His gaze roamed over her in unabashed appreciation. “You’re so damned beautiful.”
She flushed in happiness. “Let me see you.” She didn’t know who this woman was making such demands, but she spoke with confidence and desire thickening her voice.
He grinned and let go of the fall of his trousers. His erection stood strong and thick, rising up to his navel with a gentle curve. It was an impressive sight, and larger than she had realized. The ache between her thighs became nearly unbearable, and she shifted to relieve it somehow. But she didn’t need to relieve it. He would do that. All those nights she had lain in bed imagining him, touching herself and wanting it to be him, and now he was here.
She raised her arms and he came to her, moving over her as he whispered her name. She spread her thighs and he settled between them, taking her mouth in a desperate kiss. He found her almost immediately, the head of his manhood hot and thick as it slipped inside, testing her, stretching her. She whimpered in disappointment when he withdrew, but he was back before she could complain, easing his way in. Finally, confident in her ability to take all of him, he filled her in one deep thrust that had them both groaning at the pleasure.
It was a tight fit, but the most perfect thing she had ever felt in her life. When he moved to withdraw only to fill her up again, she became aware of the scratch of his trousers against the tender inside of her thigh, and the thickness of his shirtsleeves keeping her from him. But somehow the separation only made her want him that much more. There was something profoundly erotic about him being clothed while she was nude and lying beneath him as he used her for his pleasure.
“Max,” she gasped as he thrust into her hard, moving her a short distance across the rug.
“Too much?” he whispered.
“Not enough.”
He let out a huff of mirth as he settled over her in a rhythm that was satisfyingly deep and hard. His breath came out in a rush with each thrust. She loved how he sounded, haggard and coarse, his breath more uneven as he drew closer to his own climax. She held him against her as if afraid to let him go, one hand tangled in his hair while the other gripped his buttock. Each time he filled her, stretching her, her passage grasped at him as pleasure tightened in her belly, winding higher and higher with each thrust. All too soon, the pressure inside her built to a crescendo, exploding through her in waves.
He groaned as he felt her come apart, and his hips moved in short, jerking movements. “Helena,” he whispered. Finally, his release was torn from him in soft, guttural sounds that escaped his throat as he fell over her. His hips still moving in reflex until he settled on top of her. She tightened her arms and legs around him, loving the weight of him and already realizing that she didn’t want to give him up.
He shifted after a few moments, but her body still existed in the ethereal afterglow of lovemaking, pleasure still pulsing through her in languid and uneven waves that kept her immobile for fear of stopping them. Propping himself up on an elbow, he grinned down at her like the arrogant man she knew him to be. She couldn’t bring herself to mind right now, not after he had earned his gloating.
But his voice wasn’t full of conceit when he spoke. It was there in a much smaller amount, edged out by wonder and the sheer bliss she was experiencing. “You called me Max.”
She giggled at the observation, staring up at him in the waning firelight. Someone should put another log on if they planned to stay here for much longer. “Did I? I’m certain I did no such thing.”
He laughed and leaned down to press a kiss on her shoulder. The act was so filled with unexpected affection that her heart ached. “You did, and I prefer to be called that from now on.”
“Never. What would everyone think?” She let out a squeal that she managed to cut short when he nipped at the underside of her breast.
“That we’re lovers,” he growled playfully, and sucked her nipple. She took his head between her hands, but he stopped and looked up at her. “The truth.”
He took her nipple again, and pleasure throbbed through her, rekindling the ache where he had so recently been. She closed her eyes as it beat through her, only to open them again when the door shook.
“Milady?” It rattled again as Mrs. Huxley tried to turn the latch, which was quickly followed by a knock.
Maxwell flew to his feet, adjusting his trousers. She couldn’t help the pang of disappointment she felt. “Mrs. Huxley?” she called out to buy some time as she cast about for her nightclothes, suddenly lost in her own drawing room.
He grabbed her nightdress and helped tug it over her head. As she pulled it into place, he came up behind her and helped her into the dressing gown. Still having no idea how she would explain the locked door to the woman—the door had never been locked as long as she could remember—Helena hurried across the room.
“Hello.” As greetings went, it left a little to be desired. Helena peeked out, hardly daring to open the door any wider lest she reveal that Maxwell was with her.
Mrs. Huxley stood there perplexed, her mouth opening and closing twice before she said, “Are you quite well, milady?”
She must look a fright. Belatedly remembering that Maxwell’s hands had been in her hair, she attempted to smooth it down. “I think I must have fallen asleep.” Her sheepish smile didn’t have to be forced.
The older woman gave a hesitant nod. “What happened to the door? It was stuck.”
“Oh, was it?” Helena made an exaggerated face as she visually examined the latching mechanism. “Seems to be working now. There was a draft, so I closed the door to keep the warm air inside. I cannot imagine how it got itself stuck.” The lies came to her so easily, she almost felt ashamed.
Seemingly convinced, Mrs. Huxley visibly relaxed and nodded. “Why don’t you take yourself to bed now? It’s late and you’ve had a difficult evening.”
If only the woman knew the half of it! “Yes, that’s a good thought. I think I’ll do that.”
“Good. I’ll tend the fire for you.”
When Mrs. Huxley moved to enter, Helena felt real fear overtake her for the first time. If Maxwell were found, they wouldn’t understand. The Huxleys were traditional sorts, and they had worshipped Arthur. She glanced over her shoulder to see an empty room. Maxwell was gone.
She was frozen in shock as Mrs. Huxley moved past her and began setting the room to rights. She raised an eyebrow at the writing chair being out of place but moved it back and went to put out the fire. Helena hurried forward, certain that something of what they had done would be visible, but the woman carried on, completely unaware that just moments before, her mistress had been entangled with her lover in the very spot she occupied.
Helena herself was amazed to see no evidence. Maxwell was gone, almost as if he’d never been there. She might question his presence if her body didn’t still bear signs of his possession. Patches of skin still smarted from the scrape of his beard, she could still feel his teeth marks on her shoulder, and her body ached pleasantly where he’d been inside her. It was almost unthinkable that he could have gone so easily.