In the Arms of a Marquess by Katharine Ashe

Author:Katharine Ashe [Ashe, Katharine]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Historical Romance, Fiction
ISBN: 9780062096128
Publisher: Avon
Published: 2011-08-29T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

OCEAN. That vast collection of salt and navigable waters in which the two continents are enclosed like islands.

—Falconer’s Dictionary of the Marine

Tavy clung to Ben’s shoulders. Her whole body tingled, encompassed in his warm embrace, swimming in murky near-pleasure as she focused on the spot where he pressed inside her. It hurt a bit, but then she shifted her hips some and it started to feel good too, strange and stretched, and astounding and wonderful.

Then—abruptly—wrenchingly painful.

Ben’s palm trapped her scream.

“Dear God,” he uttered. His body went still as stone. But Tavy’s was softening already, heat gathering around his presence within her, the delicious throbbing beginning again, but even deeper and hotter than before. She dropped her head and shoulders back, and his hand fell away from her mouth. He felt good inside her. Not strange any longer. Instead, perfect.

Then there seemed to be much less of him there.

“No! Don’t go. Stop!” she exclaimed, locking her legs about his hips and gripping his shoulders.

The sinews in his neck stood out, his arms and chest muscles taut as he held himself immobile atop her.

“I could not stop now if I wished it,” he replied quite convincingly, his jaw gorgeously tight and eyes entirely black.

“Then why aren’t you moving?”

“Because, Octavia,” his deep voice sounded strained, “your exquisite thighs have me in a death grip.”

“Oh.” She loosened her knees. “Ohhh.” He sank into her, full and deep, and she moaned and at the same moment a sound of pleasure so profound came from his chest that she knew he told the truth about not being able to stop. He drew out almost completely then stroked in again, slowly. Then he did it again. And again, until she sighed with the sheer brilliance of it, understanding the rhythm and creating it with him.

Then, quite suddenly, there was no understanding. No thought. No intentionality. Only pleasure and intense need and a coiling ache so profound it seized her whole, lifting her and wrapping around her, them, so that they seemed one. She gripped him with her hands and, deliciously, inside. He took her hard and deep, deeper each time, caressing so far within it tickled and hurt and filled her up until she was thoroughly open, drowning in his driving thrusts. With her voice she begged him for more, words without shape, their skin sliding smooth and slick as they made passion. She sought him and he gave her his powerful body, kissing her mouth, caressing her breasts, blinding her with the frenzy of their intertwined need.

Desperate, she rose to him and he grabbed her hips, trapping her against the mattress, uttering urgently against her neck an oath in Hindi, then astoundingly tender, “Madhuraa.”

Sweet one.

She came in a chaos of completion, repeating his name. It was an ecstasy so brilliant, so thorough and continuous, that as she took his release deep within her, she wept.

But only for a very brief moment.

Dragging air into her lungs, Tavy let her hands and knees slide away from him and turned her cheek to the mattress.

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