When she finally lay back, shuddering and catching her breath, he smiled down at her. “Success,” he said cheerfully. He kissed her, his mouth warm and strong, but she could feel a farewell. He intended to return to his bed.
“Ophelia didn’t leave so soon,” Joan said.
“Hamlet was a fickle prince,” Thaddeus said. He drew his hand away from her and lazily licked his fingers, grinning at her. “You taste like summer, like clover and lemon.”
“I want you,” Joan breathed. “I want more.” She reached for his shoulders. “Please.”
He was silent, his eyes on hers. Whatever he saw there pleased him; Joan registered the smile in his eyes with relief.
“I suppose Ophelia removed her nightgown,” he said. He moved backward, hauled his shirt over his head, and draped it over the bed knob.
“And her breeches,” Joan prompted.
“Ophelia definitely removed her breeches,” Thaddeus agreed. He swung his legs off the bed and pulled them down.
Her eyes followed his every movement. “You wear smalls under your breeches?”
“It’s more comfortable, especially with buckram.”
“Ophelia removed her smalls.”
“Naturally.” Thaddeus drew them down his legs. His hips were narrow, given how strong his legs were.
“My goodness,” Joan exclaimed, disconcerted. She’d seen illustrations, of course. There was that naughty book that she and Viola had found in the library. There were illustrated ballads of the more bawdy sort that the boys sometimes left in their rooms when they went away to school.
But.
Shocking, but very desirable.
“This gives a whole new meaning to Ophelia’s By cock, they are to blame,” she murmured, tapping one finger against her lips.
Thaddeus burst out laughing. “I thought maidens didn’t know what ‘cocks’ were.”
“I’m a Wilde,” she said, grinning. “We are the more knowledgeable kind of maiden. You didn’t think that Aunt Knowe would let us go to a ball without a thorough knowledge of male anatomy, did you? Albeit through book learning.”
Thaddeus stood before her, hands at his sides, a lopsided smile on his mouth, letting her look her fill. Joan cleared her throat. “May I?”
Thaddeus looked down at her. “May you?”
She scowled at him.
He stepped closer, laughter glinting in his eyes. Teasing her. She sat up and pulled off her nightgown too, and as she knelt on the edge of the bed, the laughter fell from his eyes, which made her feel unreasonably triumphant.
Joan crooked a finger and he moved forward, his thighs bumping the side of the bed. She wrapped her fingers around his private part—his cock—and it moved in her hand, with a restless power that made her melt in her legs and her arms and everything in between.
“I want you,” Joan said, her voice coming out as low as his. “Now, tonight. Now,” she repeated. Then she lay back, because she trusted her instincts.
His mouth opened and closed, brows drawing together.
“You didn’t truly think that you’d leave my bedroom without ‘doing,’ as Ophelia describes it?”
Thaddeus looked down at his future wife smiling at him impishly, his heart filled with the joy of his good fortune, and his body filled with quite another pleasure.
He knew his Joan. She wouldn’t promise herself to him in marriage yet. She would lead him on a merry chase, because she deserved it, and she was worth it—
But she had made up her mind.
In fact, he’d bet that the moment he set foot on that island for the very first time, she had already made up her mind.
“I’m yours if you want me,” he said, the sentence a vow in his mind and heart.
“Oh, I want you,” Joan said, reaching out her hands. “Come here.”
The night flew by. To this point, Thaddeus’s erotic experiences had been enjoyable for both parties. They had never involved gusts of laughter. Or squeals. Or commands.
And yet later, when he leaned over her, arms braced against the mattress, and slid his cock through her silky, wet folds, Joan cried, “Thaddeus.”
A command. Definitely a command.
He eased forward, thinking to give her time to adjust to him. But this was Joan. Her hands tightened around his forearms, and she looked up at him, her lips deep red from his kisses.
“More,” she gasped. “Please?”
Thaddeus dipped his head and kissed her deeply, letting his recognition of who she was to him fill his lungs and sink into his skin. He moved slowly, letting her set the pace, reining in his senses because the slick glide threatened his control, narrowing his vision to her lips and her eyes.
He didn’t seat himself entirely because he was large, and she was very, very small. When he’d slipped in as far as he judged possible for her first time, he moved to his elbows and nipped her ear gently. “All right?”
Her fingers moved up and wound through his. “Thaddeus . . .”
The word caught at his loins and made him shake.
“More,” she commanded. And: “Please.”
The word echoed around his head for a moment, because he was so busy controlling his movements that he’d forgotten its meaning.
Hovering his lips over hers, their breath intermingling, he did his lady’s bidding. When a little pinch appeared between her brows, he kissed her back into pleasure, until her breath sped up again, making her breasts rise and fall, her nipples begging for his attention.
After that, he memorized every telltale sign, the catch in her breath when he altered an angle, the involuntary cry when he brought his hand into play, the low moan when he lowered his head to her breast. It became harder and harder to control himself as he was enveloped by the tightest, warmest cunny he’d ever known. And when the woman he loved was beneath him, her skin dewy, her eyes squeezed shut, her hands closed around his arms.
She wasn’t watching, so he let his face express everything he felt: how precious she was, how exquisite, erotic, beloved.
She, on the other hand? Looked frustrated.
“It’s your first time,” he said, his voice a rough whisper. “Maybe everything won’t happen at this moment?”
“It’s just there,” Joan cried, longing and annoyance threaded together. “I just can’t reach it, Thaddeus!” She opened her eyes, bluebells drenched with tears—and desire. Real desire because it wasn’t about him, but about her.
Her practiced glances were about the man she enticed, but this one?
It was pure, raw desire.
“Are you sore?” he asked gently, nipping her earlobe.
She shook her head. “The pain went away. After that, it felt so good. But somehow I simply can’t do it.”
He stopped, arms braced, dipped his head to kiss her. “There’s time, Joan. Tomorrow, and the next day, and the year after that.”
“I don’t want time,” she said, arching up. “I want to come! There are women who can’t . . .”
“Not you,” he said with certainty. He moved his knees forward, altering their joining and making her gasp. “You’re a bossy lass,” he said, dipping his head to nip her lip. “I love that about you. You’ll teach me how to please you.”