One taste of Jane, and John cursed his past self for having missed out on…her, for so long. She was intoxicating. Her taste and smell drugging—wildflowers in spring rains—as were the way she moved, gazed at him, her mind, her sounds…
Everything.
Even the way she tugged impatiently at his clothes whilst he kissed her, lost in everything she was. Jane trapped his arms with his shirt, and he tore himself from her to tear his clothes off. He was about to rejoin the voluptuous goddess—after a long moment of heated admiration, for them both—when his mind began functioning properly.
Damn.
‘I didn’t…come prepared, Jane,’ he said gravely, and she blinked, her mind slowly processing his meaning.
‘Ah,’ she grinned. ‘My…necessaries are in my room.’
‘Will the other maid still be occupied?’ Jane nodded. ‘Where?’
‘Bottom drawer of our dresser. Under the nightclothes.’
John leaned down and kissed her swiftly, before shrugging on his trousers again.
With a warning for her to lock the door, and only open to him, he made his way swiftly, thanking the Heavens for Miss Powell, and cursing himself for being ill-prepared.
Anticipation sweetens things…
After checking her room was indeed unoccupied, he retrieved her French letter, and—
Floorboards creaked above, and he frowned at the ceiling.
Creak, tap, tap.
There were thirty plausible explanations; none John could verify right now. And not solely because of the wonder waiting in his bed. Mentally noting to investigate the attic tomorrow, John took what he’d come for, and returned to Jane.
She let him in, and one glimpse of her greeting him naked, and it seemed nothing had interrupted them. Capturing her lips, he devoured her, somehow passing her the French letter, locking the door, and guiding them back to bed, where he divested himself.
Sitting on the edge of the mattress, Jane admired him for a moment, and he preened somewhat, though his eyes closed seconds later, when she took care of sheathing him. From there…
It was a frenzied, sensual melting of sense and pleasure. Their bodies rode and slid, swept and rolled, writhed and bucked, in erotic symphony. He felt… They’d melded together, in flesh, mind, and spirit. When he surged inside of her, and they locked eyes, it was like…he’d come home. He poured all he had into her, his need, fear, care, and something which made his heart…glow. Until they both cried in ecstasy, seizing, then slumping against one another in a dizzying haze.
Whatever the future brought, John knew he’d found something miraculous with Jane, and nothing would take it from him.
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