Page 96 of A Symphony for the Earl

Richard’s cock jerked strongly within her, and even though his large body vibrated with the effort, he continued to stroke within her with agonizing delay, equally torture and bliss to Fiona. She bucked against him, but he continued the deliberate thrusts. Her toes curled with excitement.

“Richard,” she moaned. “I need all of you, Richard, a chuisle mo chró.”

Groaning, he filled her to the hilt. She clenched around his rigid length, fearing he might pull out again.

“Stay with me, Richard, please—mo croi—every breath in my body is yours.”

He panted above her, looking down fiercely as loose locks of dark hair fell across his face and his chest heaved. “I love you.”

He slid deep within her, once, twice…and pleasure broke in waves around her, carrying her to dizzying heights until her release peaked so hard that it almost knocked the breath out of her body.

As in a haze, she watched him freeze in place, blindly grasping for her hands and squeezing them hard. Fiona sensed his bid for control, but she closed tightly around his pulsing member, unwilling to give up a single moment of pleasure.

With a guttural sound, he lifted her buttocks and she gasped as the hot liquid of his release pumped into her. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs tighter, thrusting her pelvis against his stomach as aftershocks of pleasure vibrated through her body.

Moments later, cradled roughly against Richard’s chest, she regained her senses. Their breathing had slowed in tandem, and the faint stubble on his cheeks was prickly against her shoulder.

“Dear God, what was that?” He buried his face in the curve of her neck. “My heart nearly stopped.”

“Mine too.” She stroked his hair. To think she had once thought him cold and aloof. She didn’t mind that it had taken him so long to admit he loved her, for she now knew this side of him—the man hidden beneath formal manners and dress.

He raised his head. “I love you, Fiona. You have turned my life inside out in the most delightful way. You are mine now, and I refuse to rest until we are wed.”

Groaning, he disentangled himself, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. Brushing his disordered chestnut crop out of his eye, he extended both arms, stretching luxuriously. She couldn’t help but stare at sculpted abdominal muscles and impressive biceps that the effort revealed.

“But to do that, sweetheart, I need to rise and reach out to your father.”

Pushing back her tangled hair, she sat up. “Gra mochroí, how is this much happiness possible? Yesterday I was in despair thinking I had to leave.”

“I will give you a lifetime of joy, my love,” he promised, taking her hand and helping her up from the bed. “But you must return to your chamber. The servants will be stirring shortly.”

She looked past him at the gold clock on the fireplace mantel. Four o’clock in the morning. “How I wish I could play some music at this very moment—the third impromptu of Schubert. Or perhaps Beethoven’s Ode to Joy.”

“The Beethoven I know well, and you would most certainly wake the household.” With a final kiss, he walked over to the discarded pile of their clothing at the doorway, picked up her nightdress, and handed it to her. As she dressed, he slipped on his heavy silk dressing robe, then helped her pull the brocade wrapper over her nightgown.

“Richard, what if my father still objects? He is so very stubborn. You two must make peace, for I could never marry without his permission.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, nuzzling her neck. “No, you could not. Don’t worry, Acushla, I will do whatever is needed to rebuild that bridge.”

She glimpsed their reflection in the full-length mirror hanging from the opposite wall. He met her gaze in the glass. “My God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured. She was mesmerized by their images—his breadth and height and the chiseled arms around her slender form. It was as if she watched from outside a window.

He must have thought it erotic as well, for his rigid erection tickled her bottom.

“You are incorrigible, mo fhear dathúil,” she whispered. “I must leave, and you make it very difficult.”

“After our wedding, I will hold you captive here every day until we leave for Ireland.”

“Ireland?”

“I had thought we would honeymoon there while these apartments are renovated and made larger. I bought a small estate near Wicklow, near my stables. Does that please you, Fiona?”

She turned, throwing her arms around him enthusiastically. “Of course it does. Oh, Richard.”

He staggered comically, grinning. “And now you really must go, love, before I take leave of my senses and carry you back to bed.”

Smiling back, she pressed a lingering kiss to his lips, slipping away when his arms tightened around her. Resisting the impulse to skip out of the room, she quietly climbed the stairs to her chamber.

Chapter Thirty-Three