House of Trent 01.5 - His for Christmas

by Jennifer Haymore

She gripped the blankets and dug her heels into the mattress, gritting her teeth so she wouldn’t scream.

  His movements sent a flush of pleasure through her that grew as he increased the intensity. He pumped his fingers into her deeper while his tongue circled her sensitized outer flesh. Soon, she thrashed on the bed, completely lost to pleasure.

  It built and built until she was mindless with need. And when she thought she wouldn’t be able to tolerate it for a second longer, she exploded on his fingers and over his tongue. Her body went rigid as her muscles contracted then released and the orgasm washed through her in deep, sweet waves that extended to the tips of her fingertips and toes.

  His movements gentled as she floated down from it. Finally, he removed his fingers and mouth from her still-pulsing center. She was only half aware of him moving over her limp, languid body.

  “I need to be inside you. Now.” The words were growled with such intensity her eyes opened, and she gazed up into his face, all harsh lines, thinned lips, and narrowed eyes. His desire for her was thick, a near-tangible force that resonated from his body.

  Her own body responded, flaring back to awareness, to arousal almost immediately.

  Without delaying another second, he pushed into her, deep and hard. She arched up with a gasp as he filled her, her body instinctively meeting his powerful thrust.

  She wrapped her arms around him, feeling him everywhere. As a deep shudder resonated through his body, he pulled almost all the way out then surged into her again.

  Their gazes locked. She gazed into those brown eyes, and love surged through her. She adored the way he looked, how his features were formed and how they were put together, how his jaw was rough with his dark afternoon beard, the inherent maleness and strength of his body.

  She loved the way he looked at her, the way he talked to her, the way he’d so thoughtfully taken care of her needs and seen to her pleasure since she’d encountered him on the road. She loved the way he was gentle yet so powerful and masculine at the same time.

  His movements slowed, then stilled as he studied her below him, still ensnaring her with his gaze.

  “What is it, Amelia?” he asked, his voice rough with barely contained passion.

  “I…” she whispered. But what to say? How to finish?

  How could she go from an innocent love to despising him so thoroughly to…this?

  And what was “this”? If what she’d felt for Evan at the age of sixteen was love, what was this? This was…more. More physical, more carnal, but also somehow deeper.

  How was it possible to feel more for him now, after a seven-year separation in which they’d both changed, ultimately become different people?

  She didn’t know how it had happened. But it had. She loved him.

  Her eyelids slammed shut against the surge of fear.

  She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t love him and risk something similar to what had happened last time. His words had destroyed her so thoroughly it had taken her years to rebuild herself. She couldn’t allow that to happen again.

  His expression softened, and he lowered himself until his face was scant inches from hers. “Me too, Amelia,” he whispered, moving gently, sending skittering darts of sweet pleasure through her body. “Me too.”

  Chapter Five

  Evan pressed inside her, making slow, sweet love to her. The expression on her face—hell, if he could bottle it and save it forever, he would. It wasn’t only her beauty, though her beauty spoke to him on a hot, carnal level. It was the way she looked at him. It was the sweetness in her blue eyes, the trust she offered him. It was her forgiveness.

  He pushed his hand into her hair, the silky strands sliding over his fingertips. He surged into her, and the tips of her rounded breasts stroked his chest, making him groan softly.

  He moved downward, circling the shell of her ear with his fingers then feathering them over her jaw before moving lower until he cupped the side of one of her breasts. She filled his hand completely, the flesh warm, soft, and plump.

  “So lovely,” he murmured, then rounded his back and bent down to encircle his lips around the taut peak of her nipple, suckling her tender flesh as he continued the rhythmic penetration of her body. Her back bowed as she arched into him, pressing herself deeper into his mouth.

  She was so responsive to him. Her body clasped around him, a tight, perfect fit.

  Everything about her roused him, reawakened him, and told him in no uncertain terms that she was what he’d been looking for.

