Lady Northam's Wicked Surrender

An hour later, Rowena was in bed, although peaceful rest proved elusive. She patted her pillow and turned on her side for the hundredth time. How many days would it take Simon to arrive? Would she manage to get through her visit without having to see him at all?

And, if she did see him, what would she say? Could she ask him the question that had burned for so many years in her heart? Why did you abandon me?

She still couldn’t fathom the answer. He’d promised to write to her when he’d gone off to the War in Spain. She thought he intended to propose upon his return, but instead he’d never contacted her at all. His best friend, Paul, convinced her that Simon was a rake, never the type to settle down. That she was one of many conquests. She’d been devastated. Their two months of courtship had been nothing more than an amusement to him. By the time he’d returned to England over a year and a half later, she’d agreed to marry Paul.

Now he was coming back, threatening to turn her entire world upside down again. Could she survive it a second time?

Sighing, she shifted and turned her body to the opposite side. It had been so long since she’d seen him at the wedding. Only a few weeks afterward, he’d taken another post in India. Rowena wondered how he looked now. Did he still wear his sideburns short and neatly trimmed? Was he as tall as she remembered?

With a loud sigh, she turned on her back and stared at the ceiling, invisible in the pitch-dark room. Barely a sliver of light shown through the curtains at the window. There was nothing to distract her from her thoughts. As much as she dreaded seeing him, she couldn’t help her curiosity. A part of her wanted to see his face, to stand beside his tall, muscular frame and—and—What? Yell at him? Strike his cheek? Kiss him? She wanted to…

Sleep. Rowena’s eyelids were heavy and she couldn’t keep them open any longer. Exhaustion overpowered her thoughts, and she fell into a deep sleep, filled with vivid dreams.

Warmth spread over her, across her chest, down her arms and thighs. Despite the chill in the air, Rowena twisted in the blankets, her body flushed all over. Her mind lost in the dream.

She was lying down in her chemise and a tall, broad shouldered man was coming towards her intently. He climbed into the bed and lightly gripped her sides. Little trickles of electricity spread through her skin.

When his fingers spread wide and stroked her from her belly all the way up to her breasts, she forgot to breathe. He palmed them firmly and she wondered what it would be like to have him touch her without the fabric in between.

The man’s touch was bold, hungry and she arched into it, her body curving like a bowstring. Tension spread down to her thighs and she longed for him to push them apart. He leaned down in the darkness and she gripped his hair, pulling him toward her. Their mouths fused and a heady rush went through her as his tongue laved hers, filling her even as he demanded complete control.

He pinned her arms to her sides and she melted under him, pliant and willing. Something about the way he stroked his tongue over hers, the low sound he made, stirred a memory inside her.

Rowena looked into the eyes of the man leaning over her and in the darkness, recognized them. Simon. In her dream, he was as she remembered. Intense blue-gray eyes, a strong jaw and a taut muscular chest that she’d always longed to touch.

Before she could speak, he pinched her nipple and rolled it between his fingers. “Ah!” A sharp twinge of pain gave way to exquisite pleasure, which snaked its way down to pool at the juncture of her thighs. He took his time, teasing and pinching, the rough pads of his fingertips grazing her skin in a delicious fashion. Her lower belly clenched under the onslaught.

With ragged breaths, she watched as he freed her breast to suckle it. Though she was now free to move her arms again, she stayed still. The chilly night air spread over her puckered nipple when he lifted his head. She shivered in response.

“I missed you,” he whispered, then lifted her thighs and spread her legs open. He ran his hands under the chemise now, stroking her skin where he had never explored before. The sensation of being spread before him caused a pearl of moisture to drip from her cleft. Her sex squeezed in anticipation. Why hadn’t they done this years ago?

Simon unfastened his breeches. When he lowered himself again, she gripped his shoulders and leaned up to take his mouth. Their tongues danced in a slow rhythm that sent fissures down her spine and warmed her pussy.

She’d longed for this. Waited for years to have his body draped over hers. The solid weight made her feel secure, the way the hard planes of his chest rested over hers made her snuggle underneath him. Her nipples scratching against the fabric between them sent another surge of desire through her.

His mouth moved from her lips, trailing down to lick the edge of her ear before he bit gently on the lobe. His hand reached between her thighs to stroke her sensitive flesh. The feel of his rough thumb over the slick folds made her shudder.

“Simon!”

She needed him to take her. It all seemed so foolish now. The years apart, the waiting, the anger, the unrequited desire that buried itself deep within her soul. She’d always wanted Simon. If only reality could have been as good as this dream.

Simon’s finger breeched her opening, slid deep inside. Her muscles squeezed over him, sucking him in.

Her head rolled back and she moaned his name again.