Her hands slid down his body until she reached his breeches and began deftly unfastening his fall. He issued a harsh sigh of relief when she freed his cock, using one hand to grip him while the other pushed the breeches down his hips. Roger shuddered at the tight grip of her hand around him, stroking slowly from base to tip, her thumb smearing his wetness all over the flared head. He thrust into her grip, lips parted on grating, labored breaths at the pleasure of it. He’d spent so many years tending to himself, but had inadequately imagined what the feel of a woman’s hand could do to him. The smoothness of her palms, the knowing expertise of every stroke—it was enough to push him far too close to the edge.
Seeming to sense this, she ceased her ministrations and positioned him at the opening of her sheath. The first kiss of wet, feminine flesh made his cock twitch and strain as if with a life of its own.
“Now, Roger,” she whispered against his ear, cupping his buttocks and urging him closer. “Take me now.”
Roger gritted his teeth around a hoarse groan when the first thrust seated him halfway inside her. Miranda sucked in a sharp breath, her sheath clenching tight around him. Withdrawing and plunging, he found his way in to the hilt—surrounded by a tight, gripping heat. He paused for several seconds and breathed through the urge to spill inside her then and there. His imagination and fantasies hadn’t prepared him for the sensations overwhelming him, and now he was drowning in Miranda. Her scent enveloped him, her warm, plush body cradled him, and the exquisite clench of her cunny stunned him.
Miranda shifted beneath him, rolling her hips and creating a ripple of pleasure along his cock. It shot straight through his groin and into his gut, spurring him to match her rhythm. She clutched at his back, panting and sighing as he took her with increasing urgency, every stroke coming harder and faster. Some innate sense took control of his body, silencing the practical thoughts of his mind until all he could think of was the woman beneath him, wrapping him in her most secret of places, accepting him into her body.
Her fingernails rasped against his waistcoat as she dragged them down his back, raising her hips to take him in deeper. The tension winding through him reached its breaking point, and Roger pushed into her one last time, shaking and groaning as climax swept through him.
With a triumphant shout, he withdrew from her just in time to release his spend onto the counterpane. Then, he rolled from on top of her, falling into a boneless heap on his back. Struggling to catch his breath, he opened his arms when she came to him, draping herself across his chest. As she kissed his cheek and stroked sweat-dampened hair back from his brow, it occurred to him that he hadn’t experienced an ounce of trepidation from the time he’d first touched her until the end. Everything had happened so naturally, so perfectly, putting to rest all his earlier doubts and fears. He’d lain with a woman—a beautiful, vivacious seductress of a woman—and not once had she recoiled from him, even knowing his secret. Granted, he hadn’t spoken much and managed to keep control of his words. But, Roger somehow knew that even if he hadn’t, the outcome would have been the same.
Miranda Hughes was quite a woman, one he found easy to like and respect as well as desire. He couldn’t have found a better woman to experience his first time with had he tried.
Miranda lay on her side, tracing a fingertip through the trail of dark hair running down Roger’s abdomen. Once he’d recovered from their first tumble, he had seemed embarrassed to still be dressed in almost all his clothing. Miranda had laughed it off, having loved the feel of his clothed body against her bared one. There was something thrillingly erotic about the rough, sturdy fabrics of a man’s clothing rubbing against her most sensitive places when he was inside her.
Goosebumps appeared along her arms and her nipples puckered at the memories such thoughts conjured up. It didn’t help that now Roger was naked, he proved even more impressive than when he was fully dressed. Unblemished skin was pulled taut over long, lean stretches of muscle. Even laying flaccid against his thigh, his cock was magnificent, making her all-too aware of how badly she wanted him inside her again.
Only a few minutes had passed since their first time, and she didn’t want to pressure him with unnecessary demands. If what they’d just done was any indication, he would be worth the wait. For a man who claimed to have paltry experience with women, Roger certainly seemed to know his way around her body. He’d needed very little guidance to make her respond to him.
“What was your first time like?” he asked suddenly, breaking through the comfortable silence between them.
Bracing her arms on his chest and settling her chin on one hand, she smiled at him. “Informative. I was fortunate enough to have a patient husband who wanted me to enjoy his attentions. There was pain, but he made it up to me later that night.”
Hands clasped behind his head, he stared down at her with raised eyebrows. “Then yours was a love match.”
“No, but I wasn’t unhappy with him. We liked each other well enough, though we didn’t know one another very well. He respected my position as his wife, and I think he felt some affection for me. But we lived almost entirely separate lives. We would dine together, attend the same soirées, and exchange pleasantries when we were in one another’s company. Most evenings he would come to my bed, and I welcomed him. He taught me pleasure, and I enjoyed being with him. Our daughter was born of our union, and I couldn’t be more grateful for her. My marriage was not unpleasant, but neither was it a loving one.”
“I see,” he murmured. “How old is your daughter?”
“Ursula is four years old, and a darling little girl.”
His lips quirked up at the corners in a soft smile. “I’m certain having her has been a comfort to you.”
“Very much so,” she agreed.
“I felt the same way when my parents died. Mother first, then Father years later.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head as if to dismiss her condolences, though she could see the flash of grief cross his features. “It has been eighteen years. Mother died birthing Emily. Father’s heart couldn’t withstand the grief. It has only been the three of us for so long.”
Miranda noticed his speech came easier when he was so relaxed, lacking his usual precision but still flowing without the presence of his stammer. She decided not to remark on it lest she embarrass him with the obviously sore subject.
“May I ask a rather probing question?” she asked, unable to help her curiosity. Roger presented an interesting mystery, one she wanted to solve as if unraveling a tangled spool of yarn.
“Of course.”
“Did you become a courtesan solely to experience intercourse … or was it the money?”
He didn’t seem surprised by her question, which eased a bit over her guilt over prying into his personal affairs. After what he’d revealed to her earlier in the evening, Miranda supposed he had no reason to remain tight-lipped.
“Money,” he replied. “Though … it wasn’t lost on me that it could be convenient for the other reason.”
When she merely stared at him in silence while digesting his answer, Roger inclined his head and frowned.
“What is it?”
“Oh, nothing really,” she hedged. “It’s just … well, when I decided to hire a courtesan I expected a different sort of man. Not that I think there’s anything wrong with you. I mean … oh, bloody hell.”