me,” he said, whispering fiercely. “Let me see your face.”
She wanted to say something, wanted to say his name, but words would no longer come. She could barely draw enough air to keep her head from spinning. Her lungs rasped with the effort. She fought to keep her eyes on his.
And still he kept talking, his voice as much a caress as his fingers. “Wouldn’t you like to feel me there, sweetheart? Inside? Filling you? Taking you?”
The idea burst like a firework inside her brain. “Yes,” she managed to say, the only word her mind could form. “Yes, yes, yes.”
But he made no effort to loosen his breeches. Only his fingers moved inside her, faster, harder, bringing her closer and closer to madness. “Do you understand the effort it’s taking to refrain?” he said, and something in his voice told her he made the revelation as much for his own sake as for hers. “This is not like me, not at all like me, to have a willing woman on my lap and not take what’s being offered.”
What exactly did he mean by that?
And why should it matter to her?
Oh, but somehow it did.
He was talking still, murmuring more words, passionate words, but she could barely make out their significance through the dizziness that sent her mind whirling. She could no longer discern the individual movements of his fingers—it was all one great velvet stroke, one hot caress, and her whole body moved with it, rocked with it, rose with it, faster and faster, higher and higher and higher. She was going to faint soon, or die maybe, with her heart hammering so violently, her whole body trembling. She was hurtling forward somehow, running straight for the edge of a cliff.
“Good girl, Rachel,” Sebastian was saying, she could make out that much, but his eyes were sweeping her in, swallowing up everything in the world and her along with it. “God, look at you. Come for me, sweetheart. Come for me now.”
And heat rose through her, that molten red current taking her under, and then she was falling, and coming apart, heat ripping through her, colors exploding through her flesh, and she heard a cry—her voice, maybe, or Sebastian’s, or both of them at once?
And she was pulsing and shuddering, and eddies of impossible sweetness swept through her, beating through the tips of breasts, through her belly, and behind her eyes. Her hands and feet were clenching, grasping at the shocking joy of it. Pleasure, vast, rippling pleasure was flowing everywhere.
For long moments, she wasn’t sure where she was, if she was.
Her own breathing was outside her, above her, beyond her. She seemed to float in some impossible, soft brightness.
And only gradually did she realize she was actually still within the walls of the coach, and Sebastian was there with her, beneath her, warm and solid, as she clung to his neck, her forehead pressed against his cheek.
He didn’t tease her now, just held her firm in his arms, his hands stroking her back gently, as if helping her absorb the intensity of the waves sweeping through her. His breathing sounded as labored as hers did. And for long moments, they just breathed together. As peaceful as they’d ever been in one another’s company, all the prickly barriers between them smoothed away.
It was extraordinary, really. Close to blissful. A comfort with another person’s presence she hadn’t felt in . . . well, maybe ever.
As her heartbeat finally slowed, though, and her head stopped spinning, good sense began to creep back in. Yes, glorious tendrils of pleasure still unfurled themselves through her limbs. She couldn’t deny that. And something in her wanted to stay right where she was, curled against Sebastian, heartbeat to heartbeat, forever and ever and ever. But bliss wasn’t supposed to be the goal of this mission.
For pity’s sake, Sebastian Talbot didn’t even particularly like her.
Or she him, for that matter.
Neither of them was sentimental in the slightest, and neither had any business seeking
She wanted to say something, wanted to say his name, but words would no longer come. She could barely draw enough air to keep her head from spinning. Her lungs rasped with the effort. She fought to keep her eyes on his.
And still he kept talking, his voice as much a caress as his fingers. “Wouldn’t you like to feel me there, sweetheart? Inside? Filling you? Taking you?”
The idea burst like a firework inside her brain. “Yes,” she managed to say, the only word her mind could form. “Yes, yes, yes.”
But he made no effort to loosen his breeches. Only his fingers moved inside her, faster, harder, bringing her closer and closer to madness. “Do you understand the effort it’s taking to refrain?” he said, and something in his voice told her he made the revelation as much for his own sake as for hers. “This is not like me, not at all like me, to have a willing woman on my lap and not take what’s being offered.”
What exactly did he mean by that?
And why should it matter to her?
Oh, but somehow it did.
He was talking still, murmuring more words, passionate words, but she could barely make out their significance through the dizziness that sent her mind whirling. She could no longer discern the individual movements of his fingers—it was all one great velvet stroke, one hot caress, and her whole body moved with it, rocked with it, rose with it, faster and faster, higher and higher and higher. She was going to faint soon, or die maybe, with her heart hammering so violently, her whole body trembling. She was hurtling forward somehow, running straight for the edge of a cliff.
“Good girl, Rachel,” Sebastian was saying, she could make out that much, but his eyes were sweeping her in, swallowing up everything in the world and her along with it. “God, look at you. Come for me, sweetheart. Come for me now.”
And heat rose through her, that molten red current taking her under, and then she was falling, and coming apart, heat ripping through her, colors exploding through her flesh, and she heard a cry—her voice, maybe, or Sebastian’s, or both of them at once?
And she was pulsing and shuddering, and eddies of impossible sweetness swept through her, beating through the tips of breasts, through her belly, and behind her eyes. Her hands and feet were clenching, grasping at the shocking joy of it. Pleasure, vast, rippling pleasure was flowing everywhere.
For long moments, she wasn’t sure where she was, if she was.
Her own breathing was outside her, above her, beyond her. She seemed to float in some impossible, soft brightness.
And only gradually did she realize she was actually still within the walls of the coach, and Sebastian was there with her, beneath her, warm and solid, as she clung to his neck, her forehead pressed against his cheek.
He didn’t tease her now, just held her firm in his arms, his hands stroking her back gently, as if helping her absorb the intensity of the waves sweeping through her. His breathing sounded as labored as hers did. And for long moments, they just breathed together. As peaceful as they’d ever been in one another’s company, all the prickly barriers between them smoothed away.
It was extraordinary, really. Close to blissful. A comfort with another person’s presence she hadn’t felt in . . . well, maybe ever.
As her heartbeat finally slowed, though, and her head stopped spinning, good sense began to creep back in. Yes, glorious tendrils of pleasure still unfurled themselves through her limbs. She couldn’t deny that. And something in her wanted to stay right where she was, curled against Sebastian, heartbeat to heartbeat, forever and ever and ever. But bliss wasn’t supposed to be the goal of this mission.
For pity’s sake, Sebastian Talbot didn’t even particularly like her.
Or she him, for that matter.
Neither of them was sentimental in the slightest, and neither had any business seeking
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