Page 61 of The Sound of Seduction (Miracles on Harley Street #4)

W endy’s hands wandered down his chest, slow and deliberate, her fingertips brushing against the edge of his exposed skin.

Every nerve in Stan’s body ignited at that soft, tentative touch; the faint pressure of her hands sent a storm of heat rolling through him.

His breath hitched before he could control it, his chest tightening at the thought of how much more he wanted her to explore, how desperately he longed to give her every part of himself.

“Wendy,” he murmured, rough and reverent, her name a force that tethered him amidst the chaos of his mounting desire. Yet, even as need coiled tight in his stomach, his hands on her waist remained steady—anchoring her, allowing her to take her time.

Her gaze lifted to his, the uncertainty melting into courage before his eyes, and it nearly undid him.

The burn of her trust and that fragile boldness she willingly offered, left him humbled.

She leaned in, no hesitation this time, no retreat.

Their lips met again, and it was different now—sure, aching, and full of the silent promises neither had spoken.

The softness of her middle broke him apart.

He pressed into her all while deepening the kiss, drawing her closer until there was no barrier between them, only her warmth enveloping him slowly.

Every shift of her body against his felt deliberate, like she was learning him physically just as she knew his soul.

And he wanted her to—yearned for her to know all of him, to feel each beat of his heart that thudded for her alone.

His hands moved, strong and careful, mapping the grace of her waist. The thin fabric of her chemise was no shield against the heat of her skin, so he tugged at the hem. She let go of his cock, stretched her spine, lifted her arms over her head, and he removed the last bit of fabric.

Her breasts sprang free and Stan cupped them.

For a moment, he shuddered at their perfection but when she looked down at her perfect mounds in his palms, he wanted her to watch him take her nipples in his mouth.

It was an act of control and submission at the same time.

He couldn’t help the way they puckered under his gentle tasting—every stroke slow, deliberate, as though committing her to an eternity he would guard fiercely.

“Wendy,” he murmured again, his voice thicker now, laden with a rawness he couldn’t hide.

He heard nothing but her—felt nothing but her.

She was everywhere—the press of her palms on his chest, her fingers tangling in his hair, her scent, that intoxicating sweetness of lavender and warmth.

Her lips left him, only for a moment, and he couldn’t stop himself from seeking the tilt of her jaw, tracing it with kisses that were soft but unrelenting.

Her head tipped back, granting him access to the tender line of her neck.

Letting go of her breast—albeit vowing he’d return—he pressed his lips to the delicate hollow, her pulse beating beneath his mouth like a drum, pulling him deeper into the moment.

Slowly, his hand traveled down, finding the smooth, firm curve of her thigh just at the edge of her folds.

His palm settled there, finding her pearl as he pressed a little further.

She was so tight. So precious.

“Tell me to stop,” he managed, though the words barely sounded like his own, gruff, and edged with longing. But he held firm, his hand still, his breath steady, waiting for her.

Her fingers tightened at his shoulders, and when she whispered, “I won’t,” the words threaded through him like fire and steel. He exhaled, a sharp but measured release, and pressed his forehead to hers, the closeness grounding him.

“If I push further, you will lose your virginity.” It was a warning as much as a plea to let him push.

And she nodded. She was beautiful. Utterly, impossibly beautiful.

Not merely in appearance but in the way she gave herself to him without reservation, her trust raw and unwavering.

He cupped her face gently, the pad of his thumb brushing lightly over her cheek as he kissed her again.

This time, it was languid and consuming, a devotion etched into every movement.

And he pushed a little, flexing his hips upward. She was on top of him and perhaps it was better, especially this first time. He didn’t want to crush her delicate frame and didn’t mind her riding him as hard as a wild stallion.

But she didn’t know yet how, he could feel it.

Her tightness and then a barrier. Something extra tight.

“I think this is it.” She mumbled and looked down.

And he just wanted to push on but not with her.

Never with Wendy.

She sucked her lips in, let go of him and used both hands to part her folds. Stan had to stabilize himself with both hands and gripped the covers, realizing he had never even offered her the comfort of the blanket.

And then it just happened.

She made a tiny noise like a sudden hiccup.

And he was buried to the hilt.

A second.

A minute.

He wasn’t sure how long exactly they waited.

“No blood?” she asked, rubbing her fingers around the exact fusion of their bodies.

“There might be.”

And to his utter surprise, she relaxed as if she had visibly melted into him.

And on the inside, she accommodated him as if they’d been made to fit each other perfectly.

“Teach me,” she whispered and let go. She wrapped her hands around his neck.

“It’s my honor,” Stan managed.

“Now, I’m not a virgin anymore,” she said, curling the corners of her mouth downward.

“But you’ll be my princess forever.”

Stan couldn’t stop his hands now, one sliding up the line of her back.

The other remained at her thigh, his fingers splayed wide to feel the full warmth of her.

Every inch of her pliant form against his drove him deeper into a place where only they existed—both untethered from duty, from reason, from time itself.

“I love you and will try to live up to the honor you give me,” she said.

“You don’t know what you do to me, Wendy,” he mumbled softly against her lips, his voice raw with awe, the truth of his words stark in his every breath.

“The honor is all mine. You’re all mine now.

” She was all he wanted, all he needed, and he would spend forever proving it to her if she’d allow him.

Her response was wordless—a tilt of her head, the press of her lips trailing his jaw, the delicate curve of her body yielding to him perfectly.

Each movement spoke louder than words, and Stan knew, with every steady beat of his heart, that this moment—this extraordinary, infinite moment—was his to cherish forever.

He’d waited for this. He’d wait forever.

He held on, barely. The curve of her body pressed against him, skin to skin. He couldn’t ignore the feeling—soft, warm, effortless. Sliding a hand up her thigh, he whispered her name, his voice vibrating low in his chest.

“You’ve something boyish about you when you’re unguarded,” she said suddenly, fingers feathering along his jawline.

Stan laughed, his forehead resting briefly against her own. “I have only mischief in mind right now,” he admitted softly, tilting her chin up. He caught her startled gasp with his mouth, kissing her deeply, until all that remained between them was pleasure and the soft hum of the oil lamp.

And as their laughter melted into the kiss, the world beyond the glow of the oil lamp faded, leaving only the promise of a future as boundless and bright as the love they had found in each other.