  This was heaven—the way her body squeezed over him, the way his body slid through her welcoming heat. The way her breast filled his hand and her nipple grew so taut under his lips.

  His ballocks contracted tight. His cock seemed to expand within her. All his muscles grew tense, and a ball of heat coalesced deep within him inside the base of his spine.

  He was going to come. And God, how desperately he wanted to come inside her. He wanted to make her his in a way he’d made no other woman his own, pour himself into her, plant his seed deep into her womb.

  Instead, he surged up then yanked out of her, and gritting his teeth against shouting with the pleasure of it, he came onto her leg while she held him, her arms tight bands around him.

  He buried his face against her neck, burrowing beneath all that silky blond hair, and nuzzling against her tender skin. When he felt his evening beard rasping against her, he pulled up.

  “Sorry,” he murmured.

  She turned to face him, her gaze replete with satisfaction. “Hm?”

  “Sorry if I scratched you. With my beard.”

  She gave a lazy smile. “I like how it feels against me. It’s rough…”

  “I see.” His grin turned sly. “Do you like it rough, Lady Amelia?”

  He watched the flush rush over her skin. She pressed her lips together and didn’t respond, but her eyes glowed, and he knew he was right.

  Just like that, he was hard again.

  * * *

  “Amelia, love. Wake up.”

  Amelia peeled her unwilling eyelids open forcefully, then she smiled as she saw Evan gazing down at her, a hint of concern in his dark eyes.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Mmm,” she murmured. She yawned, then moved her body experimentally. She was slightly sore in her muscles and her core, but it was a pleasant kind of soreness, wrought by pleasure. “I am all right. In fact, I feel wonderful. I haven’t had such a good night’s sleep in…years, it feels like.”

  Amelia had lost track of the number of times they’d made love. She couldn’t get enough of Evan, of his touch, his kiss, his body. Enough of the feeling he gave her when he was braced over her and thrusting powerfully inside her. And the wicked pleasure it gave her when he turned her over and entered her from behind, touching parts inside her that made her whimper and squirm. Or when he lay on his back and settled her over him, whispering roughly, “Ride me, Amelia.”

  Evan’s concern gave way to a smile. Stretching, Amelia sat up in bed and glanced out the window above the bed. She could see nothing but dreary gray.

  “What time is it?”

  “A little after seven.”

  “Has the weather improved?”

  “It has. It’s stopped snowing, although there is a considerable amount of snow on the ground.”

  “Too much for us to travel?”

  “In a carriage—yes. But”—his eyes twinkled—“I’ve borrowed a sleigh.”

  “A sleigh!” She clapped her hands together at her chest. “How wonderful!”

  He leaned down and cupped her head in his hands. Tenderness suffused his expression as he said, “Merry Christmas Eve, Amelia.”

  She reached up to wrap her arms around him, and he kissed her gently, his lips warm and dry. The touch of his lips sent sizzles through her, deep into her womb, reawakening her body and reminding it of all the sensual pleasures he could give.

  But he pulled away. “I brought you breakfast. We should leave as soon as you’re d
one. I want to get you home in time for dinner with your family.”

  * * *

  Evan leaned against the door, watching Amelia gather the few things she’d brought into the tiny room. She carefully folded the last item, the nightgown she’d worn only briefly last night, and placed it into the valise. She closed it with a snap, then turned to face him. She smiled. “There. I’m ready.”

  He nodded, but he didn’t move.

  Damn. He wanted to take her home, because that was what she wanted. Because she was worried about her family and because she wanted to be with them for Christmas.

  But in this room, in this tiny space, she belonged to him. Once they left it, she would no longer be his. Out there, in the real world, she had her own life, a life which was quite separate from his own.

  She gazed at him with those guileless blue eyes. She wore a high-waisted, long-sleeved white dress with dark gray ribbons trimming it, and a gauzy fichu tucked in to the neckline.

