Regency Society Collection Part 2. Ann Lethbridge

down, using his hand to press the head of his erection against her mons. ‘Now. Lift up.’

      ‘Not yet,’ she said, her voice huskier than she had ever heard it.

      ‘Heaven forefend, woman, do you want to kill me?’ He dropped his head back on the pillow.

      Smiling, she claimed his lips in a swift kiss. ‘Only a little.’ She kissed his forehead, his nose, the hollows of his cheeks, the hard line of his jaw. He squirmed and hissed in a breath when she explored the depths of his ear with her tongue, salty and bitter, and very sensual.

      His hands gripped her buttocks, large and firm, squeezing gently. He ground his hips against hers with a groan.

      ‘Let me inside you.’

      ‘Hush, let me play a while.’

      Shifting to her side, she pressed her lips to his throat, wandered lower, across his shoulders, to his chest, the springy curls rough, the flesh beneath hot and salty and musky. She ran her palms over his flat male nipples and they puckered and hardened. Next she traced the plane of his belly; muscles beneath tanned skin rippled like waves on an ocean, as they tensed beneath her mouth. Too shy, too young, to do more than peek at him before, now the strength and the beauty of his body left her in awe.

      ‘God. Ellie. Don’t stop.’

      She glanced up at his face. His eyes were closed, his jaw clenched, his expression one of agony.

      She took pity on him and her hand found the hard, hot length of his erection. Watching his face, she wrapped her fingers around him, then squeezed.

      His eyes opened wide. ‘Harder.’

      ‘Won’t it hurt?’

      ‘God, no.’

      Taking him at his word, she squeezed and he moaned and took her hand in his, showing her how to stroke, from tip to base and back without releasing the pressure.

      The tip darkened, while the shaft hardened and pulsed against her palm. ‘Oh, my.’

      A small drop of moisture glistened in the tiny slit at the tip. She licked it away. Salty, warm, musky.

      His hips shot off the bed. He grabbed her around the waist, lifting her over him. ‘Enough.’ It sounded more like a growl than a word.

      A shudder of pleasure held her enthralled and instinctively she straddled his hips, somewhat like mounting a horse astride, except her naked female flesh pressed against his hard penis and the heartbeat beneath his skin matched her own little pulses. The rough hair on his leg grazed her inner thighs. Quite wicked and absolutely tantalising.

      Lifting her with one hand under her bottom, he guided himself inside her body. Rigid and hot, he stretched her. She slid down the delicious intrusion. Hands about her hips, fingers digging into the swell of her buttocks, he helped her set a tantalising rhythm. Definitely like riding a horse, but far more enjoyable as the friction brought new and delightful sensations. If it were not for the tension in his face and the corded muscle and sinew in his large powerful body, she might have thought him submissive to her command of their lovemaking. Hers to do with as she willed.

      Would that it were true. The wicked thought thrilled her to the core.

      Wanting his touch, she brought his hand to her breasts. He curled his fingertips into her flesh, weighing, massaging, shaping to fit his palms. He caressed her nipples with his thumbs, strumming them, bringing them to life in aching little bursts of pleasure. At each downward stroke of her hips, his pelvis rose to meet her, pressing himself deeper into her heat, but leaving her to set the pace.

      He lifted his head and suckled, hard. The thrill shot all the way to her centre. Little quivers, deep earth-quakes of passion drove her to find completion. Her body hummed with tension. ‘Garrick.’

      ‘Let go, darling.’

      He touched where they joined, at the sensitive spot above where he entered her body, pressing and circling with his thumb. A sensation like nothing else, pleasure and sweet, sweet pain, unbearable.

      ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. The tension inside her vibrated, the breaking point just out of reach.

      ‘Harder?’

      ‘Faster.’

      By increasing the tempo, he brought her to new heights. The world narrowed to one arching stretch of pleasure.

      She flew apart. Burst in glorious quivers of delicious pleasure. He groaned and withdrew, spilling his seed into the sheets while her own shudders went on and on.

      He rolled on his side and kissed her forehead, the corner of her mouth, her throat, a delicate brush of his lips against her breast.

      ‘You were glorious,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

      She lay in his arms with her skin cooling and tears a blink away. Loss of what might have been as real as the death of a loved one.

      ‘Your hunger was great,’ he said into her hair.

      Before, he had always been the driving force in their lovemaking.

      ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘It…has been a long time. But not for you, I think.’ She couldn’t help the little knife of jealousy.

      ‘You have an itch. You scratch it.’

      An itch. Well, she should have expected no more. ‘William always said you were an unprincipled wretch.’

      ‘William.’ He rolled away, flung the sheet back and stood up, his bare flanks lean and muscled. She repressed an urge to lean out and caress the lovely firm rounded flesh.

      ‘I did offer marriage,’ he said. ‘You chose otherwise.’ He shrugged, a lift of broad shoulders. ‘You would have had my name, my title. What more did you want?’

      A declaration of love? Would it have made any difference? She’d made so many wrong decisions that summer, caused untold harm. Now was not the time to open old wounds. And yet he deserved an answer. She swallowed. ‘I could not abandon my sister.’

      His back stiffened, then he picked his shirt up from the floor and pulled it over his head. ‘Admit it. You were afraid.’ He continued to dress, his focus entirely on his articles of clothing, as if her answer made no difference.

      She slipped out of her side of the bed. She drew on her chemise and tied the bow at the neck. ‘Afraid?’

      He turned to look over his shoulder. ‘Of me. Of what I might do.’

      ‘It wasn’t like that.’ She struggled with the laces of her stays at her back. ‘I made a promise.’

      ‘And so you made your choice. And here you are once more, the sacrificial lamb.’ He strolled to the mirror over the mantel and in swift, sure movements tied his cravat. ‘What about you, Ellie? When will you choose you?’ He laughed, a short mirthless crack. ‘Please. Don’t answer. I don’t want to know. Just get the letter and you can forget me, and go back to your safe little life.’

      He had changed. She really didn’t know him any longer. But he was right about her life. It was little. And it was all she had left. ‘Take me home.’

      Garrick glanced at the clock. A flash of concern crossed his face. ‘Yes, you should leave now. My friend will be home soon.’

      He hurried her into the sitting room, picking up her cloak, shoving her bonnet and veil into her hand, clearly wishing her gone. She’d lost him. So quickly. She could see it in his distant expression. Her heart sank.

      What had she expected? That he would renew his offer of marriage after a brief encounter? He was using her to get what he wanted, the way she had used him. Mayhap, it served her right.

      He opened the door and she followed him out of the chamber.

      In the hallway, a footman was in the process of opening the front door.

      Garrick cursed under his breath as a rather