Instead there was heat and searing flame, a passion beyond his experience, and a need so profound that if she hadn’t been so blatantly willing, controlling it would have brought him to his knees.
He had to have her, had to be inside her, had to make her his-that was all the direction his mind let alone his body seemed able to accommodate.
Hot, urgent, it had to be this way.
As he pressed a finger deep into her sheath, and felt her tremble-not with shock or even surprise but with unalloyed anticipation-he made a mental vow to make it up to her next time, that their next engagement would have all the gentleness, the tenderness, that this one did not. Would not.
She arched, breaking their kiss, losing what little breath she had in a gasp so evocative-so provocative, so sensually desperate-that it rocked him.
He withdrew his finger, then pressed another in alongside, stretching her…but she was in no mood to be denied, even in such a cause. She shifted against him, her body arching against his in wordless entreaty. She rode every day and was stronger than any female he’d previously had under him; he couldn’t easily control her, couldn’t stop her from sensually wrestling-given his state, his already strained and tenuous control, and her aim, the outcome was a foregone conclusion.
Muttering a curse, he found her lips with his and pressed her back into the cushions, subduing her-appeasing her-with a kiss so demanding she had all she could do to meet him, match him…while he withdrew his fingers from the scalding haven of her sheath, settled his hips between her thighs, and entered her.
He slid in a little way easily enough, but then the untried tightness of her sheath slowed him. He pressed on, steady and sure as she quieted beneath him, as her whole awareness focused on his invasion.
Giving thanks she was so tall that he could easily kiss her while burying himself inside her, he used his lips and tongue to draw her back to the kiss, but this time she wouldn’t be distracted; her inner tension returned, her fingers tightening on his upper arms, nails sinking in as he forged deeper into her-and swept past her maidenhead, barely any barrier.
She rode astride and had for a decade, another blessing.
Madeline felt the slight give, the faint sting, but the momentary discomfort was immediately swamped by a wholly different sensation. He didn’t withdraw but thrust deeper still, seating himself fully, heavily, within her, and she was suddenly mentally, sensually gasping, trying to absorb, to take it in, to accustom her senses to his weight above her, pinning her to the daybed, to the hardness of his thighs pressing hers wide, his hair-dusted muscles rasping her smooth skin, but more than anything else to the hard, hot masculine reality buried deep within her.
It felt like hot steel encased in velvet; no wonder men so often referred to it as a weapon-a sword, a lance.
She inwardly shuddered, still caught in passion’s flames but for an instant able to know, to clearly sense-and feel-physical vulnerability, a sensation she’d rarely experienced, to understand why he’d termed this a conquest.
His lips were still on hers, his tongue stroking hers, but although joined fully with her, he’d stilled, as if he were waiting…
She realized she’d tensed; she wasn’t sure why. On the thought, her muscles eased, the tension flowing away. Revealing the fire still burning, poised, waiting, flames hungry and eager.
Swelling again, growing, demanding.
As if he knew, before she could even think to move, he did; he withdrew, then thrust deep again, forging even further than before.
And the flames flared, roared as he repeated the movement. She gasped and clung to the kiss, eager again, desperate again.
Burning again.
Again and again he withdrew and thrust in; she found his rhythm and matched him. Clutched as the flames built, then raced down her veins; heat poured from them as he rode her hard, then harder, and she absorbed each thrust, each deep penetration, welcomed the passion, embraced the fire, drew it and him into her.
Until her core ignited, until bright tension gripped her so fiercely she thought she might die.
She pulled away from the kiss, desperately arching beneath him, head back, reaching for she knew not what.
Then ecstasy speared through her. She cried out, breathless, helpless.
And shattered.
Infinitely more powerfully than before. As if she’d been flung off some sensual cliff and every sense had fragmented.
Eyes closed, sightless, she drifted in the void, but then tactile sensation returned, and she felt him within her, hard, hot and unyielding; beneath her hands, in her arms, hard and heavy above her, she felt him holding still, heard his harsh, ragged breaths beside her ear, his chest laboring, his muscles locked as he fought to give her that moment…then his control gave way.
His lips found hers, covered them; with no longer even a vestige of sophistication he ravaged her mouth-unutterably glad, she appeased him, let him. Gave him what he had given her.
Her body unstinting.
Driven, his body rocked compulsively into hers, powerful and unrelentingly; she wrapped her arms about him and clung, tight, then he abruptly tensed, shuddered, and spent himself deep inside her.
She felt the warmth within, felt his weight as, his trembling muscles giving way, he groaned and slumped upon her.
Holding him in her arms, she felt her lips curve, satisfaction mingling with glorious satiation; the feelings burgeoned and rose through her, buoyed her, then swept her free, onto a calm and blissful sea.
Gervase stirred, then glanced at the woman sleeping in his arms. Warm, trusting, utterly relaxed, she remained asleep.
He stared at her, at her features relaxed in sated slumber, at her tumbling mass of hair now in wild disarray, at the magnificent creamy slopes of her breasts mouth-wateringly visible above the silk shawl he’d draped over her to shield her cooling skin.
The sight held him, transfixed him, then, carefully disengaging, he eased from her side. He sat on the edge of the daybed for a moment, head hanging, then he rose, stretched.
He glanced at her again; when she didn’t stir, he padded soft-footed to the windows.
The sea, the sky, the expanse of cliff, the distant mound of Black Head-nothing beyond the window had changed.
Within the boathouse something had, but even now he had no idea what. What it was, what power had connived to sweep him so far beyond his customary control. Looking back, it felt as if some fate had intervened and handed the reins to his beast, denying his rational mind any say in how he took her.
Not that she’d helped, let alone seemed to mind. She’d given no sign that gentleness and tenderness were what she’d come to the boathouse, and him, to find; she’d had her own agenda, and that agenda had had more in common with his beast’s wishes than his more calm and logical side.
Although he hadn’t planned it, he’d had a definite vision of how this engagement would go, that he, calm and in control, would teach her, show her, introduce her to her own sensual nature…instead, she’d shown him something he hadn’t known about himself, regardless of whether she’d intended to or not.
She couldn’t have intended it; how would she, an innocent, have known?
Regardless, despite his vow of how their next encounter would go, having once indulged without restraint, screens or shields, he wasn’t sure it was possible to retreat and come together in any mild and gentle, distant and controlled way, without igniting that raging heat.
Without succumbing to passion’s relentless beat.
For the first time in his life, with a woman, he was unsure. Uncertain of where he stood sexually with her. He stared out at the surging waves. He would have to wait and see what she wanted, how she reacted; he would have to play by her wishes, be reactive and responsive to them, rather than make and follow any plan of his own.