  He wanted to take the dress off her. He wanted to expose all her creamy skin to his hungry gaze. He wanted to keep her naked, in this bed, for the rest of winter.

  He took a shaky breath, the warring desires within him too powerful.

  “Should we go?” she asked softly.

  He shook his head. No, they shouldn’t go. They should stay…

  But she needed to be with her family for Christmas.

  He closed his eyes. Arousal thrummed in his blood. This could be the end of his time with Amelia. This erotic, intense, concentrated time in which they’d bared all to each other. Once they left, she might return to that cold, aloof, impenetrable woman he’d found on the snowy side of the road.

  His last chance. To be with her. To have her.

  “Turn around,” he said gruffly.

  She gazed at him for a split second longer, and then she turned.

  His blood heated instantly. She hadn’t questioned him. Just did as he’d commanded.

  The ostlers were out front with the horses, awaiting his and Amelia’s exit from the inn. Evan only had a few minutes before one of them came looking for him.

  He closed the distance between the two of them with one step. He ran his hands down her back, over the buttons of her dress, but he didn’t remove them. She stood very still as his hands floated down her sides and he gloried in the feminine indentations and curves of her waist and hips. He stopped there, hands resting on the flare of her hips, and bent forward to kiss the skin exposed on her neck between two curling blond tendrils.

  His hands slid around to her front. He tugged her back tightly against him, then glided his palms upward until he cupped the rounded curve of her breasts over the stiff fabric of her stays. Her breath caught, then released in a whoosh.

  His cock pressed against her lower back, stiff as an iron rod. He knew she could feel it. He felt her surrender in her ragged breaths, in the way she pushed back against him, telling him she wanted this just as much as he did.

  “We need to go,” he murmured against the silky skin of her neck. “The sleigh is waiting for us outside.”

  “Yes.”

  “But first I want you one more time.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Take me, Evan. Take me one more time.”

  He bent down and grabbed her skirts in his fists. “Bend forward. Place your hands flat on the bed.”

  She did as she was told without hesitation, and Evan’s pulse jumped.

  He flipped her skirts up over her behind, exposing the pale, rounded flesh of her bottom. She wore no undergarments above the ribbon garters of her silk stockings.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured. He touched her warm, soft skin, cupping her buttocks in his palms. He couldn’t get enough of touching her. He couldn’t stop.

  She wiggled against him, gasping.

  He bent down and pressed a kiss to her lower back as his hands went to his falls. He quickly undid his trousers. His cock was so hard it hurt. He needed to be inside her.

  He pressed against her again, bare now, and brought his hand around her front, sliding his fingers between her legs.

  “You’re already wet for me, Amelia.”

  “Yes.” She squirmed against him as he caressed her there, paying special attention to stroking those secret places he’d learned drove her mad with desire.

  His own desire was a thick heat inside him, burning, craving. Demanding to be inside her. He closed his eyes against it, his fingers sliding through her slick heat. “I…need you,” he said on a groan.

  She arched her back, pressed wantonly against his hand, letting him know in no uncertain terms that she needed him, too.

  Using his other hand, he tilted her bottom up then positioned his cock at her entrance. Gritting his teeth, he pushed inside slowly. God, she was so tight. So tight and so hot.

  Pleasure stormed through him. He gripped her hip as he slid out then into her again. She slammed back against him, and together they built an intense, powerful rhythm, crushing her skirts between their bodies.

  This woman undid him. Unraveled the knots that had bound him so tightly for so long and set him free. She was special. She was his.

  He gripped her hips and took her. Took what was his. What he never intended to let go.

  And she took him, too. She took his heart, his soul. Everything that was his now belonged to her. He couldn’t let her go. Never again.

  Her channel squeezed him, tighter and tighter until he knew he was close to exploding. No, not yet. She was gasping, squirming beneath him, her hands fisting the counterpane, her cheek pressed into the mattress, her lips parted in rapture.

