“God in heaven,” he moaned, every muscle straining, waiting for her touch. Her breath steamed over the length of him as he stood hard and ready and near to bursting. It was his turn to grasp big handfuls of the bedding to keep from grabbing her, thrusting brutally into her, claiming her for his own.
She touched the very tip of him with her finger, spreading the moisture that had gathered there, gently pushing the outer layer of skin back. “It doesn’t look comfortable to be so very hard, husband. And you’re hot, I can feel the heat radiating from this part of you. I never thought it possible to be so hot, but you are, hot and very hard and yet your skin is like velvet here. You match the fire inside of me, you make me burn hotter for you.”
Her hand closed around the base of his shaft, squeezing slightly as her mouth descended upon him, her tongue rasping his length.
“St. Genevieve’s cods, Plum, you’re going to unman me!” Harry gasped, senseless to all but the euphoria she generated in him.
“You are so very different from what I remembered,” Plum murmured, sliding her hand along his hardness, stroking him as his hips thrust his length through her fingers. “Touching you like this makes me feel quivery inside. Do you feel quivery as well? You are enjoying this, are you not?”
Harry’s head snapped back as he thrust in time to her strokes, unable to keep himself still, oblivious to all but the ecstasy she was giving him. A gargled moan came from his throat as she bent over him again, her hair spilling like ink around his hips as her tongue teased the underside of his most sensitive spot. He moved twice, three times, and roared a wordless roar of elation as he reached his climax.
“Oh, my!” Plum said a scant few seconds later. Harry lay twitching slightly on the bed, too exhausted to open his eyes. He knew what he’d see when he did, and a faint flush rose over his cheeks at the thought of it. She had done what no other woman had: she unmanned him.
“How interesting. I’ve never actually seen that happen before. This has been very enlightening.”
Harry felt the bed shift slightly and cracked one eye open to see his wife pad over to the washstand, her long hair sweeping just above her adorable behind. She wetted a cloth and brought it back to the bed, cleaning him with a tenderness that almost undid him. His cheeks reddened even more under her ministrations, and he was heartily glad when she finished and went to replace the cloth. He knew what he had to do, but every instinct within him cried against it. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right that he should have to apologize for a natural reaction, since it was entirely her fault he had succumbed to the lure of her hands and mouth. He wanted to proceed upon proper lines, but she had insisted, and he being a gentleman, naturally let her have her way. And now just look what he had to show for it! He had to apologize to his wife for his selfishness when it was really all her fault for making him lose control!
“You have my apology, madam,” Harry ground out, rolling to his side and giving her his back.
“Apology? For what?”
Good God, did she have to make it more difficult? “You have my apology for my thoughtless act just now.”
“What thoughtless act?” Plum queried. She placed a hand on his hip and tugged, but he would not be moved. He wouldn’t look at her, couldn’t look at her, probably would never be able to look at her again in his whole, entire — now miserable — life. “Harry? Are you angry about something? Did I hurt you? You seemed to be enjoying yourself — have I done something wrong? Would you like me to touch you again?”
Harry groaned in a breath, and lurched as his wife’s hand closed around him. He was still partially aroused, still wanted to bury himself in her heat, to feel her silken folds closing around him as he thrust into her. He wanted to watch her eyes mist with passion as she found her own release, wanted to feel her buck and arch beneath him as he filled her. He shuddered with the effort to remain in control as her hand explored him, caressing and stroking him to full arousal.
“Harry?” Her breath was hot on his ear. “I’m glad I gave you pleasure. I felt how much you enjoyed it, and it made me happy, too. Perhaps we can share that joy again?”
Harry’s muscles quivered for one indecisive moment, then the choice was made. He whipped around, pulling her underneath him even as he was spreading her legs and settling himself at the entrance to her center.
“Look at me, Plum,” he demanded, the tip of him pressing against her heat. She arched her hips in invitation as her eyelids fluttered open. “I want to watch you as I take you. I want to watch the passion fill your eyes as I slide deep within you. I want to watch you lose your control when I pound into you, thrusting myself deep within your body. I want to watch you gasp when your pleasure overtakes you. I want to watch you as I make you my wife.”
He stroked slowly into her, his soul singing with joy as her body yielded in welcome, a thousand little muscles gripping and holding him tight, parting with him reluctantly when he pulled back. He moved in time to the rhythm she set, her hips thrusting against his, her mouth welcoming when he bent his head to sip her sweetness. The bite of her nails stung his shoulders as she gripped him, crying soft little moans of delight, urging him wordlessly to move faster, deeper, stronger against her. Her hands slipped down the slickness of his back to his behind, clutching him and pulling him tighter to her. He grunted with the effort of holding back his own climax until he had brought her to satisfaction, denying himself and taking his pleasure in her cries of joy. His head dropped to her neck as he gasped for air, fighting the need to pour himself out into her, wanting her fire to fuel his own to a height he had not known before. As her hand slipped down over his behind, she wrapped her legs around his waist and bit his neck.
“Sweet St. Peter!” she cried, taking him deeper into her heat until it seemed as if he was touching her womb. “I love you, Harry. You are my life, my being, my everything. Dear God, how I love you!”
As her slickened muscles tightened around his length, he took her ecstasy into himself and with an effort that had to be nigh onto miraculous, pulled out of her body just before he spilled his seed. Her words echoed in his ears, fulfilling him, making him whole, joining him with her in a way he had not known possible. He shouted her name as he poured his life onto her thighs, and knew in that moment that he could not live without her. She was his homecoming, his safe harbor, and he knew with a knowledge inborn of man that his soul was inexorably bound to hers, that they were twined together, and nothing could ever part the two of them into separate people again.
She was his own true love.
CHAPTER Nine
Plum was not happy.
Oh, she knew she had no right to be unhappy — everything she’d ever wanted had been handed to her: she had a husband, a kind man with whom she suspected she had fallen in love; five children who, if they weren’t exactly what she’d imagined when she thought of her ideal family, were at heart good children…relatively good children; she had a home and security and was free from want or need; but despite all of the many blessings she counted as she lay snuggled up against her husband’s chest, the soft rumble of his snore ruffling her hair, she was not happy.
She felt particularly ungrateful when she thought about the reason she was so unhappy — Harry was not impressed with her mothering skills. She dismissed his explanation about not wishing her to die in childbirth as simply Harry being kind and not wanting to embarrass her in front of Thom and Temple by admitting that he thought she was a poor mother.