shoulder, the fabric slowly parting. A whisper of linen cascaded forward to expose her shoulder, her collarbone and finally her breasts.