He followed her direction, his body strong and purposeful as he positioned them both. She sucked in a breath when he notched the crown of his cock at her entrance, reveling in the feel of flesh to flesh.
“Yes?” he rumbled.
“Please,” she said on a shaky exhale, the word tight with wanting.
He gripped her thigh, anchoring her, and then—
With a thrust of his hips, he was in her, seated all the way to the root in a single stroke.
She clung to his shoulders, moaning as her body stretched to accommodate him. He filled her superbly, and for a moment, neither of them moved. They were speared on a fragment in time, completely inside and surrounding each other.
Much as she wanted to lose herself in this moment, she whispered, “We must be careful. I cannot get with child. Do you know what to do?”
“I’d heard of it,” he gasped. “Been told that it robs pleasure.”
She couldn’t stop her rueful chuckle. “Your male friends gave you that information, I’d wager.”
He gave a single nod.
“We’ll both enjoy ourselves more if we know there’s no chance of a babe.”
He nodded again. “Tell me what I need to do.”
“When you feel yourself on the verge of coming, pull out.”
“But…what about my seed?”
She curled her hand around the back of his neck. “We’ll watch it spill all over my belly.”
His expression sharpened with excitement. “I want to do that. And I want—” He swallowed hard and tremors worked through his body. He seemed to choke back his impulses and instincts, unwilling have faith in himself. She had been the same way, before she’d gone abroad.
“Trust yourself,” she pressed. “And trust me. If there’s anything I don’t want, I will tell you. Now you tell me, what do you want?”
“To fuck you,” he confessed. “Hard. Against the door. May I?”
Tightening her fingers around his nape, she urged him on. “Do it.”
He held her up as his hips drew back, his cock moving magnificently within her. She gasped as he plunged forward with enough strength to lift her higher. He slid almost completely out and then thrust into her, again with blazing power, holding her as each of his strokes raised her up. It was brutal and forceful, the kind of fucking that came from long pent-up need.
She moaned, “Deep—yes.”
“Too…much…?” he rumbled with each thrust.
“I love it.” To be filled with his unleashed desire was bliss.
He made a sound of satisfaction. “Hold tight.”
She wrapped her arms securely around his shoulders and, to her gratification, he cupped his hand against the back of her head, protecting her from the hard, wooden door. And then…
He fucked her ferociously. Quick, powerful strokes that filled her completely and robbed her of the ability to do anything other than lose herself to ecstasy. She clung to him for support as he drove them both relentlessly toward release. She’d never had anyone give her so much intensity, such purpose. Her climax loomed, teasing her with its explosive possibility.
“Touch my clitoris,” she gasped. “I need that. Time it with your thrusts.”
He gave a low growl and delved his hand between them.
She came with a long, high cry, safe to give voice to her ecstasy in this remote place. He anchored her as her climax stretched on and on, pleasure suffusing her in unending waves.
Then he pulled from her and snarled with his own release. As she had promised, they both watched as his seed coated her stomach.
His forehead tipped forward, resting against hers, their heaving breath mingling in the tiny, intimate space between them. She was boneless, holding onto him to keep from sliding to the floor. Yesterday, in the schoolroom, she’d come harder than she ever had in her life. But this had been even more intense, her body robbed completely of strength, yet also bright with energy.
“Volume one, lesson one,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck. “Make your teacher scream—in the best way.”
“Exemplary work,” she answered in a haze of lingering pleasure. “Especially as we haven’t even made it to the bed.”
He pulled back enough so she could see him smile crookedly. “That must be volume one, lesson two.”
The press of his hips against hers revealed that, incredibly, his cock was already hardening again. How wonderful to have a young lover.
“We’ve all night,” she said, and pressed her lips to his endearing, sensual smile. “And there’s so much material to cover.”
“The privileges of being a duke,” Owen said to her as they delved into the basket he’d brought, “is that I can tell Mrs. Baines I’m raiding the larder for a hamper full of food, and she won’t press me for an explanation.”
They sat at a small table next to the cottage’s diminutive hearth, where a fire blazed, illuminating the many delicious items he’d procured. There were pork pies and wedges of sharp cheese, as well as apples from Tarrington House’s own orchards. And, to Cecilia’s delight, no fewer than three plum tarts. Owen had also brought an earthenware flagon filled with cider from the selfsame orchards.
In the wake of a mind-altering orgasm, no meal had ever tasted better.
“Just because Mrs. Baines didn’t ask for a rationale,” she noted, “doesn’t stop her from gossiping that the duke has suddenly developed a late-night appetite.”
“Growing up, I did eat an awful lot,” he said with a smile. “All the time, especially after bedtime. By the time I was coming home from Eton, she grew used to me nosing about the larder at all hours.”
That was some relief, knowing the housekeeper wouldn’t find anything suspicious in his behavior. And the cottage had been cleaned only last week, so there was no chance of anyone discovering that someone had recently occupied it—not for a little while, at any rate. Cecilia would be certain to clean it thoroughly, just in case, including removing the ashes from the hearth.
“Before this,” she pointed out after taking a drink of cider, “you were the heir, so you still didn’t have to explain yourself.”
He flashed her the smile that made her stomach flutter with awareness. Incredibly potent, that smile.
“But I used to offer rationales for my behavior anyway.” He brushed back a lock of black hair that had fallen across his forehead. “Father used to admonish me about it. Said dukes weren’t supposed to be deferential.”
A shadow crossed Owen’s face, and silence fell, broken only by the pops of the fire in the grate.
“It’s a difficult thing, to lose a parent,” she said quietly. She reached across the table and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I lost my mother in childbed when I was about Maria’s age. The babe died as well, so I never had a sibling.”
“Was it hard to recover from her passing?” His eyes were dark and imploring, and while it would have been easy to mouth a meaningless platitude, he deserved better than that.
“Everyone tells us that the best way to face grief is to put it behind us,” she said, her voice soft. “But then I had to wonder, best way for whom? Certainly, it makes other people more comfortable if we’re stoic, or cheerful, or don’t let anyone know that we’re in pain or full of sadness. Yet for us, the ones who are hurting—it’s not good at all. We’re supposed to choke down our feelings and then pretend we haven’t poisoned ourselves.”