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Chapter

Twenty-Nine

A fter several glasses of celebratory champagne, Benedict was able to sneak Angelica out of the ball to have her all to himself.

The past seven days had been hell and the worst of his life and all he wanted was to be alone with her.

To assure himself she was his and he was hers and they would never lose each other again.

“Where are we going? We cannot leave,” Angelica whispered as he did exactly as she warned against, and left the town house and the revelry behind, calling for his carriage to take them home.

“Lord and Lady St. George are dancing and well into their cups. No one will notice.” His driver pulled up before them and jumped down, setting the steps down and opening the door. “And you can send a missive to your sister if you’re concerned when you’re home. That will suffice.”

“You’re being terribly naughty, Lord Benedict.” Angelica grinned. “I like it.”

She joined him on the squabs and he called for home. The carriage lurched forward and they were finally alone, away from the crowds, just the two of them, as he preferred. “I’ve missed you so damn much.” He reached for her at the same time she moved toward him and they came together at last.

He kissed her deep and long, drinking and sating himself of her, knowing he could never go another week without being near the woman he loved. She kissed him back with a vigor that left him reeling, grasping for purchase.

She moved and straddled his lap and he clasped her waist, pressing her sweet body against him, relieving some of the pressures of the last week that had built up to a crescendo.

“I’ve missed you so much, Benedict. I want you.” She rose on her knees and clasped her gown, bundling it up about her waist.

He groaned when she pressed her sweet, wet sex against his silk breeches. The honeyed scent of her desire ignited his own and his cock ached, pressed firmly against his falls and wept for release.

Understanding what it was they both wanted, she reached between them and tore his falls open. His cock vaulted out, rigid and ready. She did not dally, she pressed herself onto him and took him with an urgency that had them both crying out.

He held her tight, fought to ground himself and not lose the battle against desire, of spending too soon and not ensuring she found her pleasure. He needed to hear her scream his name, to beg him to make her come.

She worked herself on him, taking him, riding him, and the breath in his lungs seized. Their lovemaking was frantic, fast, and urgent. Their time together was limited until they were home, the desperation to come back to each other just as pressing.

His balls ached, tightened, and he could feel the sweet thrum of release that teased. She gasped his name, kissing him between breaths of words, promises and pleas for him to take her, to fuck her, to give her what she wanted.

He would give her everything in the world if it were possible.

“I love you, Angelica,” he murmured against her lips, thrusting into her, rolling her hips with each thrust, wanting to hear his name on her lips as much as he needed to take his next breath.

“Yes,” she moaned, her cunny tightening about his cock, drawing him in, pulling him toward a release he could no sooner stop than time itself. “I love you, Benedict.”

He held her tight, her words wrapping around him as firmly as he clasped her to him.

They took all they could, their bodies all but one, no space spare between them.

The first tremors of Angelica’s release convulsed about his cock and drew him along for the ride.

He let go of his restraint, gave in to the release and allowed it to sweep him away as much as her love swept him into her world.

He came hard, pumped his seed deep within her, took her relentlessly as she rode her own pleasure to its very end, his name a chant, a promise on her lips.

His the same as hers.

Dear God, she was the sweetest woman, and he was lost.

But also for the first time in his life, he was found.