Catherine cried out at the sudden, forceful intrusion, but she was accepting and accommodating, not truly affected or hurt. She held fast to the bedpost and let it anchor her in place. She wanted more of him to penetrate her; she wanted to feel him even deeper inside her. He was holding back now, taking shallow, quick stabs to acquaint her with his length before going deep and filling her completely. With each thrust, with each slap of his thighs against her backside, she inched her clasped hands down, toward the carpet, and poked her bottom out, until ten wet, loud slaps of skin later, she was bent from the waist, her hands holding the bedpost close to its base. Bent in half, with her head nearly on the floor, she stood on tiptoes, straining to push up against his forceful down thrusts, meshing her bottom as tight to his groin as she could. He sped up, pulled her to him with hands tight on her hips, his fingers gripping her and bracing her against him. Then one long arm encircled her waist, pulling her upright as his other hand reached down, and with the flat side of three long fingers, he engaged her engorged nub in a brisk series of spanks. She arched back against him to give him better access, then keened his name and collapsed on the end of the bed when he briskly rubbed her enflamed clitoris and decimated her. His hand, caught between her and the bed, continued to massage and press into her as she shuddered and drenched his hand while her vagina pulsed all around him.
Her contractions were so strong he couldn’t move within her body, her grip on him so profound and so absolute that he had no choice but to gasp, arch his neck, throw back his head, and cry out at the ceiling as he spilled deep inside her.
He fell over her onto her back and together they felt their spasms convey one to the other until the tremors finally died and only the pulse of their heartbeats remained, him feeling hers through his hand on her chest, her feeling his through her spine.
“There are no words,” he whispered against her neck.
“You roared,” she murmured against the counterpane.
“Did I?”
“Like a lion.” She sounded pleased, maybe even smug.
“I do feel very much like a king right now, one who just had every single desire granted.”
“You were most magnificent, mon lion,” she breathed.
“You are incredibly agile, my she-devil. You were nearly bent in half, yet still you stayed with me, fitting yourself into each thrust like a soft kidskin glove that surrounded me, and God, when you gripped me, I lost all control. You destroyed me.”
“I sincerely hope not,” she said as she turned her head to look back at him over her shoulder.
He gave her an uneasy look, “You’re not
saying . . .”
“Indeed I am. Again, please.”
He groaned. And then laughed as he began to tickle her along her sides. “The night is new, wife. The moon not even fully risen. Lie with me until I am recovered and I will attempt to lay waste to you as well.”
She smiled as he climbed off of her and then lifted her to the head of the bed. He tucked her against the pillows and pulled the covers up over them. “I will hold you to it.”
Her wicked smile made his chest stutter. God, how he loved this woman.
He smiled and kissed her on the nose. He had never been happier in his life. “I love you, Catherine. I would never have imagined a night such as this just a few short months ago.”
“Nor I,” she said. “I would never have imagined I could love another man so fiercely and so completely after losing Thomas.”
“We are blessed to have found each other. Who would have imagined this outcome from you coming to give succor to my son?”
“Speaking of that beautiful boy, I hear him stirring. I should go pat his back, or top him for the night.” She moved to slide out of the bed.
He gripped her waist and pulled her back to his chest. “You stay here, I will get him for you.”
When he returned with Jonathan, after having changed his wet nappy, she was asleep on her side, looking like a goddess enjoying a peaceful, well-deserved slumber. He tucked Jonathan into her side and turned his cheek into her full breast. He watched, fascinated as his son found what he sought and settled in for a nightcap. Thorne leaned on his elbow and admired them both, believing himself to be the luckiest man alive.
About the Author
Jacqueline DeGroot lives in Sunset Beach, North Carolina with her husband Bill. When she takes a break from writing, she enjoys riding her bike on the beach, lounging at the pool, and catching up on her TBR (to be read) pile. This year she “outed” herself as one of the helpers for The Kindred Spirit Mailbox on Bird Island at Sunset Beach. You can check out pictures of her replenishing and collecting the journals on her Facebook or website pages. She loves to hear from readers, you can contact her at:
www.jacquelinedegroot.com
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