His long fingers slipped into the silky curls between her thighs.
Kit moaned and struggled to find the strength to break free of the conflagration of her senses. He was igniting it, and she couldn’t stop the flames. She didn’t even want to anymore.
But she had to make him stop.
His fingers parted her soft flesh and pressed gently.
Kit forgot about stopping. Pleasure streaked through her, sharp and tangible. His fingers set up a deliberate circular motion, first one way, then the other. His lips pulled hard on her nipple and a bolt of white-hot desire shot from her breast to the point where his fingers pulsed flame through her flesh.
His name was on her lips, a soft sigh he didn’t mistake. Kit felt the low rumble of his satisfaction. Then his lips returned to hers. It never entered her head to deny him-she welcomed him, lips parting to receive him. She felt his weight as he pressed against her, the hard muscles of his chest comforting her aching breasts.
The material of her breeches strained across her hips as his hand pressed between her thighs. Mindlessly, she parted them further, wordlessly inviting the intimate contact. When one long finger slid slowly into her, she shuddered. Amy’s words blossomed in her brain. Hot and wet. Kit knew then. She was hot and wet. Hot and wet for Jack.
Her every sense was centered on his finger, on his slow, inexorable invasion. Kit felt molten, her nerves liquefied. Heat beat in steady pulses through her. She tried to break free of his kiss, to draw breath, but he wouldn’t allow it. Instead, his tongue set up a slow, repetitive dance of thrust and retreat. Inside her, his finger picked up the rhythm.
Beyond thought, beyond any sense of shame, Kit responded to the building beat, her body twisting and lifting in his intimate embrace, opening to his deepening caress.
Having made certain of his victory, Jack turned his mind to its accomplishment. And hit a snag. Several snags.
Three seconds of rational thought were sufficient to make clear the enormity of his problems. The ground about them was uneven and strewn with flints-an impossible proposition, even if they had a blanket, which they didn’t. He didn’t know what sort of tree they were under, but its bark was thick, rough, and sharp. If he took her against it, it would shred her soft skin. But the truly insurmountable difficulty he faced was her breeches. Tight-fitting inexpressibles, they clung to her skin as if she’d been poured into them. He was well accustomed to getting himself out of such attire-they peeled off his form readily enough. They didn’t peel off Kit at all. He’d opened the flap to caress her. Now he needed far greater access, but try as he might, no amount of tugging seemed to shift them from her curvaceous hips.
Jack moaned deep in his throat and slanted his mouth over Kit’s, deepening the kiss in an effort to deny the truth. Dammit! She was so hot-hot and ready for him. His finger slid effortlessly along her heated channel, slick with the evidence of her arousal. The urge to scorch himself in that slippery heat was overwhelming.
He was too well acquainted with the female body to miss her increasing tension. He didn’t have time to stop and get her to assist; he couldn’t afford to let her cool. He’d pushed her well along the route to fulfillment-impossible to draw back now.
Frustrated beyond measure, pulled by an urgency outside his control, Jack released his manhood. It sprang free, erect, engorged. He withdrew his hand from between Kit’s thighs, ignoring her helpless moan. With a yank, he gained as much leeway as her tight breeches would allow. It wasn’t enough.
With an anguished groan, Jack slipped his throbbing staff into the furnace between her silken thighs. If that was to be the only piece of heaven offered him that night, he was in too great a need to scorn it.
Kit groaned into his mouth. She had no doubt what the pressure that had replaced his hand was. But she didn’t care. No-she did care-she wanted it there. Even more-she wanted him inside her. He drew back and thrust into the soft hollow between her thighs. In their curious, fully upright position, he could not penetrate her, yet she felt the swollen head of his staff nudge her soft center. Instinctively, she clamped tight about his hard smoothness, dragging her lips free to draw a shuddering breath.
Jack’s head was bowed, his temple pressed to her curls, his breathing harsh in her ear. Kit felt him withdraw. She moaned her disapproval and tilted her hips, trying to draw him back. To her relief, he returned, his hips thrusting, the rigid column of his manhood parting her slick, swollen flesh and nudging deeper, the sudden friction sending shafts of pure delight coursing through her. With his next thrust, a furnace opened deep. Kit’s hands clenched in Jack’s hair; her body strained against his.
Then it happened.
Ripples of tension gripped her, surrounding and compressing her heat until it exploded, sending molten waves of sensation surging along every vein. Indescribable excitement gripped her, and her soul burned, consuming her overloaded senses. Caught on the crest of their passion, abandoned to feeling, she clung to Jack, his name soundless on her lips.
The flames fell and spread their heat through her flesh. Kit tilted her hips, instinctively seeking his fulfillment as part of hers.
Equally instinctively, Jack took the extra inch she offered him to penetrate more deeply into her slick heat. He gasped as the scalding softness of her swollen flesh engulfed him. Yet the ultimate caress of her body remained beyond his reach. His muscles quivered as frustration fleetingly impinged on rampant desire. His chest labored as he struggled for control. The hot honey of her passion poured over him; the faint, pulsing ripples of her release caressed him. Jack forgot about control. He withdrew and thrust again, over and over. The wave of his release hit him, crashing him into pleasured oblivion.
He’d missed seeing her eyes when she’d climaxed.
Jack’s first thought on recovering from his exertions seemed perfectly rational. Next time, he’d make sure he satisfied his curiosity. Right now, he was too pleased with himself to allow any quibbles to dim his mood. Despite the limitations, the experience had been one to remember.
He glanced down at Kit. The aftershocks of her remarkable climax had died, but she was still dazed. Aware of the etiquette demanded of such intimate moments, even in such extraordinary circumstances, Jack carefully withdrew from the soft hollow between her thighs.
Kit’s consciousness made contact with reality as Jack settled her coat lapels in place. She stiffened, her eyes blinking wide. Had she dreamed it?
One glance at Jack’s face dispelled that faint hope. His lips looked as if they couldn’t stop smiling. Smugly. Kit felt faint. Her clothes were back in place, fastened, all except her bands, which he’d left about her waist.
She tried to ignore the dampness between her thighs.
Luckily, Jack took charge-without being asked, naturally. He settled her on Delia and then they were heading westward once more, at a walk.
The walls of Cranmer Hall were taking shape on the horizon before Kit came to grips with what had happened. She and Jack had been intimate. The thought sent her mind into a dizzying panic, only slightly ameliorated by the startling conclusion that, despite all, she was still a virgin. He hadn’t breached her, of that she was certain. Years before, her grandmother had instructed her in the bald facts of wifely duty; Kit had felt no pain or discomfort-not the slightest. Neither had she felt any awkwardness or shyness in letting Jack caress her as he had, shockingly intimate though that had been, nor of letting him push that thing of his between her thighs-not at the time. Now, she was positively sunk in guilt, wallowing in the outraged modesty she hadn’t felt while in his arms, kissed into complaisance. How could she have let it happen?
Easily, came the languid reply. And you’d do it again, and more, if he wanted you.