When she sought to pull him closer, he moved over her, easing his thighs between hers, settling his weight. Fitting himself snugly between her thighs, he let her feel the thick length of his erection.
He was breathing more rapidly now, surrounded by her scent, her taste, her texture. Yet strangely, she seemed more calm. She gazed back at him steadily, her face flushed with desire. He could see that she wanted him, would welcome him as her lover.
She was the epitome of an erotic male fantasy, offering herself to him this way.
Without further delay, he mounted her, probing her entrance with the head of his shaft, parting the tender, swollen lips of her femininity. Her cleft was slick with her moisture, reducing the friction as his cock eased in. She was tighter than he expected, though. Through his carnal haze, he noticed the slight grimace on her beautiful features.
He slid inside her as carefully as possible, and when he was finally sheathed, he held himself still, letting her body grow accustomed to the thickness and length of him.
She was biting her lip, but then she moved her hips slightly, as if testing the fit. When she managed a soft smile, it was all he could do to control his triumph. Lowering his head, he pressed light kisses on the fullness of her mouth as he began to move inside her.
When he felt her inner muscles clenching around his throbbing shaft, he ached to increase the rhythm. Instead, he captured her luscious mouth more fully, kissing her urgently, plunging his tongue inside the way he wanted to do to her body.
The wildness running through him built rapidly and his desire rose to a fever pitch. He needed her, he needed this, with a kind of desperation he’d never felt before.
She seemed to have the same need, for her slender legs and arms wrapped around him tightly.
Hawk knew he should go slowly, should strive for finesse, but the tight, glorious fit was driving him mad. It had been too long and he was too far gone. He burned for her, burned with the primitive need to claim her.
His mouth devouring hers, he thrust harder inside her. In return, she clung to him, her nails scoring his back as passion flared white-hot between them.
Then his whole body ignited with consuming heat. Hawk went rigid an instant before all his pent-up passion exploded. His climax blasting through him over and over, he found his own fierce, shuddering release.
In the aftermath, he collapsed upon her and buried his face in her lustrous silken hair, his breath coming harshly in the quiet chamber. The pleasure he’d had with her had been shattering, Hawk realized as he breathed deeply of her sweet, clean fragrance that was tinged with the potent musk of sex.
She hadn’t climaxed a second time, though. Vowing to do better, he eased his weight to one side and would have rolled off her, but she wouldn’t let him go.
Her arms were still wrapped around him, her fingers drifting lightly over his back. She was stroking his scars again, Hawk knew, yet he couldn’t bring himself to object.
He exhaled in a weary sigh.
Lady Skye Wilde. A paradox if he’d ever met one. A passionate, sensual creature one minute. A tender, ministering angel the next. She radiated sympathy and compassion as she cradled him to her breast, holding him, comforting him with her hot, sweet body.
Oddly, he cherished the comfort. Even more oddly, Hawk felt a sense of peace for the first time in a long, long while.
Peace and exhaustion. Lethargy sank over him, making all his bones feel heavy—not surprising since the explosive passion had drained him of all energy. The countless sleepless nights had taken a toll also, as had the spirits he’d drunk throughout the evening.
Whatever the reason for his release, he was finally able to let go of the pain and dark memories.
Giving in to exhaustion, Hawk fell asleep holding her, deeply, amazingly content.
Rays of morning sunshine slipped beneath the window curtains into her bedchamber, allowing Skye ample light to study the earl’s slumbering form. He had slept peacefully through the night, as had she. Wrapped in his warmth, she hadn’t wanted to move.
At dawn she’d risen to wash herself, don her nightdress, and stir the fire to remove the chill from the air. Now she was sitting on the bed beside her lover with her legs drawn up, her chin resting on her knees as she watched him.
Her lover. The term filled her with delight. So did her memories of his incredible lovemaking.
Aunt Isabella had warned her what to expect, but knowing the physical principles was not the same as participating. The actual experience had exceeded her wildest fantasies. It had been like drowning in sweet fire.
Yes, there had been pain at first, but the discomfort had quickly faded. She felt different now, Skye decided, taking stock of new sensations assailing her: The unfamiliar delicacy of her body. The unaccustomed ache between her thighs. The sensitivity of her breasts. The tenderness of her mouth.
The stubble shadowing Hawkhurst’s jaw had scraped her skin, resulting in whisker burn, yet she didn’t mind. How could she when he’d given her the most blissful pleasure of her life?
Simply looking at him gave her pleasure. He lay on his side facing her, the covers drawn up to his waist, exposing his bare torso. He was dark and sinfully handsome, with his high cheekbones and chiseled jaw-line. His magnificent face, she now knew, was matched by a magnificent body. Strong, graceful, long-limbed. She was frankly awed by the heat and steel beneath his smooth flesh.
Not all his flesh was smooth, however. The sight of his scars in the growing light of day made her ache with sorrow. It appalled her that such a beautiful work of art should be so disfigured.
His back had suffered the worst damage. His shoulders in particular were covered with puckered burn weals that were thick and hard. Oddly enough, he had other scars, too, perhaps the results of his dangerous