But she practiced some of that willpower he’d just mentioned and whispered against his lips, “No.”
“Yes.”
“No, I want you inside me.”
He groaned and was so quick to accommodate her, she barely had time to wrap her arms tightly around him before he slid smoothly inside her. Oh, God, the heat of him, the fullness, the amazing length that went so deep. There was no stopping it that time, she was utterly consumed by that incredibly sweet pleasure that went on and on and was still throbbing around him when he reached his own orgasm.
She held him dearly to her, her rogue, her husband, her love. “Anytime, anywhere, ask, and I am yours,” she thought she heard him say, and she smiled dreamily, but she was still blissfully savoring the aftermath of their pleasure too much to respond more than that. He’d moved half to the side of her to get the bulk of his weight off her, leaving his other half draped over her, a leg over her hips, his arm tight across her chest, his lips by her neck, brushing her skin with feather-soft kisses.
“So it’s not my imagination? You do love me, too?” he asked.
Rebecca had to get her head out of the clouds for that question. She moved her head back so she could see his face. Had he been dying to ask her that? Because he looked so positive, she feigned a stern look. “Really, you don’t deserve to hear that.”
“You’re right,” he agreed, though he wasn’t agreeing at all, he was exuding far too much confidence.
So she added, “Should I try to convince you it’s just your beautiful face I’m in love with? Yes, I think I should.”
“Good God, don’t do that!” he exclaimed, then sighed. “Very well, that I deserved. And you’re the only woman who can get away with saying that, you know, but, please, let that be the last time. I’m not beautiful, Becca. Only women are.”
“On the contrary.” She gave him a most tender look. “Angels are, too.”
He groaned and rolled her under him again. “I’m not an angel, either. Angels don’t have carnal thoughts like these.” He kissed her deeply.
She certainly didn’t give it another thought. Instead she found out what it was like making love with this man without controversy between them, when emotions weren’t frayed, when love guided their hands, their thoughts, their hearts, filling them with the most profound happiness.
When she came up for breath a while later, she said, “Oh my. I never thought I’d say I’m so very glad you’re a rogue instead of an angel. But I suppose it’s all right as long as you’re my rogue.”
Johanna Lindsey, A Rogue of My Own
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