Sherbrooke Twins (Sherbrooke Brides 8)

Like what? Like he wanted to lick every inch of her? He hated being that obvious, but just couldn’t help it. “All right.”

“I’m covering myself because you’re not lying on the floor, unconscious, moaning with fever, helpless. You’re strong now, James, you’re quite yourself again, and you want to do things to me that I’ve only seen animals do. It makes me feel quite strange.”

“Strange how?”

“Well, perhaps I could walk the three steps to you and kiss you. What do you think?”

“Do it.”

She hesitated only a moment, then walked the three steps, coming to within an inch of him, and raised her chin. She stood on her tiptoes, pursed her lips, and closed her eyes. She kissed his chin.

“Try again.”

She opened her eyes, looking into his beloved face, a face so beautiful as to make a grown woman cry, and smiled. “Helen of Troy was nothing compared to you.”

“Blessed hell, I hope not.”

“You know what I mean.” She kissed him on his mouth this time, but hers was seamed tight.

James raised his hand, only one hand, and lightly touched his fingertips to her mouth. “Open up, a little bit,” and his breath feathered her skin. She opened her mouth without hesitatio

n and felt his warm breath on her flesh, tasted him, and it was wonderful.

“Ah, that’s good,” he whispered into her mouth, and Corrie wondered how kissing the back of her right knee could be better than this. The feel of his mouth, his tongue, the heat of him, it made her want to fling herself against him and send them both to the floor.

Or to the bed. She walked into him, backing him up, until she shoved, and he went down on his back in the middle of that marvelous goose-down mattress.

She came down over him, laughing, wanting to sing and moan at the same time, so happy she was kissing him all over his face.

He kissed her back; his hand slid down her back over her bottom and stayed there. This was no spanking. This was something else entirely different. Corrie reared up and stared down at him. “Oh dear, James, your hand-”

“Clothes,” he said, “too many clothes.” He reared up, setting her on her feet in front of him. “I’m in a bad way here, Corrie. Now, I’m going to strip you down to your beautiful hide,” and he wasn’t civilized about it at all. He ripped and pulled and tore, and his breathing was harsh and fast.

Well, it wasn’t the lovely lace wedding gown, she thought, and grinned. If he could do it, then so could she. She began ripping open his clothes, kissing his chest when she pulled off his shirt. Soon, both of them were naked, she, still standing in front of him, James, sitting on the bed, his hands about her waist, and her breasts weren’t more than three measly inches from his mouth. He stared, swallowed, thought he’d burst. “Your breasts-I knew they would be nice, but I hadn’t expected this.” He sounded like he was choking. She didn’t move, couldn’t move. Corrie stood there, her hands on his shoulders as he raised his hands and cupped her breasts. He closed his eyes, breathed in very deeply, pulling her scent into the depths of him. Because his eyes were closed, she took the splendid opportunity to look down at him.

He wasn’t at all like he’d been when he’d been ill. He was big and growing bigger. All because he was holding her breasts? She liked his hands on her, but staring down at him, watching him swell-“James, you’re not the way you were.”

He wanted to fling her on her back, this very instant. Her breasts-he wanted his mouth on her, he-“What? What way was I?”

“Oh goodness, not like this. This can’t be right.”

He realized through his cloud of lust that she was looking down. He in turn stared at himself. He was hard and big, ready to explode. What did she expect? Oh hell, she didn’t expect anything. “You saw me naked, Corrie, when I was ill.”

She swallowed. “Not like this, James. Never like this. This isn’t like any of the animals I’ve seen.”

“I’m not a horse, Corrie, I’m a man and you’ve got to know we’ll fit together.” Oh God, he wanted to weep, perhaps even howl, but most of all, he didn’t want to have to say another word, he wanted to come inside her, deep, deeper still until he touched her womb. He groaned; she jumped.

“Oh dear, James, what’s wrong with you?”

It was enough; it was too much.

“It’s lust, isn’t it?” she whispered, eyes alight with appalled excitement.

“Yes.” He grabbed her around her waist, lifted her and tossed her onto her back. He came down over her, fitting himself between her legs. The touch of her, the scent of her flesh, the sound of her breathing, harsh and loud, it pushed him right to the edge and shoved him over.

He knew in some small corner of his brain that he was a clod; his father would disown him if he ever found out.

But it didn’t matter, couldn’t matter. There was only the here, the now, and the two of them, and he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. He raised her legs, looked at her soft flesh, lightly touched her, and that was all it took. He was shuddering so violently he knew he was going to spill his seed, right here, and he knew that couldn’t happen, just couldn’t, or he’d have to throw himself off the cliff into Poe Valley.