The Lady Chosen (Bastion Club 1)

The startling intimacy as he drew slowly back, then filled her again, and watched her eyes darken even more. He repeated the movement, attuned to her heartbeat, to her need, to the urgency in her—not a hard, driving need like his but a softer, more feminine hunger.

One he needed to sate even more than his own.

So he kept the pace slow, and watched her rise, watched her eyes glaze, heard her breath strangle—watched her come apart in his arms. Listened to her cries until he had to kiss her to mute the telltale sounds, the sweetest symphony he’d ever heard.

He held her, sunk deep in her body, deep in her mouth, when she shuddered, fractured, and climaxed about him. Knew only a fleeting surprise when she took him

with her.

Into bliss.

The slow, hot, deeply fulfilling dance slowed, halted. Left them locked together, breathing hard, foreheads touching. The thudding of their hearts filled their ears. Their lashes lifted, gazes touched.

Lips brushed, breaths mingled.

Their warmth held them.

He was sheathed to the hilt in her clinging heat and had no desire to move, to break the spell. Her arms locked about his neck, her legs locked about his hips, she made no effort to shift, to edge away—to leave him.

She seemed even more dazed, more vulnerable, than he.

“Are you all right?”

He whispered the words, watched her eyes focus.

“Yes.” The reply came on a soft exhalation. She licked her lips, looked briefly at his. Cleared her throat. “That was…”

Leonora couldn’t find any word that sufficed.

His lips kicked up at the end. “Stupendous.”

She met his gaze, knew better than to nod. Could only wonder at the madness that had gripped her.

And the hunger, the raw need that had gripped him.

His eyes were dark, but softer, not sharp as they usually were. He seemed to sense her wonder; his lips curved. He touched them to hers.

“I want you.” His lips brushed hers again. “In every possible way.”

She heard the truth, recognized its ring. Had to wonder. “Why?”

He nudged her head back, set his lips cruising her jaw. “Because of this. Because I’ll never have enough of you.”

She could sense the power of his hunger rising again. Felt the sensation of him within her grow more definite.

“Again?” She heard the stunned amazement in her voice.

He answered with a low growl that might have been a very male chuckle. “Again.”

She never should have agreed—acquiesced—to that heated second mating among the tablecloths.

Sipping her tea at the breakfast table the next morning, Leonora made a firm resolution not to be so weak in future—during the rest of the month that was left to them. Trentham—Tristan as he’d insisted she call him—had finally escorted her back to the reception rooms with a smug, wholly male, proprietory air she’d found irritating in the extreme. Especially given she suspected his smugness derived from his entrenched belief that she would find his lovemaking so addictive she’d blindly agree to marry him.

Time would teach him his error. In the meantime, it behooved her to exercise some degree of caution.

She hadn’t, after all, intended to acquiesce to even a first mating, let alone the second.

Nevertheless…she had learned more, had definitely added to her store of experience. Given the terms of their agreement, she had nothing to fear—the impulse, the physical need that brought them together would gradually wane; an occasional indulgence was no great matter.