Veronica was mindless. She couldn’t talk, couldn’t think, could only move her hips in time to his thrusts while she struggled for the release she knew he could give her, the release she wanted so badly.

Gasps hitching in her throat, she bit his neck, sucking on the slightly salty skin while his finger moved between them again to rub her in the spot where she wanted it most.

God. What had he just said to her? He’d wanted her for so long? That was hot. She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit she’d wanted him, too. That she’d laid in bed alone at night at Edgefield Hall, remembering the nights he’d made her body come alive. The way he’d touched her, stroked her, licked her, kissed her until she was a quivering mass of need in his arms and then he’d released her. Let her soar among the clouds, shivers racking her body while he stroked into her and took his own pleasure. She’d missed it. Blast it. She’d missed this. She’d wanted him for so long, too.

“Cum for me, Veronica,” he growled in her ear. “Say my name,” he demanded.

The pressure built between her legs as he pumped into her and rubbed her until Veronica was a mindless, panting mess. Her thighs quivered, her knees clamped tightly against his hips, and she was making tiny sobs in the back of her throat. “Yes. Yes. Yes,” she breathed against his neck over and over before letting her head fall back. And with a keening cry, she called his name while the exquisite feeling overtook her, and her legs trembled before she went limp.

“I’m sorry, love. I can’t…stop,” he groaned, pumping into her one last time, and growling her name against her rumpled hair before falling to a spent heap atop her.

Chapter Seven

Sebastian propped the pillow behind his head and frowned at the far wall of the bedchamber. Immediately after they’d made love, Veronica had called for a bath and disappeared into the next room while the footmen brought up steaming buckets of water. She couldn’t even stand to remain in the same room with him while the bath was prepared.

Damn it. He wasn’t proud of himself. His performance in bed just now especially. He’d behaved like an untried schoolboy. He hadn’t been with a woman—with Veronica—for over two years. And even though he’d told himself repeatedly on the journey here that he would have to think of something else, anything else, in order to control himself, the first time he touched her, the moment his fingers met her soft skin, all of his good intentions flew from his mind. He’d been overcome with lust, completely out of control. It had been far too long.

Veronica had enjoyed herself. He knew that much. She might think the worst of him, but she’d wanted him. She couldn’t fake the wetness between her legs or the moans she’d made deep in her throat, and when he’d asked her if she wanted him, he’d seen the truth deep in her dark eyes. And then he’d made her come apart with his finger. He smiled to himself. He’d wanted to do it with his tongue, but there’d be time for that later. Oh, yes. That had been the best part. The way her thighs had quivered. The way her knees had clamped him. The way she’d tossed back her head and raked her fingers through his hair. He could feel the need building inside of her and when she’d found her release, she hadn’t been faking that. He could tell she’d found pleasure beneath his touch. They might be estranged, but he wasn’t such a scoundrel that he’d forced himself on a woman who didn’t truly want him.