Pursuing Lord Pascal (Dashing Widows 4)

Only then did he reach down to raise her skirts, bunching them in his hand before tossing them up. When she began to straighten, he placed a hand flat on her lower back. “No. Stay there.”

She swung her head to send him a scorching look. “Don’t make me wait.”

“Never.”

What a glorious spectacle she made. Amy Mowbray with her splendid arse in the air. His cock swelled, as his hand traced those luscious curves through her sheer drawers.

A few deft flicks of his fingers, and the cambric crumpled down to drift across her red silk dancing slippers.

“Step out of your drawers,” he murmured, bending to place a kiss on one round, satiny cheek, now bare to his sight.

She obeyed immediately and spread her legs. For a long moment, he stared down at her, so pink and glistening and ready. He slid his fingers along her sleek cleft, swiftly finding the place that made her quiver and cry out. When she lifted her hips in silent entreaty, he angled her to take him.

Steadying her with one hand, he positioned his cock with the other. Her choked sound of longing spurred him on. With a powerful glide, he pushed forward.

Chapter Fourteen

When Gervaise filled her, Amy muffled a cry and pushed back to take him deeper. He bent over her, wrapping his arms around her with such tender care that her heart clenched into an aching fist. Even while her body tightened around him to hold him inside her.

She’d been sure nothing could rival the bliss of what they did in that big bed in his manor. But this exciting variation suggested there were many paths to paradise. What didn’t change was the sense that when their bodies joined, somehow their souls joined, too. She’d come to thirst after that feeling of ineffable completion like a drunkard thirsted after brandy.

When Gervaise kissed her neck, a tingly thrill shook her. Then with a languor that sent her up in flames, he withdrew. She felt every inch of that retreat. Before she could catch her breath, he slammed back into her.

As his ferocious possession shuddered through her, she braced against the desk. This was so different from their previous encounters, but the raw animal vigor stirred her beyond anything she’d ever known.

On his next thrust, her body greeted him with a liquid surge. He growled deep in his throat and bit her neck where before he’d kissed her. Pain vied with pleasure and sent her responses soaring. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to a universe of passion.

The inexorable rhythm built until she turned into his creature, a being of pure sensation. The rapturous end rushed closer and closer, until on another broken cry, coiling suspense snapped into brilliant, incandescent light.

Pascal muttered something incoherent as he pushed her down into the desk with sudden fierceness. Then she felt him jerk against her back, and his hot seed flooded her.

* * *

Exhausted, feeling as if she’d walked to Moscow and back, Amy opened dazed eyes. Her cheek pressed against the leather covering the desk, and Gervaise slumped over her. She never wanted to move. Right now, she felt that she and Gervaise inhabited a world where nothing could mar their perfect union.

They were still joined, and soft quivers of pleasure rippled through her. The air smelled of sex and sweat and satisfaction. How could such a flagrantly carnal act make her want to cry at the poignant sweetness of it all?

He groaned as he levered himself up, separating their bodies.

“That was…unforgettable.” He sounded shaken, too.

She smiled wearily as she rose. What they’d done had been astonishingly potent, but now she ached from the strenuous mating. Her skirts tumbled down her rubbery legs, restoring a modesty she’d well and truly sacrificed.

Gervaise stepped back and she turned reluctantly. After that shattering encounter, she felt lost and vulnerable. Only now in the aftermath did she realize what appalling risks they’d taken. This passion for Lord Pascal threatened to take her into dangerous waters indeed.

When he cupped her cheek, she forced herself to meet his eyes. She wasn’t sure what she’d see in his face. Admiration? Fondness? Disgust? She’d just let him debauch her over a desk, for God’s sake.

She bit back a gasp. She’d never seen him more beautiful. His blond hair was ruffled, lending him an uncharacteristically boyish air. That long sensual mouth was full and relaxed. And his eyes were clear. He looked young and approachable in a way she’d never seen, even during their radiant hours outside Windsor.

He’d already tucked in his shirt and fastened his trousers, but he was a long way from his usual elegant self. His neck cloth was crushed, and his clothes were crumpled.

“Are you all right?” His thumb brushed her cheek in a caress that she felt to her toes.

“Silly to feel…shy after that.” She glanced down to where her drawers lay blatant witness to her wantonness, white against the green and beige carpet. She shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, and the movement reminded her of the slick heat between her legs.

“Not silly at all,” he said, with one of those smiles that always made her want to fling herself against him and never let him go.

His kiss immersed her in an ocean of gentleness. She blinked back more foolish tears, even though she still had no real idea why she felt like crying.