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“Breathe,” he said with a chuckle and kissed her lips, her nose, her cheeks.

Beatrice complied and took a deep breath. On an exhale, he thrust once more, stretching her further, pushing more of him inside. Her inner muscles gripped at him, her fingers curling harder into his coat. His heavy breaths were hitting her face as he hovered above her, his face etched with pain.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, studying his features, and he let out a huff of laughter.

“No, love. It doesn’t hurt. It’s just… It’s hard going slow. Does it hurt you?”

She shifted slightly, her muscles welcoming more of him inside. It didn’t hurt. It was uncomfortable. Strange. But also lovely.

She shook her head. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Thank God.” He let out a breath and plunged deeper inside her.

Beatrice cried out, whether from pain or pleasure, she didn’t know. It didn’t hurt exactly, but there was a twinge in her loins that had passed almost as fast as it came.

“How about now?” Adam asked into her ear, his voice hoarse.

“It doesn’t hurt,” she repeated.

“Good.” Adam moved, withdrawing just a little before plunging back inside. The contact of his flesh against her center made her moan. He withdrew again and repeated the action.

Another moan.

She started enjoying the rhythm, and soon her hips started anticipating his thrusts and meeting them with full ardor. The rocking of the carriage only aided their beautiful dance, and so they moved, in and out, the sounds of flesh meeting flesh corresponding with every moan of pleasure from both their lips.

Soon, Adam’s thumb returned to her little swollen nub, playing with it, circling it, as he continued plundering her depths.

Numbness overtook Beatrice, and her body shot up without her prompting as the white-hot bliss spread through her veins. She cried out as a feeling of uncontrollable pleasure washed over her.

Adam continued rocking against her, thrusting in and out a few more times, before he cried out and collapsed on top of her. Spent.

When Beatrice came to her senses, it was eerily quiet, the only sound was her and Adam’s heavy breaths. The carriage wasn’t moving either.

When did they stop?

The carriage door handle moved, and the door started to open, but Adam’s hand shot out to hold it in place as he barked, “Go away.”

There was a shuffle outside the carriage door, but no more attempts to open it.

Thank God.

Beatrice let out a chuckle, finding the entire situation entirely too humorous.

Adam withdrew slowly, causing whimpers to leave her throat. He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair, looking around.

He picked up her spectacles, removed the mask, and handed them to her. As Beatrice was putting them on, he pulled out a handkerchief and placed his hot hand on her knee. “Don’t move.”

“What?” She was lying on the plush seat, her skirts about her waist, her legs spread, completely open before him. This wasn’t the first time she’d found herself in this position. But it was different when they were actively making love. After they spent their passion, she found herself rather shy to continue maintaining such a vulnerable position.

And then it became even worse. He reached out and proceeded to wipe their mutual juices off her. There!

Beatrice shifted uncomfortably. “Adam—”

“Stay still,” he growled, a frown of concentration between his brows.

“I can do it myself,” she assured, but he swatted her hand away.

“Not with all those skirts you can’t,” he grumbled.