Charming Sir Charles (Dashing Widows 5)

He meant above all to pleasure her. Magnificent as this union was for him, he burned to show Sally what heights a woman could reach with a skilled and considerate lover.

He met her eyes, glassy like the ocean on a sultry summer day. Then on a hard kiss, he shifted deeper. She gave a faint, broken cry and arched into him. Her fingers dug into the muscles of his back, as if the world reeled for her, too.

Blindness descended on Charles, and he hurtled into an inferno of unfettered passion. Gripped by purely animal instinct, he withdrew. Then he pushed forward, claiming her again and luxuriating in the grip of her body.

On a husky moan, she raised her knees higher, changing the angle. He shifted to meet her and felt her open in marvelous welcome. She shoved up his shirt, so her fingernails scored his back. The sting added to the riot of sensations assaulting him. He grunted and rose on his arms, taking her with a ruthless ardor that she greeted with avid delight.

But even while his primitive self co

mmanded his actions, he never forgot what this incandescent joining meant.

Sally was his. She was his at last. And the knowledge lit his world with golden fire.

* * *

Chapter Eleven

* * *

Sally felt swept up into the whirlwind, hurled high into a brilliant sky. The years of dutiful and awkward congress with Norwood—and not particularly frequent congress at that—hadn’t prepared her for this passionate storm. All she could do was cling to Charles and hope to heaven she survived the onslaught of hectic pleasure.

Charles thrust again, and she clenched around him. She loved the feeling of transcendent closeness every time his body joined with hers. She curled her hands over his shoulders and tilted toward him. The change in position sparked a sizzling surge of heat.

“Come for me,” he crooned in her ear, the words escaping in unsteady gasps.

“Come?” she asked, although after the unprecedented explosion of delight when he’d kissed her between the legs, she had an idea what that might mean. His actions had seemed outlandish, until the first wave crashed through her.

Now her body tightened toward something very like that spiraling release, but what built in her was even more powerful. Perhaps because this time, Charles was with her.

The ripples melted together into a tightening coil. Through her gathering crisis, she became aware that his movements became less controlled with every thrust. The fiery, inescapable intimacy of this connection was unlike anything she’d ever known.

“Yes, for God’s sake,” he rasped, and bent to kiss her with a clumsiness that made her heart cramp. She loved knowing that this union left him shaken and vulnerable, too. She lifted her hips to meet him, as lips, teeth and tongues clashed in a passionate battle.

Charles plunged deep, and Sally’s world flared into searing white lightning.

She cried out over his guttural groan of satisfaction, and she dissolved into a cataclysm of dazzling pleasure. A gush of warmth inside her told her that he had found release. Her grip on his back tightened, as she tumbled through the fiery stars.

Through her shuddering reaction, she felt him jerk again. Then he withdrew and collapsed at her side, one powerful arm lashed around her to save her toppling to the floor.

“This chair isn’t designed for two,” she said, once she caught her breath, unsure whether her voice would work at all. Her throat was scratchy as if she’d screamed through every second of her headlong pleasure.

Who knew? Perhaps she had screamed. She’d been lost to everything but Charles’s thundering possession.

An unsteady laugh escaped him.

Curious, she turned her head to survey him. By now, her eyes had adjusted to the lack of light. He looked happy—and at peace in a way she’d never seen before. He was so handsome that her exhausted heart skipped a beat. His eyes were heavy with satisfaction. His hair was rumpled and fell tangled over his forehead. His white shirt gaped open, giving her a glimpse of his hair-roughened chest.

What a magnificent lover this secret interlude had delivered to her.

She smoothed a rich brown lock back from his forehead. “What is it?”

Amusement lit his eyes to burnt toffee. “After what we just did, I hoped I might hear something a little more sentimental.”

She frowned, even as a flood of foolish endearments and praise rose to her lips. Despite what they’d done together, she bit the words back.

Why? Shyness. Uncertainty. And the reluctant awareness that the events of their enchanted afternoon belonged only to this time and place. “But it’s not made for two.”

“No.” Something in his eyes told her that he guessed how she struggled against saying too much. “If you turn around and fit yourself against me, we’ll manage very well indeed. But first…”