Page 90 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

He eased back slowly. She felt his withdrawal and whimpered.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her nose. Then another to her cheek. Then her lips, teasing them with his tongue.

She teased back. Nipping. Kissing. Entwining tongues in a dance—

Thrust.

He pushed inside her again. Hard but not sharp this time.

Nice, especially as he ground his pelvis down against her.

Right there.

Very nice.

Then he raised up away from her mouth. Somehow her hands had gone to his shoulders, holding him to her, but she was not strong enough to keep him with her.

“Again,” she said.

Thrust.

Very nice!

She gripped his hips with her knees, wanting to hold him to her. Wanting to increase the pressure. Just wanting. Then she smiled at him.

“Come for me,” she said, barely knowing what it meant, but liking the echo of his words.

His eyes widened in surprise, and then he grinned. It was as if she had let go of his reins. Suddenly, he was thrusting into her harder than before. A wild tempo of impalement. Again and again.

His breath rasped in her ears as she held on. Her body thrummed with every impact, and she felt her body spiraling up with him. Another glorious splintering soon, but this time with him. He slammed one last time, and his body shuddered.

She felt him deep, saw his face as he surrendered to the release, and thought for a split second: This man gave everything. No half measures, no partial gifts, but everything. To a woman who made lists, measured every word, and never gave everything of anything to anyone. This was almost beyond comprehension.

Then he took her with him. Another pulsing thrust and her body exploded. No half measures, no itemized list. Everything she was changed completely.

And she was amazed.

Chapter Twenty-Two

It was done. She was his, and the magnitude of that gift robbed him of speech.

He collapsed beside her on the bed, careful not to crush her. She was still languid with pleasure, and he was thankful he’d managed to control himself long enough for her to come again. It had been a near thing, but this time—and every time—should be perfect for her.

He gathered her to him. She snuggled close, settling her head on his shoulder, her breasts on his chest, and her hand in his. He pressed a kiss to her fingers, feeling the rightness in that. She belonged with him.

She slept.

He drowsed, but forced himself to stay awake. She had gifted him with her body; the least he could do was be sure to keep it safe. And that meant being careful that she returned home before her reputation was destroyed.

A half hour.

An hour.

He spent the time making plans for her dowry. He would make Sommerfield into a paradise. And he would do it with her.

*

“Mari. Wake up, sweetheart. We need to get you home.”