The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 6

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  "Oh, Lord, I’m sorry, I just couldn’t stop."

  "Neither can I," she said with a grin, adjusting her legs to cradle him against her hips.

  A few slight strokes had him stirring with ardour all over again. This time the pressure was not so terrifying, and rather than any terrible tearing sensation her body blossomed and gradually fitted itself to his.

  Sheathed so deeply, each could feel the other’s tumultuous pulse, and the sensation was so arousing she lifted her hips to get even closer. He shifted his weight ever so slightly, and she rammed her hips into his violently as he teased her tiny nubbin.

  "Oh, George, my love," she gasped, writhing under him with the most ecstatic joy until he was so hard once more he felt sure he was going to spilt her apart or explode. "George!"

  The pressure on his head and raphe was almost excruciating. Since he couldn’t move out, he could only press in. Locked together in this most torrid embrace, he concentrated every ounce of his being into her pleasure, the minuscule strokes sending her over the edge of the most gigantic cliff and into the sea of sensual bliss.

  Her nipples thrust upwards, begging for his kiss, and he angled his body to lick them, driving himself even further in.

  "Go on, darling, take it all," he urged, and she did so with a glad cry.

  The pressure in the base of his skull and deep inside his tightly-gathered pouch radiated outwards until he cupped her head for a kiss and ravished her with his mouth.

  "Miranda, oh, gods above, Miranda!"

  When he at last had another coherent thought, he was face down on the pillow, his full weight on top of Miranda. His arms and legs were spread-eagled as though he had been dropped from the clouds and attempted to fly. Well, he had certainly soared. The question was, had she?

  To his horror, he found her cheeks damp with tears. He tried to remove his crushing weight, but she clung onto him by his buttocks and said happily, "No, stay. Oh, George, it was wonderful. Just wonderful."

  "I didn’t hurt you?" he asked in relief.

  She smothered his face with kisses by way of reply.

  "Oh, thank God. You don’t hate me?"

  She looked at him with a blazing intensity that set him hardening all over again. "Never. Only because you didn’t just make love to me that first night, in The Three Bells. Or when I asked you to share my bed."

  "As early as that?" he asked in wonder.

  She nodded. "From the minute I saw you behind the curtain looking at me when I went to the theatre as an orange seller," she admitted with a glowing smile.

  Her body had shifted to accommodate him, and was now torridly damp with both their outpourings of desire. At last he could move within her, and teased her with a couple of long, languid strokes.

  Her eyelids flew wide. "Oh my, it’s different again."

  "And we’ve only tried two positions so far. There are hundreds more to explore," he said with a breathy laugh.

  "I know. My friends said they’d give me a useful book once I was married—"

  "Good Lord. What sort of friends!" he asked in outrage.

  "She’s a doctor. Her son too. To keep my husband happy in the marriage bed. You understand."

  George laughed at that mere notion. "No problem there. I’ve never been unfaithful to any woman, and a lifetime won’t be enough to make love to you in all the ways I wish to, Miranda, if you'll let me."

  "Yes. Yes, please. More, now."

  "Are you sure you're all right?"

  "More, please. It's been a revelation in ways I can't even start to tell you about," she said with absolute sincerity. "More, now."

  He alternated shallow and quick with deep and slow strokes until she began to quiver in his arms once more, her whole body tautening like a bow string waiting for release.

  "That’s right, darling, melt all over me. Oh, I love the way that feels."

  She shook her head, incredulous. "You can’t possibly—"

  "I can. Go on, do it again. Go on. Oh, gorgeous."

  When she had finished shimmering against him, he said, "Now I want you to feel me. Just try to lie still, feel what you do to me. Kiss me."

  She lifted her lips to his, and felt the full force of his climax unleashed within her. It was poignant and humbling, but not terrifying, for it was absurd to be frightened of something which was so completely a part of herself now.

  She felt George pouring his heart, soul, and essence into her, and she rose up to meet him, thrust for thrust, with an almost bone-crushing need. She had no idea where it came from within her, but it felt too marvelous to resist.

  George was stunned at the fierceness of her ardour and almost pulled away. But Miranda left him little choice except to go on as she wrapped her arms and legs around him as if she would never let him go, and gave full, unashamed voice to her pleasure with throaty cries.

  There was no pain here, and no falsehood. No one could pretend a reaction like that. His heart swelled with pride even as his manhood did once more. Now he was urged on to even greater feats of delight for the woman who completed him in every way.

  His hips pressed in deeper now he urged, "You need to come for me again, sweetheart. I can’t take my pleasure if you don’t."

  "Come?" she asked in a daze. "I just—"

  "Just let it go, my love. Open yourself to me. Come on, that’s it, travel along with it. Don’t fight the ecstasy."

