Page 101 of Gone with the Rake

He didn’t know what was happening anymore. His hips moved of their own volition, and his fingers tightened around her hair even more, tugging, jerking. His spine arched, heat and tension gathering in his loins until he couldn’t hold it any longer.

He tried to drag her face away, but his seed erupted before he could, covering her lips, her chin, and breasts. He breathed heavily, watching her through his slitted eyes, unable to move or say anything.

She watched him in turn, and without breaking eye contact wiped her chin with her hand, then slipped her fingers into her mouth and sucked them clean. Then, like a cat satisfied with her meal, she licked her lips.

That was enough for his cock to stir and rise again.

Fuck.

With a growl, Art lifted her up, took her face between his palms, and kissed her deeply, tasting his own essence on her tongue. She moaned, her hands finding his shaft and squeezing him between her fingers once more.

“The things you do to me,” he whispered against her lips.

“I want you,” she whispered back.

He pushed her onto the bed, and she chuckled, her eyes burning with passion. He reached her in one stride and flipped her onto her back. He traced her slit, encountering delightful moisture there, and plunged his fingers inside.

A growl left his lips. He withdrew his fingers and slapped both palms onto her bottom, then swiftly plunged his cock inside her core.

She cried out, and he groaned, his head falling back, his entire body taut with tension. She was so wet, yet so tight. So wonderful.

He had never felt as complete, free, and unburdened as when he was inside her.

She whimpered and pushed her backside into him, demanding more attention. Art leaned over her, his entire body covering her and slid his hand under her belly, lower and lower still until he encountered her little swollen nub.

Then he withdrew and drove back into her, the motion of his thrust forcing her nub to rub against his palm. He withdrew once more and thrust into her again.

He rocked his hips, thrusting his cock in and out of her, listening to her cries of pleasure with his every movement. He wanted to feel her come, wanted to be drenched in her juices before he succumbed to the oblivion of the little death again.

He wanted to die again and again in her arms. And come alive again with the magic of her touch, her kiss.

Her fingers dug into the sheets by her sides, her little cries getting more and more wild. Then she let out a shriek as her entire body arched, and her inner muscles gripped him, contracting and relaxing, until they drew his own orgasm from him.

He collapsed on top of her with a groan, and he thought he heard her whisper, “I love you.”

Chapter 26

Lydia lay in the circle of Art’s arms, listening to the reassuring rhythm of his heartbeat. A smile played on her lips, and a song hummed in her mind.

She was… dare she say it, happy?

The happiest she had ever been.

If all the arguing, all the pushing and pulling, all the running they had done had led them here—to this moment—then perhaps it had all been worth it.

She loved him.

And now, lying on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath, she knew—this was how she wanted to spend all her days.

She wanted to be by his side. Always. And whatever hardships they encountered, they would face them together.

They had been kept apart for so long by circumstances beyond their control—she refused to let that continue.

She wasn’t the type to roll over and surrender the moment someone pointed a pistol at her. She was the type to fight. To take what she wanted by any means necessary.

Usually, that meant stealing.

And if she had to steal her marquess out of the country—so be it.