Page 101 of The Pursuit of Lord Kit Cavanaugh

He’d thought to claim her, and she patently intended to claim him.

He was already hers.

Releasing the reins he’d tried valiantly yet vainly to hold on to, he let her have her way.

And when her knowledge ran out and her certainty faded, he took over—and as she blatantly wished, he surrendered without reservation to the drumbeat in his veins and in hers, to the heat of the passion-filled flames that threatened to consume them.

Their skins were alive with need, their bodies beyond ready when he settled more deeply between her widespread thighs. The head of his erection sank into the scalding slickness of her entrance. His jaw clenched, his eyes closed as he battled his instincts, he forced himself to grind out, “This might hurt.” She was so tight, and he was distinctly well-endowed. He gritted his teeth and managed, “No, strike that. This will hurt.”

He felt her, hot and heated and panting beneath him, draw breath.

“I don’t care!” The words were almost a wail. “Just do it!”

He did. With one powerful thrust, he sheathed himself in the fiery embrace of her body. He froze, battling to give her a few moments at least to adjust, desperately reining in the instincts that urged him to plunder.

Then he heard a soft “Oh.” A sound of wonder.

Beneath him, she softened, the flaring tension the spike of pain had caused melting away.

Then she raised one arm, looped it about his neck, and drew his head to hers. She captured his lips in an open-mouthed kiss, then drew back just enough to whisper, “Now show me.”

Needing no further invitation, the man inside him leapt to comply.

He showed her how this oldest of dances went—the movements, the rhythm.

She was a quick study. Soon, she was meeting and matching him, fully linked with him as, their desires one, their passions fused, they strove to gain the beckoning pinnacle.

They reached it and flew as ecstasy gripped them.

As their senses overloaded, then shattered in a mind-blinding starburst that sent shards of brilliance lancing down their nerves and white fire scorching through their veins.

In that primal moment cut off from the world, they clung to each other and, exulting, held on, held tight.

Slowly, the glory faded and released its hold on their minds. They returned to earth, to the here and now of the rumpled chaos of the bed.

Uncounted minutes later, still wrapped in the aftermath, still rejoicing in the glory, Sylvia heard Kit utter a soft grunt, then he gently disengaged from her and fell to the bed beside her.

Breathing seemed to be something they both needed to remember how to do.

The night air was cool against their dewed skins. He tugged the coverlet and sheets from beneath them and drew the covers over them. Then he found her hand and raised it to brush a kiss over her fingers. “Thank you, my wife. Not just for this, but for linking your life with mine.”

She turned toward him, and he raised his arm and urged her closer. Settling against him, she smiled into his eyes. “Thank you, husband. Not just for the last hours, but for all you’ve given me and for the promise of a life with you by my side.”

His eyes held hers. “Always by your side, forever and ever.”

He kissed her fingers again, then flattened her hand beneath his on his chest.

She pillowed her head on his shoulder and heard him whisper, “Now sleep.”

Smiling to herself, she did.

She woke hours later, in the depths of the night, and discovered that she and Kit had shifted in their sleep. She still lay on her side, but her head rested on the pillow. He’d turned onto his stomach. One heavy arm lay draped over her waist, and his face, half buried in the pillow, was turned her way.

She drank in the sight of him sleeping. Let her eyes trace the features she could see. And felt her heart swell with the emotion that had been growing inside her ever since she’d started interacting with him—the businessman rather than the ton lord.

They were one and the same—she understood that now; both were facets of this man who had stolen her heart when she’d thought that organ forever unassailable.

Ironic that he—the rakehell she’d long ago fallen in lust with from a distance, and against whose allure she’d built walls of cold stone to protect herself and her heart—had proved to be the right man to take her hand and make her life complete.