When Scandal Came to Town (Scandalous Sons 3)

Benedict fumbled with the fall of his breeches.

“Hurry.” She gathered her skirts up to her waist as they both tumbled onto the bed.

She expected to feel his weight pressing her down into the mattress, but he knelt between her thighs and kissed her sex with the same fervent passion he had her mouth.

Need outweighed her embarrassment.

Need that soon turned to begging.

“Oh, God! Benedict. Don’t stop.” She wanted to grasp his hair and rub against his wet mouth, but he was hidden beneath her skirt like a rake pleasuring his mistress in a secluded corner of a ballroom.

With every caress of Benedict’s tongue, lust’s coil wound tighter. So tight she came apart with a violent shudder and a keen cry, pleasure exploding inside with all the wonder of fireworks at Vauxhall.

She clutched the coverlet. “Benedict!” A hum resonated in her throat as she soared on the magnificent heights of her release.

Benedict appeared from under the mound of material. Despite being clothed, she imagined his sweat-soaked muscles rippling beneath his shirt. He tugged his breeches down low on his hips, took hold of his manhood—thick and hard with the evidence of his arousal—pumped the solid shaft and then positioned himself at her entrance.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He looked at her through the sapphire-blue haze of his desire. A vision she had seen once before when he had touched her intimately during one of their secret midnight liaisons.

“More sure than I’ve been about anything my entire life.” She had dreamt of this moment many times, yet the reality of being close to him exceeded every expectation.

“I’ll be as mindful as I can under the circumstances. Tell me if it proves too uncomfortable to bear.”

She swallowed deeply and nodded.

The first nudge of his manhood breeching her entrance caused a quickening in her core. Pure pleasure, not pain. When he pushed inside her another inch, her body stretched to accommodate him as if they were destined to be a perfect fit.

“This part was always going to be difficult,” she said when he hesitated, when he closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath. “My desire to be your wife in more than name will override any discomfort.”

“You were always meant for me,” he said, opening his eyes and meeting her gaze.

“Always.” She gripped his hips in encouragement, urging him to claim her as he should have done five years ago.

He bent his head and slanted his mouth over hers. The kiss lacked the fervent urgency that came with rampant desire, was more a teasing glimpse of the soul-deep satisfaction to come.

A husky hum resonated in his throat as he pushed a little deeper. She became so lost in the mating of their tongues, in the earthy scent of his skin, in how wonderful it felt to connect with him in this primitive dance, that she almost forgot he was to claim her virginity.

The final thrust snatched the air from her lungs. She dragged her mouth from his on a gasp. Not because it felt painful—a little uncomfortable, yes—but knowing she belonged to Benedict now sent a wave of euphoria crashing through her body.

“God, Cassandra,” he panted, holding himself still for a moment. “Everything about this feels so right. So damn good.”

She had never doubted it for a second.

“I’m your wife now, in every way that matters.” Not in the most important way. Somehow they had to learn to love each other again. “We are as one, Benedict. The way it should have been.”

“Yes,” he breathed, as he withdrew so slowly she ached from the emptiness.

He fixed her with his intense gaze, rolled his hips and filled her full again and again. Oh, the pleasure, the sheer bliss, was beyond anything she could have imagined.

“I’m not hurting you?”

“No.” He had never hurt her, never could. She caressed his back, found the courage to push her hands below the waistband of his breeches to grip his buttocks and urge him to continue this delicious dance. “Again,” she panted when he withdrew. “I need you inside me, Benedict.” For always. Forever.

Her words seemed to rouse a lusty hunger in him, and he increased the pace, thrusting hard and long, the audible slapping a celebration of their union.

“Don’t stop.” Her pulse drummed a potent rhythm, too. She wished they were naked so she might feel the heat from his body, the dampness coating his skin.

He clutched her buttocks and pumped harder—wild and reckless. But then he slowed. “Cassandra.” His head fell back as he jerked his hips and gave a groan of satisfaction.