  He didn't thrust and stroke his full length in order to try to keep her from growing sore, but the small movements of his hips were enough to poise her on the brink of still more heated desire. His voice grew more and more hoarse against her delicate ear as he nibbled it and coaxed her to climb to the pinnacle again.

  His hand between their sweat-soaked bodies was never still, caressing the front of her body and thumbing her pearl of pleasure. At last the most powerful molten sensations yet washed over her, knocking down every last vestige of the boundaries she had erected after her soul and body had been so wounded.

  Every part of their bodies touched as she arched up into his body with a wild cry. The delicate semi-circles of her nails now became lethal weapons of delight as she raked them down his back and buttocks, pulling him even tighter to her.

  Transported by a joy without compare she groaned and sobbed, and moved her hips to take him even deeper. "I want all of you too," she demanded, propelling him even further in.

  Another climax surged through George, though he fought to stay with her until her end. He could feel every hair on his body leap to attention. He was flooded with a pure bright white light, warm and comforting, yet scorchingly fierce and rousing. He sobbed her name and incoherent words of love and reverent awe.

  Just when he thought he could stand it no longer, she moved her hand again, cupping the underside of one buttock so that the angle of penetration was even more acute. In awe herself now at the incredible friction against her engorged flesh, she reached down in a vague attempt to get even closer. Her fingers lightly brushed his base and slid over his delicate orbs.

  George gasped and soared higher still. "Miranda!"

  She winged alongside him as she felt the thrust right up into her chest. With a desperate roar he convulsed around her once more, and she responded in kind. For surely his love for her was a total engulfment, a complete act of possession of her body, mind and soul, even as she took him deeply into her body and fused with his as one.

  George wept tears of real joy then, with some sense of loss too for all the years he had been surrounded by people, yet been so alone. He had been so preoccupied with looking for his brothers that he had never sought anything else for himself. Nor had he ever dreamed that such nirvana could exist.

  Like many a true pragmatist and cynic, he could see now that he had never believed true love could really ever happen to him, until he had clapped eyes on the most voluptuous orange wench his theatre had ever had the privilege to harbour.

  From there he had struggled with his feelings, refused to have faith. But now he had ha
d his conversion on the road to Damascus, and was ever ready to worship at his new-found shrine. For true love was most assuredly a gift worth treasuring and tending, even as the priests in the days of old had continually tended to the fires in the temples to keep them burning always.

  He had struck the spark now. With the right fuel and kindling, the flame of their love would burn brightly for the rest of their lives.

  He said all this and more to Miranda when he was finally able to catch his breath.

  She gave a slow sultry smile. "If it’s always going to be so blazing in intensity, we might need to take some time to gather more fuel and sustenance to keep up our strength. Perhaps a few nuts and berries in the woods, sir?"

  "I think we can manage that in our forest idyll. So long as you promise to perch on my branch whenever you like."

  She stared at him with unabashed admiration. "Gladly. It’s a fine piece of timber. In fact, it’s the finest yard I’ve ever seen, and I used to live by the sea."

  George laughed and kissed her lustily. "You are easily the most exciting and naturally sensual woman I’ve ever met. I just get so carried away it’s like I don’t even recognise myself. The way you feel under me, around me, the way you move beneath me. It’s like poetry in motion. I love you more with each passing minute we spend together like this.

  "And it will be terribly selfish of me to admit it, but I don’t want to share you with anyone right now. I just want to make the theatre, the whole world go away and stay here like this."

  He rolled off her at last and cradled her close against his side.

  She smiled and kissed him tenderly. "I know exactly what you mean. I adore the theatre, and it is of course really pleasant to be so popular and sought after. But every moment I can’t be alone with you is the most unbearable torture."

  "I tell you what. Let’s leave London for a time. Take a proper honeymoon," he suggested, almost giddy with delight.

  "And you can come meet my family."

  "I thought we were going to be alone?" he said almost petulantly.

  She had seen his face fall and nearly laughed, he looked so like a thwarted schoolboy. She had all to do not to cradle him to her bosom. "We will. We would just look in, tell them all is fine, and travel, well, wherever you liked."

  "No, darling, you’re right. I’m being selfish and unreasonable," he said with a sigh.

  "Not at all. I think you’re wonderful, my love. The best and kindest of men."

  His recovery from his momentary disappointment was swift. "Anything you want, just ask."

  She grinned as she ran her hands down him and lifted her mouth to his. "Don’t worry, darling, I shall. And as we've discovered, I’m nothing if not good with my tongue."

  "Mmm."

  "And you're certainly a master yourself. Who knew that such a talented actor could have such a way with, er, words."

  "They're all true, my love, every one of them," he vowed.

  "And more moving to me than any words of Shakespeare."

  "Oh, really? He does have an awful lot of fine speeches in his plays and marvelous words of love in his poems."

