She was strong and curvy and her breasts filled his hands perfectly.
Her hair was silky and loose, like a dark curtain to her shoulders, and it whispered over him when she pushed him over on the bed and straddled him like a goddess.
Wrench felt like a starving man at a buffet, not sure where to look or what to touch, because everything felt like the fulfillment of a wish he’d never known he made.
And Lydia rose to every touch, shivering and gasping when he found the place where waist met hip with both hands, closing her eyes and moaning when he put a hand at the back of her neck under her hair, crying out when he explored the inside of her thigh, keeping his touch careful and light.
She was wet on his fingers, and she pressed herself around them when Wrench hesitated. He stroked her gently, drinking up her delighted reaction as he deepened the touch and brought her higher and higher.
He was harder than he’d ever known was possible, and every time she writhed, his cock rubbed against the velvet skin of her thigh, driving him mad with desire.
Then she was drawing off his fingers, and before Wrench could decide what to do, she was impaling herself, and he made a roar of triumph before he could stop himself.
“Yes, oh, yes,” she said, as he arched up and drove deeper into her, holding her on by her glorious hips.
He worried briefly that he might hurt her—he could not hold her on himself as hard as he wished, then she was rolling, and pulling him over on her across the broad bed.
Crushed rose petals scented the air and he found that he could press into her harder this way, fingers clenched into the coverlet with one hand and wrapped around her shoulders with the other.
“Yes, please, yes” she cried, polite even in the throes of the orgasm that Wrench could see in the way her muscles all tightened, leaving only her gorgeous breasts to move freely.
“Fuck yes,” Wrench replied with less civility but no less sincerity.
As she cried out in release, he came as well, any hope he’d held onto of prolonging their act washed away in the way her orgasm dragged him into his own.
“Yes,” she repeated, laughing as she fell from the heights, still arching into his last strokes. “Fuck, yes.”
Chapter 20
Lydia had enough of her mind left when Wrench had finished unmaking and rebuilding her world to set the alarm on her phone, so morning didn’t catch her by surprise this time.
It was still very challenging to untangle herself from his big arms and rise in the dark.
She had never wanted so badly to stay under the covers; usually when she woke, she found no point in remaining in bed and didn’t really understand the more usual impulse to pursue sleep longer.
But listening to Wrench’s breath near her ear, feeling the steady thrum of his heart through his chest—there was nowhere Lydia wanted to be more.
She felt safe here, and with sudden clarity realized that this mattered to her far more than any of the romance and courtship that she’d once imagined.
She was safe.
She was filled with trust and contentment.
There was an erection, thick and demanding, pressing against the small of her back.
For the fun of it, Lydia pressed back, and was rewarded by Wrench’s hands tightening against her and muttering as he woke.
She wanted him again, as badly as she had when she’d first seen him, standing in his courtyard.
It was hard to remember why she’d been so disappointed when she realized who he was. So he wasn’t a doctor or a lawyer—he was a hundred times more. He was thoughtful, gentle, caring. The way he’d reacted to his sister’s danger and his niece’s need betrayed a heart that didn’t match his gruff exterior.
And damn, he looked great in a suit.
It was with great reluctance that she pulled away. Wrench rolled out of the bed after her, despite her murmured reassurance that he could sleep longer if he wanted.
“No point in staying in bed alone,” he said, giving her a look that suggested she could easily change the conditions.
His unclothed body was like a dream; his big body rippled with muscles.