It was an altogether bad idea.
With an agonized sigh, she turned around again, determined to put this longing behind her and stay in her room all night like a proper young woman, a proper spinster who would live out the rest of her days in her family home, a caregiver to the nieces and nephews her siblings would one day give her.
Oh, stuff proper.
She whirled back around, seized with the determination to have a very improper night. One more time.
One final time.
She lifted her hand to knock, ready to let it fall—only to have the door suddenly yanked open.
Silas stood there. Staring at her.
She stared back, fist still poised, ready to fall in the vicinity of his shoulder. His very bare shoulder. He was shirtless.
“Mercy.”
Numerous words rose up, ready to trip off her tongue as the sound of her name in his deep voice vibrated through her.
Were they linked together by some invisible string? Because it certainly felt that way as they stared at each other in strained silence, their breaths the only sound—raspy torment-laden scratches on the air.
Why did you open your door? Did you know I was standing out here? Could you feel me? Hear my heartbeat?
She voiced none of those things, however.
They did not need words. There was enough being said without them.
They came together in a mad collision. Bodies fitting as one, like two slices of bread reunited, longing to be rejoined.
Lips locked. Hands everywhere, touching, grasping, roaming over bodies, diving into hair.
There was no patience from either one of them. No leisurely pace.
The fleeting thought flashed through her that they could have been doing this all along. For over a week they had been denying themselves this. Such a waste.
Silas fumbled for the still open door, grasping the edge of it and shutting it with a resounding slam.
They both fell against its length. She was glad for the support at her back, the solid hardness that kept her from sliding into a boneless puddle on the floor . . . so that she could enjoy the solid hardness of the man in front of her.
“What are you doing here?” he rasped against her throat, his lips a burning singe on her skin.
“Aren’t you glad I am?” she returned, seizing his head in both her hands and feasting on his mouth, giving him no chance to reply.
His tongue met hers as her hands feverishly tugged on his hair, controlling the angle of his head, maneuvering him to her liking.
He grasped impatiently at her nightgown, at the fabric barring them from skin-to-skin contact.
His hands seized fistfuls of her nightgown at her hips, yanking and pulling until he had the fabric bunched around her hips and she was exposed from the waist down. Shockingly exposed. Her naked skin was bare to the air and to his hands, which wasted no time running a burning trail up her naked thighs.
His fingers slid under her knees. She didn’t need to be told or guided. He lifted her up and she went willingly, hopping slightly to wrap her legs around him. The crush of him wedged tightly between her splayed thighs felt like bliss. He was where he belonged.
She moaned into his mouth, the kiss a clumsy wild thing now, but it was still thrilling and erotic and perfect and right.
His chest pressed against her own, mashing into her breasts. Breasts shielded by an ugly wool nightgown she longed to tear from her body—almost as much as she longed to rid him of his trousers.
He grabbed her bottom, squeezing her with two big hands. The pressure of those hands on her tightened everything inside her. The heat between them burned to a fevered pitch.
She pushed her pelvis forward, digging her aching core into the bulge of his cock.
He groaned against her lips. “There’s that sweet quim. So demanding. So hungry for my cock.” He reached between them, cupping her womanhood and giving it a firm squeeze that nearly undid her right then. She bucked against his hand, despising the trousers he wore that impeded them from contact. “Ah, so impatient,” he growled.
“Then stop delaying,” she panted, bucking into the palm of his hand again.
His eyes darkened at her command. He pulled back slightly and swatted her sex.
She hissed at the delicious sting she felt through the fabric of her nightgown. “Silas,” she begged.
“Have you missed me here, Mercy?” He brushed the back of his fingers gently over her sex. Too gently. Too softly. It was agony. She wanted him hard and fast inside her.
She nodded jerkily.
“Then say it, Mercy. Say how much you have missed me.”
He gave her another swat that brought forth a sharp joyous cry, her nether lips vibrating from the erotic slap.
“I’ve missed you,” she sobbed.
He smacked her sex again, and followed up by rubbing and stroking firmly and swiftly, expertly and unerringly locating the tight little button at the top of her sex. She shuddered as a climax washed over her, her body clenching and then finally snapping, releasing, going limp as waves of sensation eddied through her.
Her vision blurred. She clung to his shoulders, dimly processing the way his muscles bunched under her fingers. He shifted a bit whilst still holding her up, keeping her pinned to the door. A good thing because she was useless, boneless, and desperate for the support.
With one hand gripping her bottom, his other hand fumbled between them, opening his trousers. Shoving them down. Not all the way, but enough.
His cock prodded at her core, at the soft give of her flesh. Nothing was between them there, nothing to keep him from entering her. She barely had time to take a breath before he was sliding inside her, slamming her back harder against the door.
She cried out, exulted, delighting in the fullness of him buried inside her. Her thighs quivered, clenching around his hips. Her fingers dug into his warm skin, her nails scoring his smooth, delicious skin.
His breath crashed against her lips. His intense brown gaze held hers, drowning her in its depth as he began moving again, thrusting into her over and over, and then she could no longer focus on anything as she bounced between his strong body and the door, riding his rod as a barrage of sensations overwhelmed her.
She simply let herself be carried away on the wave, crying out as his cock continued to pound into her, the friction only increasing, becoming unbearable until she came apart again. With her legs still wrapped around him, she hugged him close, clinging to his shoulders as she convulsed, spasms eddying throughout her whilst he finished, driving into her several more times and reaching his own end with an exultant shout.
He stilled then. His head pulled back to look at her. He pushed the strands of hair that clung to her face free from her cheeks. “Are you weeping?”
There was indeed moisture on her cheeks. She reached a hand for her face, feeling for herself. Tears had leaked from her eyes unbidden amid their tryst.
“It was so good,” she whispered thickly.
“I know. I’m glad you came to my door. It saved me the trouble of coming to get you.”
“You were going to come for me tonight?”
“I don’t think I could have stayed away another moment.”
She smiled tremulously, gulping back a breath. Stepping back from the door, he lifted her up in his arms and carried her to the bed, setting her gently down upon it.
In one smooth move, he pulled her nightgown off her, tossing it through the air. She watched him as he stood beside the bed and stripped off his gaping trousers, baring his beautiful form deliciously for her eyes.