Brahm quickened his pace, deepened his strokes. His gaze never left hers, even as his breathing turned to husky gasps and pants that thrilled her more than any touch. At that moment, Eleanor knew that her body was the sweetest place he had ever been, that she was not the only one experiencing the most incredible pleasure. It filled her with a sense of incredible power to know that she could make him feel this way.
Hers. He was hers.
She came again, a sharp moan escaping her as an orgasm more intense than the last burst within her. Above her, Brahm stiffened, plunging within her one last time as a groan tore free from his throat.
They remained locked together for some time, until Eleanor's hips began to ache and Brahm's arms trembled from supporting his own weight. He withdrew from her— his warm presence replaced by a cool, damp stickiness— and rolled to his side.
What happened now? Did they talk? Should she leave? Should she at least dress? Brahm saved her from having to decide by drawing her into his arms once more. She snuggled against him, craving his heat even though they were both sweaty.
His gaze was intense as he smoothed her hair back from her face. What a tangled mess it must be. She surely had a rat's nest in the back from all that writhing. Oh, but she'd suffer a thousand tangles for what she and Brahm had just shared.
Snuggling against him, she forgot all about tangles and what she should do and gave herself over to the complete and utter contentment that overwhelmed her. There would be time for talk and decisions when she woke up.
* * *
For the first time in his life, Brahm did not fall asleep immediately after achieving climax.
He lay in bed, tucked around Eleanor's slumbering form. She was soft and warm in his arms, her hair fragrant and silky against his jaw. Silence cocooned them, broken every once in a while by a gentle snore that made him smile.
This was contentment, this emotion that overwhelmed him. He could stay like this forever, with Eleanor beside him, the night keeping them secret and safe. Realistically he knew that could never happen, but that didn't stop him from wanting it all the same.
She had felt so good wrapped around him, the wet heat of her body sweeter than anything he had ever known. He fit within her as though she had been made for him and he for her.
He should wake her up and send her back to her own room, but he couldn't do it. It felt too good, holding her like this, as he had wanted to for so long.
Everything he wanted was coming true, and it was as frightening as it was exciting. Eleanor was with him. Eleanor believed in him and wanted him. She had given him her innocence. Would she give him her heart as well?
She stirred against him, the swell of her buttocks pushing against his groin. Just that one touch was enough to grab the attention of his John Thomas. With a mind of its own, it thickened, insistently probing the warm cleft cradling it. Brahm sighed. Not only was he wide awake, but he was ready to make love again. It had been a long time since that had happened.
He could ignore it. In fact, he should ignore it. Eleanor was sound asleep and probably sore from their previous session. Never having deflowered a virgin before, he had no idea how long these things took to heal. Causing her lasting discomfort was not something he wanted laid upon his shoulders.
But Eleanor, it seemed, had other plans. Her backside shifted, so that his sex was hugged by her soft cheeks, which flexed around him. Brahm bit back a groan as he pulsed in response.
"Is that what I think it is?" she asked in a sleepy voice.
His hand splayed across her stomach, Brahm stroked the soft flesh there. "I am afraid so. Ignore it, it will go away."
Her buttocks moved against him. "You want me to give it the cut direct? How rude."
Brahm winced. "Do not use the word 'cut' in anyway when discussing my 'massive maleness,' please."
Eleanor chuckled. "My apologies, my lord."
"You are forgiven." His hips pressed against her. Damn, but this wasn't helping.
"Tell me the truth," she said as she rolled to face him. "Is it really massive?"
The organ in question was now poking itself against her stomach. "You tell me."
In the pale night, he could almost fancy he saw her roll her eyes. "I would not know large from small, having no experience in these matters before tonight."
"In that case I am indeed massive. I am so large, in fact, that you are now ruined for other men and can only be satisfied by me for the rest of your life."
Her laughter was husky, sending a shiver down his spine that then twisted and ended up as a swirling tension in his sac. "I suspected as much."
All humor faded from him. Here he was joking about the size of his cock when he should be inquiring after her. "I did not hurt you, did I?"
Her fingers stroked his face with a tenderness that pulled at his heart. How generous she was with her caring and affection. She would make a wonderful mother someday— better than his own had been— not that he had known her that well. Most of his young life had been spent learning what was expected of him as the future viscount.
"It hurt but for a moment," she assured him. "And then it was the most wonderful experience of my life."
She was only saying that to placate his ego, was she not? "The next time will be better."
Her breasts pressed against his chest. "Will it?"
Was this seductress rubbing herself against him his Eleanor? It seemed too much to hope that she would suit him so totally in so many ways, but he was through questioning it for the time being. Right now he was going to enjoy her.
She rolled with him, falling to her back without hesitation. She trusted him with her body, trusted that he would not do anything to hurt her. If only it was so easy to determine whether she trusted him with her heart. She had so many reasons not to trust him, and yet she seemed hell-bent on trying.
He braced himself above her, allowing himself the luxury of roaming her body with his gaze. The moon was not bright, but it was enough to paint her flesh an ethereal hue. Her nipples were almost violet, the downy hair between her thighs a dark silver. She was like an angel, or a goddess fallen to earth.
His fingers skimmed the tops of her shoulders, traced the faint ridge of her collarbone and her neck. Her skin was so delicate, so fragile beneath his hand. Everything about her was so doll-like, and yet she had a strength that baffled him. A waif with a spine of steel. Only her mouth disagreed with the porcelain image. That wide, curved upper lip lent a seductive quality to her features, hinting at the passion below the surface. How he loved that lip.
