Page 92 of Courting Elizabeth

His gaze blazed.

He finished undressing me. My shift fell. I stood naked before him, but I no longer tried to cover myself.

He raised his eyes to mine, and the question he no longer dared ask passed between us.

I didn’t wait for him to speak it.

“I love you.”

He leaned down and took my breast in his mouth.

I clung to his shoulders. He guided me back onto the bed, kissed every inch of skin he uncovered, and lingered between my thighs until I lost all capacity for teasing.

When he rose above me again, I pushed him gently.

“What is it?”

“I want to try something different.”

He understood from my look.

A look of delighted surprise crossed his face.

“Are you certain?”

“Will you never tire of that question?”

“Never.”

I made him lie down, then straddled his hips.

The position made me acutely aware of my body and his. His hands settled at my waist, but he let me lead.

I took his cock and guided it against me.

“Slowly,” he advised.

“Always,” I repeated.

I lowered myself.

The sensation was different, deeper, entirely under my control. I stopped when my body protested, then continued until I welcomed him completely.

Fitzwilliam had his eyes closed, his jaw clenched.

“Look at me,” I said.

His eyes opened.

I smiled.

“I very much enjoy giving orders.”

“I’d noticed.”

I began to move.

His hands followed my hips, helping me find a rhythm. Pleasure rose quickly. I could choose the angle, the depth, the speed. I understood why he had insisted on my freedom: it made surrender more intense, not less complete.