The world thought Rose a scandalous woman, and now here she was in the heart of scandal. And what a wonderful place it is, to be sure.
Rose laid her head back against the wall, amazed that she had this man around her, in her.
She’d never made love like this before. She’d thought they’d be on the bed, Steven on her, his weight warming her. Not this primal coupling, with him holding her, thrusting up into her. He was high inside her, making her ache and feel wonderful at the same time.
All Rose could say was his name. It came out of her mouth again and again, as the rain beat on the window and rushed across the sill. If someone could look in from the outside, Rose imagined they’d see a blur of bodies against the white of the wall and the red brick of the chimney. The rain would run the colors like together like a beautiful painting that had been tipped while still wet.
The plaster was hard and cool at her back, the warmth from the chimney touching her side. Steven’s body in contrast was hot, living flesh, but every bit as hard as the wall behind her. She could see his that his tan ended out where his waistband would be, then started up again on his lower legs. That meant he ran about in his kilt and nothing else, or only the lower portion of his military uniform, perhaps with legs rolled up.
The thought of Steven wandering about in the sunshine, half-dressed, his golden hair burnished, flooded her with pure desire. Rose felt herself opening even more, embracing him, her body knowing what to do.
Steven responded. His eyes were heavy, a gleam of gray from between his lids. A beautiful man, his face softened, the lines of care smoothed from it. His shoulders worked as he loved her, sweat gleaming on his skin.
Rose touched his face, and Steven kissed her. The kiss was hot, opening her without the sweet touches of lips leading up to it. The flirtation was finished, and this was real.
Steven abruptly pulled away from her mouth. “No,” he groaned, his brows drawing down.
His thrusts increased. Steven’s fingers bit into her flesh, and at the same time, the wave that had dissipated slightly when he’d ceased drinking her, crashed over Rose again.
She heard her voice ringing, crying his name, and his answering words, low and fierce. “Rosie, you’re beautiful, lass. Och, damn it.”
He held her firmly against the wall, thrusting hard, his face set, while Rose moved with him, body rocking with her pleasure. Sweat beaded on Steven’s skin, and trickled from hers, the cold in the room no longer having meaning.
Steven continued to thrust, but gentler now, slowing, his face easing from frustration to warm relaxation.
“I didn’t stand a chance,” he said breathlessly. “Didn’t stand a chance against the completeness of you.”
Rose didn’t have the speech to ask what he meant. She understood somehow.
Steven kissed her, his mouth warm with what they’d done. He turned around with her as he did so, and lowered her onto the bed, sliding out of her.
Rose lay alone, suddenly cold without him. Instead of joining her at once, Steven paused a moment and gazed down at her. He took her in with a slow glance, the brush of it tingling, as though he touched her.
Steven then trailed his fingers down her body, tracing her ni**les, sliding his touch over her soft belly to the join of her legs.
Rose jerked when he touched her there, too sensitive. Steven smiled as though she’d done something pleasing, and slid himself onto the bed next to her. He lay on his side, propped up on his elbow, and moved his hand again to the join of her thighs.
One stroke there made Rose half-rise. “What are you doing?”
“Giving you pleasure, love. I was a bit hasty, but you had me too eager.”
Hasty? It had been full, wondrous. Steven brushed two fingers over her opening, and Rose jumped again, realizing they weren’t yet finished. “I never knew . . .”
Steven chuckled, a warm sound. “There are many avenues of pleasure between men and women. Fortunately, I know most of them.”
He knew this one, that was for certain. A few more strokes, and Rose was arching up, her thoughts scattering, as they had when he’d put his mouth to her. She knew she was behaving shamelessly, but she had no intention of stopping herself.
Steven caressed and rubbed her, then thrust a finger inside her. Rose’s world narrowed to that feeling—his finger was nowhere near as thick as his hardness, but the small movement made her choke back a cry.
A second finger joined the first, and then a third. All the while, he brushed his thumb over the tightness of her, until Rose bucked against his hand, begging him—for what, she didn’t know.
“Hush now, sweet Rose,” she heard him say. “I’m only giving you what you gave me.”
Rose’s cries continued, incoherent, and she couldn’t stifle them. Steven laughed again and covered her mouth with a kiss.
When the world went dark, nothing existing but Steven against her, and his hand pressed firmly to her, Rose ceased trying to stop herself. She let the pleasure wash over her, her joy at being here with Steven become her only thought.
Just when she knew she’d die of this feeling, Steven took away his hand, rolled her into the mattress among their jumble of clothes, and entered her again.
He thrust into her faster this time, pushing them both down into the bed, his kisses hard. They moved as one, body to body, solidly joined. Their breaths came quickly, gazes holding each other’s, both too far gone now even for kisses.
Steven groaned as he lost his seed for the second time. He was holding Rose’s hand, his fingers squeezing hers, his face relaxing with his release.
Rose touched his cheek, kissing his lips with her swollen ones, and marveled at what they’d done this day.
***
Steven lay beside Rose long into the afternoon, not leaving her even as the window darkened with the end of the short day. They’d nestled down under the covers, the blankets heavy with their clothes. Steven had pulled his plaid up over the quilts, adding another layer of warmth.
Rose slept for a while, Steven dozing with her. When she’d awakened, she’d smiled at him, a little shy, but betraying no shame. Steven had touched her, savoring her, before his needy c**k had him entering her one more time.
After that they both slept, then awoke and spoke in low voices. About nothing. About everything. Steven heard himself telling her stories about his childhood, how he’d run wild in Scotland with his sister, Ainsley, until their three older brothers dragged them home again. He spoke of the army, his friendships there, his adventures. Rose told him of her life in Edinburgh with her father, her sorrow when he died, her astonishment when a lofty duke asked her to be his wife.