Diane Gaston - Regency High Society Vol 7

‘No,’ he said, rising over her instead.

Her legs parted and she felt him pressing against her, felt him enter her and begin to fill her. ‘Morgana,’ he rasped as he thrust into her.

The pain was sharp, but she rode it out without uttering a sound. She did not want anything to make him stop, not now, when she was so close to… to something she did not yet understand. ‘Please, do not stop, Sloane,’ she murmured.

‘Morgana,’ he repeated.

Slowly he moved inside her, in and out. It felt like heaven, like nothing she would have imagined. She rejoiced that Sloane created these sensations in her. She would never desire another man to do so. Only Sloane, even if for only this one night.

Her body responded to him, moving with him, the rhythm as intoxicating as the sensations it created. Inside, her need increased. She’d not known it was possible to desire something with such intensity and she still did not know what it was she desired.

His thrusts increased, harder and faster, and she matched him stroke for stroke. Harder. Faster as both the need and the pleasure grew.

Suddenly she felt as if she’d come apart in shining sparks, as bright and jubilant as the illuminations at Vauxhall. She cried out in joy and clung to him and he convulsed inside her, his gasps filling her ears. She held on to him tighter while wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.

Finally they collapsed in one heap against the bed linens. He was heavy upon her, but it felt glorious. He began to kiss her again. Her forehead, her temple, her nose, lips, neck. He rolled off of her, but continued to hold her in his arms.

Morgana seemed to have liquid where her bones ought to be, and he tasted of her with such relish as to have her suspect she’d perhaps turned to syrup. He, in contrast, was as firm to the touch as if he’d been sculpted, except there was nothing of cold stone about him. His skin was warm and smooth with a sheen of perspiration that bespoke of the energy of their lovemaking.

He was planting light kisses on the ticklish skin of her stomach. She played with his hair.

‘Can it happen again?’ she asked, her voice coming out light and breathy.

He peered at her, dark sultry eyes gazing from between her naked breasts. His slow grin grew, and suddenly she provided her own answer to the question. Her body told her it would happen again.

He answered her. ‘I am counting on it.’

A gasp escaped her lips and she dug her fingers into his shoulders. He rose above her, the wicked smile still on his face, ‘Do you want me, Morgana?’

‘You know I want you, Sloane.’ She tried to return the smile, but he mounted her once more and gently pushed inside her. Their initial joining had been at an eager pace, but this time he moved with a languorous leisure.

‘Are you teasing me, Sloane?’ she whispered when his ear came near her lips.

He moved back and forth before he answered, grabbing a taste of her ear as he did so. ‘I’m loving you, Morgana.’

If his body created sensations so deep inside her she could not even imagine them, then his words touched something even deeper. She was joined to him. She was not alone.

Tears briefly stung her eyes before she allowed herself to feel the elation of it. His lovemaking was a glorious gift she would never, ever forget.

Morgana let herself be carried along thrill by repeated thrill. This culmination was different than the first, reached in unison with him, a quieter, stronger pleasure that rolled through her, making her unsure where she ended and he began.

He eased himself off of her and nestled her against him.

‘Can it happen again?’ she murmured.

She felt his voice rumble in his chest. ‘Not without making you sore. Sleep now, Morgana.’

She was determined to stay awake and savour every second of being with him. To hear the rhythm of his breathing. To feel his warm skin against her cheek. To inhale his scent, a mix of manliness and spice.

But soon enough she did what he commanded. She fell deeply into a satisfying, restful sleep.

Sloane barely heard the scratching at his door. He opened one eye. Morning had come much too soon but, now reluctantly awake, the soft, sensual woman nestled against him roused his senses as well.

The scratching continued.

Had Elliot not seen fit to train these servants when to give their employer privacy? Sloane gazed at Morgana so peacefully asleep and carefully eased away from her. She sighed and he froze, fearing he’d awoken her, but she rolled to her other side and curled up, looking like an innocent child.

He slipped out of bed and searched for something to wrap around himself. He grabbed his shirt, tying it on his hips like a loincloth as he padded to the door in his bare feet. He opened the door a crack and peeked at who dared interrupt him at this time.

‘Elliot!’ He almost forgot to whisper. The young man was fully dressed and looking very upset. Sloane stepped out into the hall, closing the bedchamber door behind him.

‘What the devil are you doing, Elliot?’ he said. Elliot held a paper in his hand and a worried frown on his face. ‘I beg your pardon, Sloane, but there is an urgent message for you.’

‘An urgent message?’ Sloane reached for the paper. ‘From whom?’

‘Your nephew, sir. The man who delivered the missive was instructed to see that it was placed in your hands immediately.’

Sloane broke the seal with his thumb.

The letter read,

Dear Uncle,

It is imperative you come immediately. I have learned that Grandfather and my father are planning to ruin your marriage plans to Lady Hannah by spreading a rumour of an affair between you and Miss Hart. They are composing an item for the newspapers at this very moment. Needless to say I am appalled at their behaviour. Come quickly. They will not listen to me.

Your nephew, D.S.

Morgana. By God, what irony. It would not be her courtesan school that would ruin her, but the incredible bad luck of having him move next door to her. Did his father know she had spent the night in his bed? Did he stoop to sending spies to watch the house?

Elliot gazed at him intently. ‘Is there anything I might do to assist?’

Sloane glanced up at him. ‘No—yes. Have my horse saddled immediately. I must get dressed.’

Elliot nodded and hurried off without once questioning what news the letter contained. An estimable young man. A man to count upon.

Sloane hurried back in the bedchamber and began rummaging around for clothes. The difficulty with having a valet was that he did not have any notion where things were put. He gave up on clothes and decided to shave instead. If he showed up at the Earl’s residence unshaven, it would merely make an unnecessary distraction. He intended to go looking like a gentleman.

There was a pitcher of water, some soap and his razor on the chest with the mirror, and he made quick work of the job. As he returned to rummaging for clothes, he closed the door of the wardrobe with a bang. The rustle of bed linens made him twist around.

Morgana sat up, holding the blanket across her lovely naked breasts. ‘Sloane?’

‘I am here, Morgana.’

She smiled when she located him in the room, a smile soft with sleep and gratification. ‘Good morning.’

He took three long steps to reach her side, put one knee on the bed and took her face in his hands, giving her a kiss with the sort of promise he had no time to fulfil. She flung her arms around his neck and tried to pull him down on top of her. His arousal came swiftly, hard and insistent. What would a few minutes hurt?

He obliged her, covering her with kisses, rubbing his hands over her smooth creamy skin. He felt like laughing out loud, an odd impulse in the midst of this crisis, but he did not care. She made him feel joyous. As if he deserved all the passion she had so innocently and wholeheartedly bestowed upon him.