Coming? Sweet Mother of God, he was close, as well. Grasping her hips, he showed her how to move to rub that spot high inside her. Her lids fell and she braced her hands on his stomach, rolling her pelvis over his. The friction made him dizzy, her walls surrounding him, massaging him. When she started moving faster, he rubbed her clitoris again, desperate for her to climax first.

Her rhythm soon faltered, so he began thrusting upward, keeping up the pressure, until she quivered around his shaft. Nails dug into his stomach and her body trembled. He watched her face through it all, this flawless creature who humbled him with her adventurous spirit and bold nature. He needed to make her come a thousand more times just to see if her expression changed for each orgasm.

The pressure on his cock overwhelmed him. He was coming then, too, the world exploding in colors all around him, a sky of warmth and light that bathed him in contentment. A respite from his bleak and gloomy thoughts.

She dropped onto his chest and burrowed closer. He was still inside her, his body clinging to the tiny aftershocks of serenity. Real life would intrude soon enough. For now, he had her in his bed and that was all that mattered.

“Happy birthday, my dearest granddaughter.”

Florence hugged her grandmother. This evening the entire Greene family was gathering for Easter dinner. They had spent the morning at church then joined nearly all of society in a promenade along Fifth Avenue. It was an excuse for ladies to show off their new hats and Easter dresses, the men their top hats and tails. The tradition was Mama’s favorite, one her three daughters were not allowed to miss. “Granny, my birthday is in two days.”

“True, but it’s never too early to shower my favorite grandchild with love.”

“You shouldn’t say that. Mamie and Justine may overhear you.”

Granny pulled back and patted Florence’s cheek. “I would hate to hurt their feelings, though I don’t think either of them would be surprised should they learn of my preference.”

Probably not. Linking her arm with her grandmother’s, Florence started down the corridor. The rest of the family had already settled in the grand salon used for more formal occasions. Florence liked to enjoy a quiet moment with just her grandmother.

The past week had been a flurry of lessons with Clay, sleeping with Clay, lying to her parents and thinking about Clay. In other words, quite busy. “When you first met Grandfather, did you believe your marriage would turn out happily?”

“Heavens, no. The betrothal was arranged by my father and I cried for two days. I fancied myself in love with someone else.”

Florence gasped. “I’ve never heard this story. Who was this young swell thrown aside for Grandfather?”