“Vivianna,” he groaned, a mixture of wonder and pleasure.
“I want to,” she murmured.
She felt voluptuous, powerful, all woman. Vivianna licked him with her tongue, tasting him, enjoying the smooth velvet skin that ran from root to tip. He arched his body slightly toward her, and she took him in her mouth.
It was too much for him, evidently. He caught her up, his hands gripping her beneath her arms, and bore her backward, onto the seat behind her. His weight came down upon her, and her breath whooshed out. “Damn, I’m sorry….” At once he eased up, supporting himself, but he was still heavy as he lay over her.
“I’m all right.” The unfamiliar position wasn’t uncomfortable. She was his prisoner, and yet she knew she was perfectly free to tell him to get off her. She just didn’t want to.
Oliver was looking down at her, examining her in the dim light of the coach lamp. He ran his fingers across her temple, down the side of her face, and traced the shape of her lips. She opened them and took his thumb between her teeth.
He smiled. And then he was kissing her with a desperation that told her more than words could just how much he wanted her.
“Hmm,” Vivianna sighed. His mouth was hot and open against hers, and then he was branding her throat and shoulders and the swell of her breasts above the line of her bodice.
“No stays,” he murmured, his hands cupping her, his thumbs rubbing the hard buds of her nipples. “What other surprises do you have for me, Miss Greentree?”
Vivianna smiled and then gasped as his mouth closed over her breast through the cloth of her dress. His teeth teased her, gently, and she gripped his shoulders, her head arched back. When he took his mouth away, the cloth felt damp, cool, against her aching flesh. His hand had found its way beneath her skirts, and he had bundled them up, so that she felt the cloth of his trousers against her bare thigh.
“You really must wear your undergarments,” he drawled, and she felt the heat of his palm sliding over her belly. Vivianna shivered, unable to help herself, as he neared his goal.
“There,” she told him breathlessly. “Please, touch me there….”
Obediently his fingers slid between her bare thighs, a feather-light touch, teasing aside the folds to find the place where she wanted him most. But he was gone again in a moment, caressing her hip, her knee, kneading the cheek of her bottom.
“Oliver,” she whispered urgently. “You didn’t touch me.”
“I did. I will. Be patient, Vivianna.”
His finger continued to tease, returning to stroke her for a moment, and then, just when she felt the quivering inside her, the climb to completion, he moved away, finding some other, less sensitive spot. She shifted restlessly, aching, then sighing with relief when his fingers returned again. Once he used his cock to touch her, sliding it through her soft curls, circling the entrance to her body, promising her so much. As the coach rattled toward its unknown destination, Vivianna lay gasping and twisting beneath him, calling his name plaintively, not sure whether to kiss him or to bite him.
“Oliver,” she groaned, “you must…you must do it now. I can’t wait.”
Oliver settled himself between her thighs and looked down into her flushed, beautiful face. Vivianna Greentree. His nemesis, his curse. And very probably the love of his life.
He pushed his cock into her, as gently as he could, wanting to be tender—the practiced and perfect lover—and yet the beast inside him needing to have her all, right now, to make her his. She surged against him, too aroused to care if he was hurting her. He held back, easing himself in farther, groaning at the exquisitely tight, hot fit of her, until he felt the membrane that he must break. Oliver bent and kissed her mouth, and felt her immediate and eager response.
Vivianna Greentree was more than ready.
Oliver plunged himself inside her fully, and experienced the mixed torment of knowing he had hurt her and the aching joy of knowing he was the first. She went still, and cried out against his lips. He held her, kissing her, soothing her, but in a surprisingly short time she was kissing him back, her hands running through his hair, rubbing against his back, pulling his shirt from his trousers, and sliding up over his skin. And then she lifted her hips, opening her thighs, and pushed up against him with a sound in her throat like a purr.
Oliver shuddered as her sheath clenched around him. He had held back long enough; he could hold back no more. With a deep breath he withdrew from her and drove deep. And then again. The movement was smooth and steady and required all of his control and his skill. She was so hot, so tight, he wanted to plunder her like some ravening barbarian, but again he kept the beast in check. She was a virgin, she was a gentlewoman, and she deserved the best of him.
This was her one and only night with him, after all.
And his with her.
Vivianna was beyond thought now. She was pushing up against him, seating him deeper and deeper. He felt her stretch, then he felt the muscles inside her begin to contract, tightening around him. The pleasure roared through him, begging for release, but he held on, driving into her again and again.
And then she cried out, a sharp wail of ecstasy. Vivianna went to pieces, arching
against him, her arms clutching him to her. Oliver stopped and held her as her climax rippled into calm, and then he began to thrust again. His heart was pounding so loudly he could not hear above it, his body was screaming to let go, and so he did. With a deep, low moan, Oliver gave himself to her.
For a time after that there was silence.
Stillness. Repletion.
And wonder.