  And then she threw her head back, her back arching as she squeezed him so tight he needed to pour all his concentration into not coming inside her. Her orgasm ran through her in powerful shudders, her body undulating beneath him, her channel rippling over his cock. He gripped her hips and gritted his teeth, seeing her through it.

  It went on and on, her body spasming in pleasure as she cried out her release. She came down slowly, and only when she had sunk back down onto the bed and was quivering beneath him did he know he could move again.

  Now.

  He moved inside her frantically, each ripple of her pleasure sending shards of delight through his own body. Moments later, with a harsh groan, he pulled out. He came against the softness of her bottom, his body heaving with the force of it. His orgasm was as long and as powerful as hers. When it was over, he leaned over her and rested his palms heavily against the bed. Languidly, he kissed the back of her neck again, then forced himself up.

  She lay limply as he fixed his trousers then took a towel and cleaned her off. He settled her skirts back over her bottom and smoothed them out.

  “Amelia?”

  “Hmmm?” She still hadn’t moved.

  “Are you ready?”

  She turned her head to face him, resting her cheek on the bed. Her eyes shone with pleasure and her lips curved into a smile. “I don’t think I can move. I think I need to stay flopped over the end of the bed until I regain my strength. Tomorrow, perhaps.”

  “I could carry you.”

  She gave a soft laugh. “Can you imagine if the Duke of Dunsberg saw you carrying me to the sleigh? The gossip would follow us to our graves.” With a pained sigh, she heaved herself up. She stood, swaying at bit, her hands patting her hair. “I feel like I’ve just been tumbled.”

  He smirked. “You have.”

  Her blue eyes focused seriously on him. “Will everyone see? How will I hide it?”

  He shook his head, still smiling. “You look beautiful. That’s all they’ll see, Amelia. They won’t know what just happened.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” Turning to the door, he took a deep breath. Here in this room, things had been simple. She’d been his; he’d been hers. The world outside was much more complicated.

  He opened the door and looked both ways down the corridor before gesturing her out. She stepped out and led the way to the sleigh
, where the ostlers scowled at them, irritated at being left out in the cold with the horses for so long.

  The sleigh contained only two seats, but Evan was fine with that, because he’d wanted his driver to stay behind anyhow, so that he could follow with the carriage as soon as the weather improved. That meant that Amelia’s coachman would need to stay behind as well, but there was no avoiding that.

  “My family lives but a mile from here,” John had told Amelia when she’d relayed the news to him. “I can walk home and spend Christmas with them, if it pleases you, milady.”

  Amelia had been pleased, and had encouraged him to be safe and to have a wonderful Christmas with his family.

  So it had worked out well for everyone, it seemed.

  Bundled up in a massive amount of furs with a foot warmer heated with coal at their feet, they rode out of the village of Postcombe just after nine o’clock in the morning. The sky was still gray, though it hadn’t started to snow again, but the world was a glorious, pristine white.

  Amelia snuggled up against him, warm and soft as he took up the reins. Not for the first time, he wondered how it would feel to have her pressed up against him like this every day of his life.

  He’d love it. And he wanted it. He doubted he’d ever have enough of Lady Amelia’s sweetness.

  As they left Postcombe behind, Amelia breathed out in awe, “Oh, Evan, isn’t it beautiful?”

  It was stark, quiet, clean. No footprints or carriage ruts marred the rolling expanses of snow. Bare of their leaves, the trees stood like silent sentinels, drops of melting snow glimmering on their branches.

  Christmas. A time for family, and for new beginnings. As the miles stretched between them and Postcombe, and they spent the hours alternating between easy silence and conversation, Evan resolved that this Christmas would be a new beginning for them both. It was finally time for him and Amelia to come together, to spend the rest of their lives together as partners, friends, lovers…and as husband and wife.

  As they drew within a few miles of Cheltham House, Amelia snuggled even closer to him.

  “I wonder what Mama and Papa will think?”