  She stroked down his chest. "He most assuredly does. I can hardly complain, since his marvelous words helped us to fall in love. But you speak from the heart as well as the mind, my love, and that's what makes what we share so beautiful. The trust, the intimacy. The sharing and building a life together. I'd seen it in my friend's marriages, or thought I had. What we share is at a whole new level, George, and as you say, it's both awe-inspiring and humbling."

  "No regrets, then," he asked softly, stroking down one bare shoulder.

  "Nay, not a one, except that I wish I had known more about my body, and yours."

  "I thought I knew something about women until I met you," he said with a laugh. "But you, my love, are beyond compare.

  She smiled at him in delight. "Oh, really? How am I different?" she teased, undulating her body against him so that no part of their flesh wasn't touching.

  "You're different because your naturally sensual, not putting it on to try to flirt or gain advantage with your body like other women. You have an inner power and strength that's rare, but I can see where it comes from. Your power is the power of love. You're kind, compassionate, and you do the right thing, even when people don't deserve your kindness and consideration. Above all, my darling, you're different because I have never, and will never, love anyone as much as I do you. Except possibly any children that might come along one day."

  "Oh, George, the words of a poet indeed," she said, moved beyond measure.

  "Speaking of which, my love, you know I couldn't pull away--"

  "It doesn't matter."

  "Even now, I could have already made you--"

  "It doesn't matter," she said even more firmly, and kissed him hard. When at last she lifted her lips, he was in no doubt as to her sincerity.

  "I want all of you, George, your babe in my belly one day too, if we're to be so blessed. But right now, I just want you, and the delight that we just shared. Stop worrying and just start feeling."

  "Look downwards, my love. I surely need no urging."

  She caressed him delightedly, enjoying the way his manhood surged into her hand. "what was that you said before about other positions?"

  "Come sit up here and find out," he said, patting his smooth, ridged stomach. "Now swing your leg over, that's right, oh my, perfect. Mmm, Miranda…."

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  George was sure he was paralysed with pleasure when he awoke late the next morning. With relief he realised Miranda had pinned him with her head on his abdomen, one arm thrown over him, her long dark chestnut hair cascading down over his throbbing loins.

  He felt as though he would explode as she nuzzled her cheek against him and sighed, and jerked away from her as she stuck out her tongue for a tentative taste.

  "Goodness—"

  She looked up at him in surprise. "It’s all right, isn’t it? I mean, you do it to me all the time and seem to enjoy it, and your anatomy appears rather less complicated than mine."

  "Well, er, it’s just, um— I don’t want you to feel you have to. And I have so little control."

  "I’m curious. I want to know everything there is to—"

  "Soon, darling. I need to know you better. I’m still worried I might do something incredibly insensitive and—"

  "Come here and kiss me."

  He gave her a chaste peck.

  "Now a real kiss." She opened her mouth under his, and before he knew it, it was two o’clock in the afternoon and he felt like he had been drained dry.

  "Good Lord in Heaven. Is that the time?" he gasped as he heard the nearby church bells chime. "Rehearsals—"

  "We’ll be fine. Just relax. The Tempest isn’t starting for another fortnight, and everything with Othello is fine. Let’s have a nice long bath, together," she said with a grin, "and then we can head to the theatre."

  "Are you sure? I mean, you're all right and—"

  "Come here, darling George, so I can show you…"

  They sported themselves joyously amongst the suds, and George couldn’t believe his luck. She was warm, willing, and so loving, his heart turned over every time she touched him.

  She was still shy about certain parts of his body, but he simply put his hands behind his head in the tub and let her have her way with him. As she did so, she told him the whole truth as she now understood it about what had happened to her at the hands of Oxnard and his friends.

  He was furious and horrified, but also relieved. "Oh, thank God. But then, I'm not surprised. Those sorts of men abuse women in order to get their excitement. It's power and control, not sex, with men like that."

  "And their, um, parts?"

  "It's more common than people think. I hear the girls make ribald remarks often enough about cocks that only crow but certainly can't make the hens happy."

  "Ah, so that's what they mean when they say that a man is all mouth and no trousers?" Miranda
guessed.

  George laughed uncomfortably. "Er, yes. I can see I'm going to have to keep you away from--"

  "Actually, I heard it at one of my sister's soirees," she said with a giggle, "so please don't blame our friends at The Three Bells.

  "Still, there are some things that should not be discussed--"

  "Well I for one am more than happy to. I had a lucky escape, for all the horrible things they did, and I just want to put it behind me. You were right, George. They were sick, depraved. It wasn't anything I ever did to incite them. They look for victims, prey on unsuspecting victims. They offer a seeming life of care and devotion and offer nothing but their baseness and more than unhappy hens. That poor wife of his. No wonder she ended up in Bedlam."