Her blue gaze, dark in the soft light, locked with his as his hands slid slowly along the indent of her waist and drifted across her ribs. She was exactly as a woman should be— not stick sharp, but not too soft— if there was such a thing as a woman being
too
soft.
"You are beautiful," he whispered. "Everything about you is perfect."
Her smile was sweet, lazy, and so seductive, he could scarcely stand it. "No one is perfect, Lord Creed, although I am tempted to say that you are as close as I have ever seen."
Brahm's heart gave a painful thump at her words. She had yet to see his leg, but somehow he knew she wouldn't be the least put off by the sight. She would probably weep for the pain it had cause him, but she would not be repulsed by it. "You are perfect to me."
Her smile faded as his fingers stroked the tightening rose of her right nipple. "Do you suppose that makes us perfect for each other?"
Dear God, she was killing him. Did she know how wistful she sounded? How sweetly, tenderly hopeful her tone was? His chest constricted as though a mighty arm was wrapped around it, crushing him with its strength.
"Yes," he rasped in response. "I suppose it does."
He lowered his head to hers, his heart unable to stand any more of this talk. Her mouth was eager as he possessed it with his own, her tongue warm and inviting as she parted her lips.
Velvety softness closed around his hips as he slipped between her thighs. The flesh there was warm and humid, and oh so inviting as he probed it with the head of his sex. He knew that it was too soon for him to take her as he wanted. Tomorrow perhaps— or the next day— he could have her as he desired, but for this second time he would have to be as gentle as, if not more so than, the first time.
Brahm's hand slid down the gentle curve of her abdomen to her feathery mound. His fingers parted the damply matted curls, easily finding the slickness within. She was wet and wanting, the hooded ridge that housed the center of her pleasure hard and eager for his touch.
"You're ready for me," he murmured against her lips.
She smiled against his mouth. "I have been ready for you for a long time."
He stroked her wetness. He was hard and ready, his cock impatient. "Put me inside you."
Her body gave a little jerk. Whether it was from his touch or his command, he didn't know. "I do not know how."
"Yes you do." He gave her another stroke with his finger, drawing a shaky gasp from her lips.
Eleanor's fingers were tentative as they reached between them and closed around the hard length of him. Brahm shuddered at her touch, his hips reflexively arching, pushing himself into her hand. Curiosity got the better of her, and she explored the length and head with questing fingers that made him tremble like a sapling in the wind.
"Take me inside," he demanded between clenched teeth. He would not humiliate himself by coming in her hand. He would not.
She did as he commanded, drawing him closer to the sultry heat between her thighs. He withdrew his finger, allowing her to guide him to the entrance of her body. She might never have done such a thing before, but her body knew exactly what to do.
The tip eased inside her, parting her tight, honeyed flesh. He entered her slowly, inch by inch, every muscle in his body tense and ready to withdraw if the slightest discomfort flickered across her features.
Her gaze locked with his, her lips parting as he filled her at last.
"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice hoarse with passion and emotion as he stared down at her flushed, beautiful face.
"I'm fine." Her hips moved against his. "Stop talking."
Wrapping an arm beneath her, Brahm rolled onto his back, taking her with him so that she was now the one on top. He wanted to watch her ride him until she exploded with pleasure.
Eleanor gasped at the motion, staring down at him with wide eyes. "What are you doing?"
"I'm not doing anything," he murmured, lifting his hips into her. "
You,
however, are going to do something— to me."
Her brows rose. What a delicious mess she was with her hair hanging around her shoulders in thick, tangled clumps. Just the sight of her astride him brought him to the brink.
"Why?"
"Because this way I do not have to worry about hurting you, and because I want to watch you ride me."
A moment of hot, sizzling silence passed as their gazes locked.
"Tell me what to do." Her voice was a hoarse whisper.
There were so many things he could demand, could beg her for, but they would have to wait. Right now he wanted her to discover the delight of being the one in control. He wanted to show her that he had no wish to keep her under him, subservient and dominated. "Do what feels right."
Eleanor did just that. She shifted her hips and experimented with different motions until she found one that suited her. Slowly sliding her body up and down on his, she drove him to the brink of ecstasy time and time again, until sweat beaded on his brow and his entire body was tight with tension.
She engulfed him, drenched him with her juices, her body clenching at him like a wet silken vise. Their moans mingled as she writhed on top of him. He didn't care if someone heard them. He didn't care if they were caught. All he wanted was to explode inside her.
She was close as well; he could hear it in her gasps, see it in her heavy-lidded gaze as she took him as deep inside her as he could go. Her thighs widened, lowering her even further, so that she took him completely inside her and the lips of her sex rubbed against his pelvis with maddeningly sweet friction.
Tight, aching pressure coiled low inside him. He wanted to seize her by the hips and hold her still while he pounded himself within her, but he gritted his teeth as sweat trickled down his forehead and dug his fingers into her thighs instead. This was torture— delicious, acute torture.
Eleanor's moans quickened with her movements. Her hips rotated faster as she lifted herself up and down upon him. The muscles of her thighs flexed beneath his palms, stiffening as her back arched. Her neck bowed, her hair brushing his legs as she tossed her head back, crying out loud as her climax shook her.
