“If you pleased me any more I might perish,” he said with a wry expression. “That’s not the problem. I am not pleasing you.”
“You did. You know you did.” She blushed when she said this, but she could not bear for him to think she was not enjoying herself.
“You do not think you can be pleasured twice?”
Cecilia felt her eyes grow very wide.
Edward’s hand slipped between their bodies and found the most sensitive spot of her womanhood.
“Oh!” She’d felt him moving there, but still, the sensation was so intense she could not help but let out a cry of surprise.
“That’s more like it,” he murmured.
And then it all began to build again. The pressure, the need . . . it was so great she did not notice how he was stretching her with each stroke. Every time she thought there could not possibly be more of him, he pulled back and then plunged forward, reaching even further into her soul.
She had not known she could be so close to another human being. She had not known she could be so close and want even more.
She arched her back, her hands clutching at his shoulders as his body finally came fully flush against hers.
“My God,” he breathed, “it’s like I’ve come home.” He looked down at her, and she thought she saw the slightest sheen of moisture in his eyes before his mouth captured hers in a torrid, passionate kiss.
And then he began to move.
It began as slow, steady strokes, creating an exquisite friction inside of her. But then his breath jerked into gasps, and whatever rhythm he’d begun sped into a frenzy. She felt it growing within her too, that race toward the precipice, but she was nowhere as lost as Edward was, at least not before he adjusted his position and sucked one of her nipples into his mouth.
She cried out at the shock of it, at the impossible connection between her breast and her womb. But she felt it there . . . dear God above, when his fingers began to tease the other nipple, she felt it between her legs and she began to quiver and clench.
“Yes!” Edward growled. “My God, yes, squeeze me.” He grabbed her breast, harder than she’d have ever thought she’d like, but she loved it, and with a sudden piercing jolt she came apart again.
“Oh God,” Edward was grunting. “Oh God oh God oh God.” His movements grew almost crazed, and he was pounding forward, and then he seemed to go almost still, caught in one last thrust before moaning her name and collapsing atop her.
“Cecilia,” he said again, his voice barely a whisper. “Cecilia.”
“I’m right here.” She stroked his back, her fingertips making lazy circles across the indentation of his spine.
“Cecilia.” And then again. “Cecilia.”
She liked that he couldn’t seem to say anything besides her name. Heaven knew, she wasn’t thinking much beyond his.
“I’m crushing you,” he mumbled.
He was, but she didn’t mind. She liked the weight of him.
He rolled off her, but not all the way, leaving himself draped partly over her. “I never want to stop touching you,” he said. He sounded incredibly drowsy.
She turned to look at him. His eyes were closed, and if he had not fallen asleep, he would very soon. Already his breath had begun to even out, and his eyelashes—so thick and dark—lay lazily against his cheeks.
She’d never watched him fall asleep, she realized. She had shared a bed with him for a week, but every night she’d crawled into her side and carefully turned her back. She would listen to his breathing, practically holding her own breath in an effort to keep still and quiet. And she told herself that she would listen, and then she would know when he fell asleep, but every time she somehow drifted off before that happened.
He was always up before her in the mornings, already dressed or mostly so, when she opened her eyes and yawned her way into the day.
So this was a treat. He was not a restless sleeper, but his mouth moved a little, almost as if he were whispering a prayer. She yearned to reach out and touch his cheek, but she didn’t want to wake him. His recent display of strength and stamina notwithstanding, he was not fully restored to health and he needed his rest.
So she watched him and she waited. Waited for the guilt she knew would eventually wrap itself around her heart. She wanted to lie to herself and say that he had seduced her beyond reason, but she knew that was not true. Yes, she had been swept away by passion, but she could have stopped him at any point. All she had to do was open her mouth and confess her sins.
With her fist to her mouth, she stifled a grim laugh. If she’d told Edward the truth he would have been off her like a shot. He would have been furious, and then he would have probably hauled her off to a priest and married her on the spot. That was just the sort of man he was.
But she couldn’t let him do that. He was practically engaged to that girl back home, the one he’d told her about—Billie Bridgerton. She knew he was very fond of her. He always smiled when he talked about her. Always. What if they really were engaged? What if he’d promised himself to her and had forgotten about it along with everything else in the last few months?
What if he loved her? He could have forgotten about that, too.
But even with all the guilt now coursing through her veins, she couldn’t bring herself to regret this. Someday all she would have left of this man would be memories, and she was damned if she did not make those memories as brilliant as she could.
And if there was a child . . .
Her hand went to her womb, where even now his seed could be taking root. If there was a child . . .
No. That was unlikely. Her friend Eliza had been married a full year before she got pregnant. And the vicar’s wife even longer. Still, Cecilia knew enough to know that she could not continue to tempt fate. Maybe she could tell Edward that she feared getting pregnant so far from home. It would be no lie to say that she did not relish the idea of an ocean journey while she was with child.
Or with a child. Good Lord, the journey had been awful enough on her own. She had not been seasick, but it had been dull, and at times frightening. To do that with an infant?
She shuddered. It would be hell.
“What’s wrong?”
She twisted at the sound of Edward’s voice. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I was.” He yawned. “Or almost.” One of his legs was still pinning her down, so he moved it, then drew her up against him, her back to his front. “You were upset,” he said.
“Don’t be silly.”
He kissed the back of her head. “Something was bothering you. I could tell.”
“While you were asleep?”
“Almost asleep,” he reminded her. “Are you sore?”
“I don’t know,” she said quite honestly.
“I should get you a cloth.” He let go of her and slid from the bed. Cecilia twisted her neck so that she could watch him as he crossed the room to the basin of water. How could he be so unselfconscious in his nakedness? Was it a male thing?
“Here we are,” he said, returning to her side. He’d dampened the cloth, and with tender motions he cleaned her.
It was too much. She almost cried.
When he was done, he set the cloth aside and resumed his position next to her, propping himself up on one elbow as he used his free hand to fiddle with her hair. “Tell me what is bothering you,” he murmured.
She swallowed, summoning her courage. “I don’t want to become pregnant,” she said.
He went still, and Cecilia was glad for the dim light in the room. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see whatever emotion had flashed through his eyes.
“It might be too late for that,” he said.
“I know. I just—”
“You don’t want to be a mother?”
“No!” she exclaimed, surprising herself with the force of her reply. Because she did. The thought of bearing his child . . . It nearly made her weep with the want of it. “I don’t want to become pregnant here,” she said, “in North America. I know there are doctors and midwives, but eventually I want to go home. And I don’t want to make that crossing with a baby.”
“No,” he said, his brow pulling into a thoughtful frown. “Of course not.”