“Emeline,” he gasped, and the extremity in his voice sent a thrill of sexual triumph through her. “Emeline...”
She looked up just as she sucked strongly on him, flattening her tongue against the underside of his penis. His eyes narrowed, his head arced back, his teeth gritted, and she tasted sweet salt in her mouth.
“Emeline.”
She closed her eyes, feeling tears behind her lids and sucked again, and again tasted a gush of salt. Finally, his hips fell, pulling his manhood from her mouth. She wiped her lips on the bed linens. Stupid, stupid tears were running from her eyes, and one splashed on his leg. Helping him do this made her want to sob, and she wasn’t even sure why.
She felt more than saw him lift his head. “What—?”
“Shhh,” she said again, choking this time.
There was no way to explain her emotions. How could she tell him that she already mourned his loss? That she wished she were a different, more adaptable person? She couldn’t, so she didn’t. She crawled up his body instead, until she settled herself, straddling his groin.
His hands grasped her hips, comforting and steadying her. “Are you all right?”
“Of course,” she whispered, although the tears she could not control gave lie to her reply.
She closed her eyes so she couldn’t see the worry and love in his gaze and lifted her shift over her head. She was nude now, just as he was. She didn’t wear so much as a hairpin. They were as God had made them, man and woman, without the clothes and trappings that designated rank, relative wealth, and means. They could’ve been Adam and his wife, Eve—the first humans, unaware of the many gradations that would come to divide their children.
She opened her eyes and leaned forward to place her palm on the center of his chest. “You are mine right now.”
“As you are mine,” he replied.
It was almost like a vow.
But he didn’t demand more. A little part of her died then, even as she reveled in the moment. Samuel had given up on having her in his future, she knew. It’d always been inevitable that they couldn’t be together, but for him to have accepted that fact...
She pushed away the thought and bowed over him, smiling as she kissed the spot where her hand had lain. It was wet because her tears had dropped there as well. She kissed across his chest, small wet kisses, until she reached a nipple. Here, she opened her mouth and licked around the tiny point, tasting man, tasting Samuel.
He sighed beneath her and reached up to stroke her hair. She could feel his manhood, still half-erect, under her stomach. She shifted a little, rolling against him, and moved to the other nipple, licking at it with a pointed tongue. Tears were pricking at her eyes again, but she no longer paid attention to them. They were a physical manifestation of her internal turmoil—something completely beyond her control. Tears fell to his chest, and their salt mingled with the salt of his skin, so she couldn’t tell them apart as she licked.
She straightened and looked down. His cock was thick, not entirely erect, and lying on his stomach. She wanted to feel that part of him against herself, wanted this last connection. She slid forward until the tip of him lay under the tip of her. She was wet, open and sensitized, and the feeling was so right, so perfect, that she groaned softly. Just a little pressure, just a little shift of her hips. Warmth blossomed at her core. She bit her lip and ground down some more.
Her eyes were closed, so she started a little when large hands palmed her breasts, both at once. She gasped and slid against him. He brought his thumbs together with his fingers and squeezed her nipples. Oh, Lord! He was growing under her, burrowing into her folds. She leaned into his hands, pressing down harder, caught up in the sensation, trying to ignore the tears that still coursed down her cheeks. His cock slid to the side. She whimpered in frustration and grasped him, holding him against her body as she rubbed her clitoris over his cock. So close, so close...
“Put me in you,” she heard him say.
She shook her head, wanting to feel him here always. To stay in this moment for eternity as if in a dream. To never wake up. She moved faster over him, frantically, twisting her hips, sobbing, her cheeks wet.
Almost there, almost there...
He squeezed her nipples and still it wasn’t quite right. She couldn’t complete. She was gasping now, weeping openly, and suddenly she knew that she needed him inside her to reach that point. Quickly, she lifted her hips and placed him at her entrance and bore down. And then...
He was inside her, full and heavy, the feeling exquisite as he stretched her. She paused, savoring the sensation, wanting it to last forever, him filling her. She leaned over him, and in that moment felt his mouth close over one breast, pulling strongly. Her muscles contracted around him, and she came in long, lovely, warm waves. She sobbed aloud in gratitude, in wonderful release. She rubbed herself over and over against his hard body, her head hanging down in surrender, her hair draping over his chest.
He muttered something and released her nipple, catching her hips. He pumped into her in quick, powerful thrusts, grunting with each plunge, his cock hard and hot and long within her. His movements, his obvious desperation, prolonged her pleasure, and when she felt his warmth flood her, she was still in bliss. She fell against his heaving chest, his hand tangling in her hair, his breath rasping against her damp temple. She heard his whisper in her ear.
“I love you.”
THE FIRE IN Emeline’s hearth had died down long ago, probably some time in the middle of the night when he’d still held her. Sam considered relighting it; her bedroom was chilly in the not-quite-dawn darkness. But she lay under piles of thick blankets in the bed, and he wouldn’t be staying long. Besides, he wasn’t sure a fire could warm him anymore.
He sat in a chair by the dead fire, fully dressed. There really wasn’t anything keeping him from leaving. The servants would be up soon, and he knew that she would be embarrassed and cross if he was discovered in her room. Yet, he still lingered.
He could watch her from the chair. Try to memorize the way two fingers clutched the blanket under her chin. She lay on her side facing him, her mouth relaxed in sleep, her lips half parted. With her sharp eyes closed, she looked much younger, almost sweet.
He nearly smiled at the thought. She wouldn’t thank him for the observation. They’d never had time to discuss it, but he thought she might be a little sensitive at her years. He’d like to argue the point, make her confess that a lady of thirty was as beautiful—more beautiful, in his opinion—than a lady of twenty. Then when she continued to argue—for she would, she was so stubborn—he would kiss her into submission and maybe another round of lovemaking. But they were past that now. They would have no more arguments, no more kisses or lovemaking. No time to settle any little problems.