Louise Allen - Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 1

By now well beyond the ability of speech, but for her rasping breaths she lay silent, in thrall to his touch. With excruciating, intoxicating slowness he explored the curve of her calves, the dimple beside her kneecap. She rejoiced with incoherent gasps as he moved over her knees to the trembling smoothness of her inner thighs, his caress of that exquisitely sensitive flesh so intense it neared pain.

He halted when she flinched away, chuckled deep in his throat when she seized his neck to urge his mouth back down to her. He slowed his pace still further, letting her accustom herself to the shocking newness of his intimate touch. Some remote part of her mind watched in horrified titillation as the wanton creature who now resided in her body begged with whimpered moans and a clenching of hands for him to continue his deliciously slow progression toward a goal she could hardly yet believe.

When at last he reached there, gently urging her thighs wider so he could caress the outer petals and seek the hidden bud within, she could wait no longer. With an inarticulate cry she pushed him back, jerked free the buttons of his straining breeches. “Now,” she begged, desperation giving her voice. “Please.”

“Sparrow,” he said on a gasp as at last she felt the weight of his bare chest against her. She clutched his sweat-slick shoulders as he fitted himself to her aching passage, and unable to wait a second longer, thrust her hips to carry him within.

So incredibly sweet was the joining, tears sprang to her eyes. But as he began to move in the ancient rhythm she thought she knew so well, the subtle friction immediately and dramatically magnified the throbbing sensations within her. Her skin grew feverish, her fingernails biting into his back as she writhed under him, trying to remain properly passive while her body demanded movement.

“Ah, yes, sweeting,” he murmured against her mouth as, helpless to prevent herself, she rocked her hips to mimic his motion. The tautness within her spiraled tighter, tighter, a nearly unbearable torment, tearing a deep moan from her throat. Then suddenly, tension exploded in a brilliant shower of sensation that cascaded through her, a flashflood boiling through every nerve.

For a few moments afterward she lay stunned, barely conscious, barely breathing. Dimly she was aware of Beau rolling her with him to her side, and then she surrendered to the heavy lassitude stealing over her.

Sometime later she struggled back to consciousness, to find she was still wrapped in the earl’s warm embrace. His steady heartbeat vibrated against her chest; his breath warmed her hair. Utter contentment filled her, and once again her eyes stung with tears.

No matter how long or short the life she was destined to live, she would thank heaven for this precious night.

She looked up into his faintly smiling face and the love she’d tried to avoid and ignore caught her full in the throat, strangling her voice. How could she bear to let him walk away?

She cursed the tears that welled up, brushing them away with an impatient hand. She would not spoil the wonder of this night by regretting what could not be.

She wanted to pour out her love, tell him she’d never known such closeness nor tasted such pleasure, that she would treasure these moments the rest of her life. But nothing beyond tonight was possible, and so she swallowed the ardent vows she must not make and searched for something permissible. “How can I thank you?” she whispered at last.

With the gentleness that so captured her heart he rubbed his knuckle against her cheek. “How can I thank you?”

She struggled to lift herself on one elbow. He would leave now, as he must, but resigned though she was to the inevitability of it, still she sought some way to delay.

“Can I get you something? Do anything before you … go?”

“Some wine, if you have it. But, Sparrow—” his voice deepened “—I’m nowhere close to being ready to leave.”

The teasing promise in his tone stopped her breath. Surely he couldn’t mean … what she thought? Her experience argued against the possibility of any further coupling—but then, everything else tonight had been far beyond any previous experience. At the mere hint of it, nerves she’d thought too exhausted to function were beginning to stir and spark. “I’ll g-get you wine,” she said hurriedly.

“Wait a moment,” he said, catching her hand as she reached for her wrapper. “Let me look at you.”

She’d never been naked in front of a man before. But as he held her at arm’s length, his ardent plea echoing in her ears, her self-consciousness faded. She nodded, dropped the wrapper, and stood fully unveiled before him.

Slowly he examined her, from her bare toes up her calves, her thighs, across her belly to taut, tight peaks of her breasts, her shoulders, her neck, her chin, cheeks, hair. “You are so lovely, Sparrow,” he murmured. “Now, wine please, and hurry before you catch a chill.”

Any tendency to chill evaporated as, before he released her hand, he leaned forward to capture one erect nipple and tease it with his teeth. She gasped, delight at this new sensation coursing through her, and grabbed his shoulder to steady herself.

With leisurely slowness he moved his mouth to tantalize the aching peak of her other breast. She was melting, nearly boneless when he at last stopped.

“Wine,” he said, skimming his hand over her belly to touch the tight curls beneath. “We’ve not much time, and there’s so much more—” he moved his finger to stroke within the warm folds “—to experience.”

Somehow she managed to totter to the kitchen and bring back wine without spilling it all over. He greeted her with a kiss, pulled her close under the bedclothes to warm her, and fed her wine. And then, after they’d sipped, and talked, the earl proceeded to demonstrate just how ignorant this long-married wife had been.

He taught her, a voraciously greedy and willing pupil, how he could set off the same incredible explosion with his fingers, his tongue. How she could ready him again for joining with the urging of her hips, the goad of her mouth. Through the swift and shimmering hours of that short, matchless night he showed her how pleasure could be stimulated and conveyed, rapture a current flowing from him to her, from her to him, until it swept them together over the precipice in a timeless, sense-stunning cascade to completion.

Sometime in the quiet dimness near dawn Laura woke to find him still beside her. Joy that he had not crept away while she slept swelled in her, and she leaned up to kiss his cheek.

“Sparrow,” he murmured, angling his head to take her kiss on his lips as he pulled her into a rib-bruising embrace.

She clung to him, knowing the time to delay had passed. “You must go now,” she said when at last he released her.

“Yes. I’d best get back to Everett Hall before first light, lest I encounter some farm boy on the way to market who might carry tales. I’ll be off for London an hour or so after.” He paused, looking down at her. “Let me stop here for you on my way.”

Quit Merriville. Part of her yearned to silence her mind’s automatic clamor about the danger, respond only to the leap of gladness that urged her to go with him. But once again, fear and caution won out.

“I cannot. Please, I’m sorry, but—”

He stopped her apology with another kiss. “I know, Sparrow. Though I leave you here alone under protest, I’ll not take you with me by force. But when I return—and I will return, soon—you will agree to depart with me.”

She said nothing, the bittersweet agony of his impending loss thickening her throat and preventing reply. While he dressed she threw on her wrapper and poured him more wine, then walked with him to the porch door.