He kissed the salty taste of her tears from her lips—a chaste melding of mouths meant to lower their racing pulses. A gentle caress meant to chase away their doubts and fears. But the kiss only served to heighten their need for each other, to rouse lust from its slumber, to leave them desperate to pour every inexplicable emotion into a physical act that would prove how good they were together.

She tore her mouth from his on a gasp. “Quick, Dante, lock the door.”

Hell, this woman drove him wild. “Let’s go upstairs, love. Take our time,” he said, though his body ached to take her now.

From the urgent way she pushed his coat off his shoulders, from her roaming hands and aroused pants, she needed to feel him push inside her body.

“I can wait no longer.” She reached down and tugged the buttons on his breeches. “I need to ease this craving for you before I go out of my mind.”

He glanced over her shoulder, contemplating how a rampant coupling in a dining room might play out. “On the table it will be quick, rough, not the slow writhing or the sensual tangle of limbs you enjoyed, not making love.”

“I may lack experience, but is it not always making love when two people care for each other?” Her hand slipped lower, gliding over his erection. “Make love to me quickly, here on the table. We can go upstairs later.”

Damn, he was fit to burst and had never received such a tempting proposal. Indeed, he was at the door in seconds, turning the key in the lock, racing back to continue this wildly erotic liaison.

Beatrice pushed the plates aside to make space.

“Bunch your skirts to your waist, love.” He unbuttoned his breeches with an urgency that heightened his arousal. His cock sprang free. Hot. Throbbing.

She gasped, her greedy eyes devouring every solid inch.

Relief washed over him when he noticed her white silk stockings, not men’s trousers. “Hold your skirts.” He braced his hands on her waist and lifted her onto the table.

After a little shuffling, a little repositioning, he took himself in hand, watched the head of his cock ease into her tight channel.

Their gazes locked.

A slow moan breezed from her lips as he pushed deeper.

“You were made for me,” he uttered, lovesick as well as lustful.

“We were made for each other, Dante.”

He reached under her gown to clutch her hips, became fixated on her heaving bosom, the way her mouth formed a perfect O as he pushed to the hilt. He could languish inside her for hours, spend his leisure teasing, stroking, exploring. But there would be time for that later. Now, she wanted it hard. She wanted to feel full, wanted to come as he slipped in and out of her.

With that in mind, he slid his hand between her legs and massaged her sex.

She reacted instantly, opening her legs, moaning his name, making him drive harder.

The china rattled on the table, every clink, clink, clink, mirroring his desperate pounding. He stole a quick look at the candelabra, praying Thomas had inserted the candles fully and one wasn’t about to topple onto the table and set the room ablaze.

“Dante!” was all she cried as she came apart.

He gave her a few seconds to swim in ecstasy before rocking into her with fierce thrusts, holding nothing back. Strange. He was still fully clothed, yet every plunge into her wetness stripped off another layer, exposing him, the real man, not the construct of his past.

Lost in a frenzy, he kissed her open-mouthed, sucked her earlobe.

“Don’t leave me,” he heard himself say against her throat as he powered deep into her body. “Stay. Stay with me.”

“I can’t stay with you tonight,” she panted, misunderstanding his plea, though she gripped his buttocks like she had no intention of ever letting go. “Miss Trimble will tell Mr Daventry I failed to return home.”

“I’ll say you’re sick, and I had to put you to bed.” He drove into her, into her again and again. “I’ll say you have a fever. I’ll have to strip off your clothes, bathe your skin with my mouth.”

“That won’t cool me down.” Another moan escaped her, louder this time. “Harder, Dante.”

But he was undone.

An obscenity burst from his lips. He withdrew just in time, took himself in hand and spurted over her stocking and the top of her thigh. The power of it tore a guttural cry from somewhere deep inside. A cry that went beyond physical satisfaction.

Tags: Adele Clee Gentlemen of the Order Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net