Page 69 of The Courtship Dance

How could she ever have feared that this would not be wonderful? Yet even as she thought it, she reminded herself that things might change at any moment, that Sinclair would leave off kissing and stroking her and would shove himself between her legs, eager for his fulfillment.

When he lifted his head, she thought it would change then, but he left her mouth only to explore her neck and chest, his lips and tongue tasting and teasing her skin, arousing her more with each kiss. As his mouth moved over her, his hand slid down her body, caressing her in slow, lingering strokes.

Her legs moved restlessly at the touch of his hand, and the ache between her legs grew and pulsed, flooding with passion. His mouth crept over her breast, moving slowly, inexorably toward the nipple, and anticipation grew in her. She waited for him to take the hard bud into his mouth once more, and with each touch of his tongue, his lips, his teeth, the eagerness heightened and swelled until she was taut as a bowstring, her skin damp and her breath rasping in her throat. She dug her fingertips into his shoulders, aware of a primitive urge to rake her fingernails down his back and sink them into the soft flesh of his buttocks.

Then, at last, his mouth closed around her nipple, velvety soft and damp, and he began to suckle, pulling at the sensitive button of flesh with long, hot strokes. Francesca could not hold back a moan of satisfaction, so intense it was almost painful, and her hips moved on the bed of her petticoats.

Answering her unspoken urging, Sinclair’s hand slid up her thigh and over onto the flat plain of her abdomen, circling and inching closer to the thatch of hair between her legs. His fingertips edged into the silky triangle, tangling in the hair, and gliding to the center and down into the slick, heated folds of flesh. Francesca jerked and tried to move away, embarrassed that he should feel the unusual flood of moisture there.

But his searching fingers followed her, gliding insistently over her, pressing into her in a way that made her gasp and dig her heels into the floor. Then his clever fingers were parting and exploring her in the most intimate way, stroking over the supremely sensitive nub of flesh until she was almost wild with hunger, her hips circling and pressing up against his hand. Soft whimpers of passion escaped her lips, and she turned her head to muffle the sounds against his arm.

Something was building inside her, a hard, aching knot of yearning, until she felt, desperately, as if she were going to scream. Then it burst within her, and she did cry out, sinking her teeth in his arm. A tidal wave of pleasure washed through her, and she trembled under the force of it, lost in the pure physical sensation.

She heard him groan, and he rested his head against her chest for a moment, as though fighting for control. And when, at last, she lay limp and languid beneath him, rendered utterly nerveless, he moved over her, parting her legs. She opened her legs to him eagerly, for despite the mind-numbing satisfaction of what she had just experienced, there was still an ache, a hunger that would not be filled until she took him inside her.

But he did not move into her just yet. Instead, propping himself on his elbows, he began a leisurely pleasuring of her other breast, kissing and teasing it, taking the nipple into his mouth and repeating the slow, hard suction. To her amazement, the tension began to rise in her again—if anything, she was more eager this time, knowing what waited at the end.

He pulled back, blowing a soft breath of air upon the damp berry-colored nipple and causing it to prickle and lengthen, and he teased the other nipple between his forefinger and thumb, rolling and gently tugging. The hunger built in her until she was almost sobbing with need.

She moaned his name, and her hands drifted down his back to his buttocks, caressing the fleshy mounds. “Please,” she murmured. “Please…”

He moved into her then, lifting her hips and pressing slowly, steadily into her. She gasped at the sensation as he filled her, shocked by the sense of completion, the wonderful rightness of the joining. Sinclair began to stroke within her, pulling almost out, then thrusting back in, creating an intense, delightful friction that pushed the tension inside her ever higher. Then, once more, she convulsed, and this time she did indulge her primitive desire, raking his back with her nails and digging her fingers into his buttocks.

Sinclair let out a hoarse cry, jerking against her, and they met in a cataclysm of passion. Francesca wrapped her arms and legs around him, clinging to him as the storm engulfed them.

HE WAS A HEAVY WEIGHT upon her, his face pressed into the crook of her shoulder, but Francesca did not mind the pressure. She was so buoyant with joy that she was not sure she would not simply float away otherwise. She held on to him tightly, reveling in the feel of his body upon hers, his skin hot and damp, his breath tickling her neck.

Tears gathered in her eyes and spilled over, trickling down her face, and she reached up to wipe them away.

“Francesca?” He rolled away from her then, gazing down into her face, a frown forming on his brow. “What is it? Are you crying?”

She nodded, embarrassed, and gulped back her tears. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

“No! Oh, no,” she hastened to assure him. “I don’t know why I’m crying—it was just so beautiful.” She began to tear up again, and she dashed the moisture away impatiently with her hand. “Oh, bother…”

He chuckled, his voice rich with satisfaction, and gathered her up in his arms, pulling her back against his chest so that they lay curled together like spoons in a drawer. He nuzzled into her hair and pressed a brief kiss on the back of her neck. “It was beautiful.”

“I have never felt anything like that before. I thought—” She stopped, suddenly realizing that perhaps she was giving away too much.

“Never?” There was astonishment in his voice. “You mean…” He paused, then went on thoughtfully, “You mean you never felt—Oh, blast, I cannot think of any genteel way to put it—you never reached satisfaction before?”

She shook her head. Her voice was small as she replied, “No. I know you must find me very odd. And, really, there is no point in talking about it.”

Why had she ever brought this subject up? she wondered, cursing her own thoughtlessness. There was no reason for Sinclair to know about her former coldness. It was bound to make him wonder about her.

“I don’t find you odd at all,” he replied, kissing her hair again. “I find you—” he trailed his hand down her side, following the curves of her waist and hips “—delectable.” He laid another kiss on the point of her shoulder. “What I don’t understand is your late husband.”

“It was so different with him. I—I hated it!” Her vehemence shocked her a little. “I am sorry—I know you must think I’m terrible.” She pressed her lips together, trying to stem the flow of words.

“Of course I don’t think that.” He pulled her even closer into his body, surrounding her with his warmth and strength. “I think Lord Haughston must have been an even greater ass than I realized.”

The words poured out of her now, and she seemed helpless to stop them. “Andrew said that I was cold, an ice princess. I tried not to be, but I could not help it. It was…it wasn’t at all like tonight. I hated for him to touch me. I know I was a terrible wife. I should not have married him. I did not love him. I tried to make myself think I did, but as soon as we were wed, I knew what a dreadful mistake I had made. It was so awkward and—and painful. I cried half my wedding night.” She swallowed, then added lightly, “’Tis no wonder, I suppose, that he found me unappealing. Or that he turned to other women. I made a horrible mess of it all.”

“Stop it,” Sinclair told her crisply. He went up on his elbow, pulling her over onto her back, so that he could look down into her face. “Listen to me. You are a lovely, extremely passionate woman. I detected not the slightest sign of coldness in you. You are utterly desirable, and whatever that fool Haughston told you, there was no fault in you.” He bent and kissed her, hard and fast. “Understand?”

She nodded, a blush creeping along her cheekbones.