“Peter? What is it?” Jemima whispered, staring deeply into his tired eyes. She knew from the look on his face that she had been having another dream, and turned her eyes to the candle stub on the table beside them. Although it hadn’t burned out completely, the solitary flame was so tiny that it did little to erase the darkness within the room.
“I’ll light another one,” Peter growled, fighting the urge to kiss her. He studied her eyes carefully but could see no signs of fear, or anxiety. The clear depths of her amber eyes shone brightly in the darkness, free of shadows for once. He knew it was folly; that to kiss her would bring more problems for them; but it had been so long since he had touched her, he needed some reward for his forbearance in keeping his hands off her so far.
He lowered his head slowly to give her the opportunity to stop him, and was unsurprised when she made no attempt to evade the gentle kiss he placed on her lips. He captured her gasp and kissed her the way he really wanted to.
“Stop me,” he gasped several moments later, his body rock hard and aching desperately.
Her only response was to draw his head closer, and open her mouth beneath the persistent pressure of his. At that moment, he was lost. His love for her; the frustration of the months of endless searching; the grief of losing her; together with the new easy companionship they had discovered all drew together until they formed one solid entity.
He shifted, lowering his chest to the soft, thin material of her undergarment. The dark hairs on his chest crinkled as they met the soft material. Peter eased back and tugged the neckline down, revealing her breasts to his hungry gaze.
Jemima watched his head dip and felt the wondrous sensations streak through her as she lay under his marauding mouth. She watched as his lips caressed the swollen crest of her breast.
While his mouth was busy, Peter eased his hands to the delicious smoothness of her thighs, sliding beneath the hem of her shift and drawing it upwards as his hands traversed each dip and hollow before coming to rest just beneath her breasts. Holding them still under the tender ministrations of his mouth, he suckled deeply and was rewarded by Jemima’s soft cry as she arched off the bed.
Releasing his prize for a brief moment, he tugged the shift over her head and dropped it over the side of the bed, leaning back to let his eyes roam over her bare flesh.
“You are so beautiful, Jemima,” he groaned, sliding his hands over the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips. He quickly divested himself of his breeches, dropping those onto Jemima’s shift, and resumed his position beside her, relieved that she had made no attempt to stop what was about to happen.
He captured her lips as his hands set to work to learn each loving curve, moulding and shaping her breasts, teasing the
budding peaks mercilessly until Jemima began to squirm, searching for the completion only he could give.
Jemima arched her back, lost in the warmth of his mouth on the aching peaks of her breasts. She slid a hand into the thick hair, holding his head still, demanding his attention. Reassured she had his complete devotion, she allowed her hands to wander over the smooth skin of his broad shoulders, down over his heavily muscled arms, and back up again. His muscles rippled as her hands swept over them, easing down his sides to his lean hips.
He could stand no more: releasing her nipple, he blew on it gently as he eased Jemima’s questing hands away from his loins. Wrapping his arms around her, he drew her hips upwards in his hands and positioned himself between her widespread thighs.
She clutched at his shoulders, eyes glinting at him through the darkness as she waited. Her skin was pearlescent in the moonlight and he took a moment to absorb the delectable sight of her lying wantonly open to him, without fear, without hesitation. Every instinct screamed with hunger: the desire to capture, to plunder was so strong he could deny it no longer. Easing her thighs high on his hips, he slowly eased forward, impaling her on his rigid length. He paused only briefly to allow her to adjust to his invasion, before searing need took over and he began to rock inside her.
Jemima felt him deep inside her. Her thighs slipped over the outside of his as she gripped his buttocks, urging him on. The hot moisture of his mouth on her breast drove her onward relentlessly. She met him thrust for thrust, her head thrashing wildly on the pillow as she was barraged with sensation.
The primitive side of him gloried at the sight of her long hair spread out beneath her as she thrashed, her breasts rising and falling as her body jerked beneath the force of his thrusts. He groaned as she began to tighten around him. He increased his driving rhythm as his mouth captured hers, his tongue plunging as deeply into her as his shaft.
Jemima gasped. She couldn’t think, could barely breathe as he drove her body relentlessly toward the edge. His searching fingers found her soft folds, teasing the sensitive flesh as she gasped and arched beneath him. His weight held her down as the fiery tension coiled tight inside her. With a small scream she shattered, her senses imploding as she gave herself over to the shower of stars.
Peter paused only briefly to allow her last tremors to ease, before teasing a pebble-hard nipple and driving into her once more. She moaned and began to meet his thrusts, and he was lost to everything but the driving need to possess, to brand her as his, and leave his mark upon her.
He could feel her begin to tighten around him again. Her clever fingers found his buttocks, pulling them tighter against her as he impaled her, over and over until neither of them was certain where he ended and she began.
Jemima moved beneath him as the raging need within his body built to unbearable heights. Her keening cry was the last thing he remembered before he succumbed to the demands of his own desire. With one final thrust, he felt her body clamp tight around him, and he shattered.
Sunlight was streaming through the window when Jemima woke up the following morning. Although she had slept soundly - when she did sleep - she was still tired. Despite her exhaustion, she felt at peace with the world. She glanced around the room, disappointed to find that Peter had left, probably to speak to Hugo. She didn’t need to try the door to know he had locked her in. Although she should balk at such confinement after her ordeal in Derby, she found it reassuring that there was a lock on the door that would help to prevent would-be attackers from gaining entry.
Easing out of bed she winced at the slight soreness between her legs and groaned at the thought of having to spend another day sitting on the hard bench of the cart again.
She had just finished her ablutions and was busy packing their things when Peter reappeared, shooting her a hesitant smile as he entered.
“Good morning,” he murmured softly, wondering if she was upset with him for not being here when she woke up. He had wanted to be, but he had woken later than he had intended. The need to meet Hugo at their pre-arranged time warred strongly with the need to remain in bed with Jemima until she woke up. Knowing Hugo would probably have half the Star Elite behind him if he had to come and get them, Peter had reluctantly eased out of bed and quietly left.
In the cold light of day, although he didn’t exactly regret making love to her, he wished he had summoned the strength to keep his hands off her for just a few more days; at least until they got out of Padstow, with her friend and back to Willowbrook Hall. With a sigh he watched her close the bag, and frowned.
“Wait a minute.” He moved to the bed and picked up two of the small pillows, rolling them up and shoving them into the top of the bag that held their personal effects; his razorblade, soap, her hairbrush, and a change of clothing.
“We can’t take those!” Jemima gasped, trying to open the bag to drag them back out, only for Peter to smile conspiratorially at her, swipe the bag off the bed and head toward the door.
“Call it added protection.” He held the door open for her and waved the bag, shooing her through the door. “We have to make up for lost time,” he added as he passed, causing her to pause and look back at him enquiringly. “Hugo’s waiting,” he reminded her, ushering her toward the stairs.
Jemima frowned, wondering if she had missed something or if he had decided to spend today speaking in code in an attempt to keep her on her toes. Added protection? Making up for lost time?