Page 22 of The Rogue's Christmas Gift

“Oh, God!” she called out, throwing her head back.

Her breasts bounced with the exuberance of their movements as he chased euphoria for himself. Cupping one breast, Harrison greedily took a pert nipple into his starved mouth, sucking, and teasing it. Remembering how much she enjoyed it when he bit her nipple, he scrapped his teeth against the sensitive flesh, one of his hands squeezing her small waist.

Wetness coated his manhood as her sex squeezed and pulsated around him in glorious pleasure.

Reciting the alphabet, categorizing different flowers in his mind, he tried everything to stall his impending orgasm.

“You feel so damn good around me Kat. I need you to come for me, can you do that?” he asked desperately not wanting to embarrass himself.

He knew she’d had other lovers since him, but for him it was only her, always.

“Harrison, I missed this, missed us,” she rasped out, her hand slipping between them to rub at her little nub.

Rocking his hips forward he pulled hers to him, seating himself deeper inside of her tight sheath. Taking her lips in a fierce kiss, they moved together until they were both shaking from their release. His tongue wrapped around hers, and he savored every moment as he emptied himself inside of her.

Squeezing her to him, he kissed her tenderly. Harrison wished that the moment would never end, but he wasn’t a foolish man; he was well aware that Kat would never be his.

It was a realization that he would have to accept one day soon. There was a part of him that knew he would always long for her to be his until his dying breath.

CHAPTER 8

It was difficult for Kitty to pretend that Harrison hadn’t changed the trajectory of her heart and mind. Lying beside him in the countess’s suite of rooms, enclosed in his embrace, their naked bodies exhausted from their second bout of lovemaking—it all was strangely comfortable.

Safe.

Kitty kept trying to tell herself that it didn’t matter, that it was only sex, a means for her to forget the injustice that had occurred earlier. Her magnificent Pleasure House was no longer hers, it hadn’t mattered that it was she who had rallied after Jacques’s untimely demise to make sure she did not lose her home or business. She had been the one who had tirelessly groomed and toiled with workers building the image and reputation of Pleasure House.

None of it had mattered at the end. All Pierre had to do was invent a ludicrous tale of loaning Jacques the funds and he was able to take everything that she had built in a single day.

Damn it all to hell.

Closing her eyes, she snuggled close to Harrison, deciding not to think about her predicament or the fact that she had just made love to the father of her child. A child he still was not aware ever existed. No matter how briefly Christopher was a part of this world, Harrison had a right to know that he’d had a son.

For years, she had struggled with herself, believing that it was her lot in life to feel such devastation. The last thing Kitty wanted was for Harrison to experience it as well. As the years went by, she’d convinced herself that perhaps it was better if he didn’t know about Christopher. Harrison was the most amenable person, happy and pleasant no matter the situation—until she broke his heart.

“Remember our last Christmas together?” Harrison asked.

His smooth voice cascaded over her spent body, making Kitty forget the dilemma raging on in her mind.

A giggle bubbled out of her, and she couldn’t really remember the last time she’d made such a sound. How odd that she’d spent so many years being Madame Delcour, caring for everyone, that she’d forgotten what it felt like to be Katherine Smith.

She hadn’t been that young girl in such a long time, but being with Harrison made her remember that she’d quite enjoyed who she’d been before everything fell apart.

“How could I forget? Our parents were gloriously foxed, and my sister was away with the Fosters.” A sharp pang punctured her abdomen at the mention of her sister, Daphne.

She hadn’t seen her younger sister in eight years. There was a four-year age difference between them. Often Daphne would insist on following Kitty everywhere, so enamored with her older sister. Once Kitty had been ruined, she’d received one letter from her sister stating that she was no longer allowed to correspond with her.

Before her uncle moved to Italy with his wife, he’d informed Kitty that her sister had married a farmer in Nottingham.

“I convinced Cook to make us a picnic. My God, I still dream about her cottage pie,” he said wistfully, tightening his grip around Kitty’s waist. “We disappeared to the barn, where we fed each other, and made love until early in the morning.”

Kitty closed her eyes, willing the tears not to fall. She remembered the night with perfect clarity. It was the night that Christopher was conceived.

Kitty had come to that conclusion after months of retrospect, replaying every intimate encounter between her and Harrison over and over in her head. Before that fateful night it had been months earlier since they’d lain together.

Swallowing, Kitty centered herself before she spoke. “I see you didn’t decorate for Christmas.”

Like her, he’d loved that time of year. Every momentous day would be celebrated, their favorite day being Christmas.