Page 5 of Lyon of Least Resistance

He lifted his head and her heart almost cried out at the love in his eyes. But it was a love that she did not deserve—a love that he would bestow on another, on the good woman he resolved to marry.

If a woman existed who was worthy of him.

“What must I—”

“Hush,” she interrupted. “Come to me, my James.”

She parted her thighs wider and he climbed on top of her. Sweet man, he placed his hands on the bed and held his body up, as if he feared he might crush her.

“You can relax on me,” she said. “There’s nothing more pleasurable for a woman than the feel of a man’s weight on her.”

“Any man?” he said, a note of bitterness in his voice.

“No,” she said, reaching to caress his golden hair. “Not any man—the right man.”

She tilted her hips until she could feel the tip of him sliding against her curls.

“Do I…?” He lifted his eyebrows in inquiry.

“Your body knows what to do, my James,” she said. “Listen to it, and surrender to its needs.”

He hesitated, then slowly slid himself inside her.

“That’s good,” she whispered, tilting her head back to temper the surge of desire in her center. “Very good.”

He paused. Then, with her gentle words of encouragement, he lowered his body until he’d sunk himself fully inside her, his hips meeting hers as if they fitted together.

He let out a sigh and dipped his head, burying it against her chest. Then he withdrew, slowly, and entered her again. She bit her lip as pleasure threatened to come to the fore.

No…

Pushing the needs of her soul to the back of her mind, she arched her back and he withdrew once more. This time, he thrust into her more quickly, and the breath left her body as his hips slammed into hers. He let out a whimper and met her gaze, his eyes seeking approval.

“Yes, that’s it,” she said. “You’re doing well.”

He withdrew again, then his movements began to form a slow, steady rhythm, his breath coming in short, sharp puffs each time he entered her. He let out a low cry as he increased the pace and she shifted her body, meeting each thrust to urge him on.

“Yes, James—that’s it!” she cried, as his body began to shudder—the precursor to his release. Her own body began to betray its own yearning, tightening and rippling around him. She dug her fingernails into her palms, willing the pain to conquer the surge of pleasure—the pleasure that a doxy could never afford to surrender to.

No. Please, no!

But her body denied her. As he thrust into her once more, shouting his release, Cordelia’s body exploded into tiny fragments, sending shock waves tearing through her soul as she cried out, unable to fight the pleasure.

“Dahlia! Oh, my love!”

His whole body shuddered, then he collapsed on top of her. His lips searched hers but she turned her head to one side and they met her cheek. Moisture dripped onto her face as he cried her name once more, then he drew his arms around her, holding her as if his life depended on it while he continued to thrust, more weakly until, at last, he lay still, his body fused to hers as if they were one.

At length, his breathing steadied and he let out a deep sigh. Blinking back her own tears, Cordelia placed her arms around him, letting herself, for a moment, imagine that she lay with the man who would love her for the rest of her days. Then, the moment over, she patted his shoulder.

He lifted his head.

Satiation gleamed in his eyes. Then he frowned and placed his hand on her cheek.

“Are you all right, my love?”

She nodded.

“W-was I not any good?”