Page 121 of Frankly, My Dear

He laughed joyfully as he began to explore her body more leisurely.

She sighed.

“Ah, Selene, tell me what you like.”

“Everything.”

“I should have known when you ate so many beignets that you would be a greedy wench.”

“Hah!” Then her voice turned sultry. “Tell me what you like, James. Tell me what you are going to do.”

And he did. Oh, Lord, he did.

Soon neither of them could stand any more of the verbal foreplay. James flipped her to her back, still embedded in her depths, and began a slow, stroking rhythm. The only sounds in the room were the soft murmurs of their voices and the wet sounds of their lovemaking.

“I love you, Selene,” he said, panting, as his strokes grew harder and shorter.

“I love you, too. Oh, how I lo—” She gripped the headboard for support, unable to speak coherently, and wrapped her legs around his waist. Unbelievably, his huge organ grew larger inside her and went in even deeper.

“O-o-oh,” he rasped out, giving up the fight. He slammed into her body one last time, climaxing with hot spurts.

They lay still for endless minutes, breathing raggedly. James’s face was buried in her neck, and his weight pressed her to the bed.

For the first time in her life, Selene felt womanly and desirable and sated. Definitely sated. She smiled, running a caressing hand over the supple muscles of his back. “I love you, James,” she whispered, not sure if he could hear.

But he did.

James rolled over onto his back, taking her with him, and tucked her warm body under his arm at his side. “You’re just saying that because I put out your bonfire,” he teased, kissing the top of her head.

She peeked up at him mischievously. “Hey! What makes you think the fire’s out yet, Rhett baby?”

His eyes shot wide with surprise. Then she felt a low rumble of laughter begin in his chest.

“What?” she asked.

“I think I know how Rhett died.”

This time their lovemaking was a slow, gentle celebration as each began to know the other’s body. Soft words expressed their awe over this rare gift they’d been given.

“I have no desire to return to my time,” Selene told James when they lay limp once again in each other’s arms.

“Shhh,” he cautioned, pulling her tightly into the cradle of his arms. “Don’t make promises you might not be able to keep.”

She lifted her head and looked at him, then traced the line of his jaw lovingly with a forefinger. “James, I love you. I want to be with you. If I choose not to don that gown on St. John’s Eve, the choice is mine.”

He seemed to swallow with difficulty. “I’m almost afraid to believe it’s possible. I’ve had so many problems that I’m afraid to be happy now, to hope.”

“I know exactly what you mean, honey. It’s like you’re afraid if you’re too happy, you’ll jinx yourself. Like some jealous god will look down and nix the whole deal.”

He smiled. Lord, he had the most beautiful smile in the world. “Well, I wouldn’t have said it in quite that way, chérie, with those jinx-es and nix-es.” He shifted to his side and looked down at her, his expression suddenly serious. “What now, Selene?”

She raised her eyes mockingly. “Again, James?”

“No, not again, Selene,” he said with exaggerated horror. “I meant tomorrow and day after that. There are people in my home—Etienne, my mother, Blossom, slaves, servants—people who see and hear everything. I wouldn’t want to compromise you by making you my mistress. Even if I leave your bed at dawn, they will know I slept here. Believe me, they will know.”

She smiled at his consideration. “What are you suggesting?”

“That we get married…as soon as possible.”