Arthur slipped one finger inside the gorgeous woman spread before him. “You’re so wet. So hot,” he murmured, his dark head bent over her. He curled his finger toward her pubic bone, finding her G-spot and pressing lightly. Her gasp told him he’d hit his own bull’s-eye. He slipped a second finger inside her. Already her clit was swelling, flowering under his gaze. Her torso was still mostly covered by the soft wool sweater, and with her head thrown back he couldn’t see her face, but he’d spent enough time watching her last night that he could imagine her expression.

Her eyes would be closed, her lips smiling slightly. She was so damn polite, even in bed, that she smiled with closed lips as her pleasure began. But when it mounted, she lost all her manners and bucked and moaned like a wild woman.

He was looking forward to taking her to that place. Just the thought had his prick feeling as hard as the oak she was sitting on.

He leaned forward and touched her with his tongue. She must have been expecting it, but maybe not quite yet, so he felt her hips jerk forward, pressing her more deeply against his mouth. He took her up, following her rhythm when she began thrusting her hips against his mouth and fingers, licking, teasing, and finally sucking on her as her passion grew hotter. Her lips swelled until they were as hard as his cock, her honey was flowing, and the sounds she was making were wild.

“I’m going to…I’m going to…”

“I know,” he said against her damp flesh.

And then she did. He held her hips and licked her from the outside, rubbed her from the inside until she exploded in his arms, against his mouth. And then, with a final cry, she slumped, limp and pulsing against him.

Her legs were draped over his shoulders, her thighs trembling with reaction. He kissed them, so white, the skin so soft, even softer now that she’d come.

She pushed herself up to sitting, her eyes still unfocused, her mouth swollen and moist. “I want you inside me,” she said, her voice passion-rough.

Not something he needed to be told twice.

He’d stuffed a couple of rubbers in his pocket before closing time, so he unzipped, dropped his drawers, and was ready in seconds.

There was nothing elegant about the pose, but he didn’t care and he doubted she did, either. He lifted her carefully down, keeping his hands on her ass and her thighs still splayed. She put her arms around his neck and he slid her, soft and open and hot, right onto his burning cock.

She opened her mouth on his, kissing him deeply as they started to move. Her legs wrapped around his waist and he buried himself deeper, driving up and into her while she clutched him, the echoing pulses of her orgasm stroking him like damp fingers.

He wanted her to climax again before he let go, but he was so hot, so horny, so absolutely desperate that he wasn’t certain he could make it. She surrounded him, her scent, her taste, the feel of her, so hot and eager and agile, and the little sounds she was making against his mouth were the last straw.

He pulled her away, giving them both a second of anticipation, then let go so she slid down the length of him, deep and hard.

Once more, twice, and the climax built, uncontrollable, unstoppable within him. As he groaned into her mouth, he felt her own wild tremors and let go completely.

It seemed like days later when he could see again. His chest burned as though he’d run a bloody marathon. She was on her feet, but they clung together still, leaning against the bar and panting. His legs were trembling, his trousers were around his ankles. He must look a right fool, but at the moment, he couldn’t have cared less.

She straightened and began looking down at the floor. When she spotted her knickers in a dainty heap, she bent down, giving him a view of the nicest ass he’d ever been privileged to see.

He reached out and rubbed the gorgeous, fleshy curve. “Come back to my place,” he said.

She stepped into her panties and then dragged on her jeans.

When she turned back to him, her face still wore the glow of recent pleasure.

“If I leave your home in the morning, won’t people be suspicious?”

“I hate to tell you this, but when I left Stag Cottage this morning I bashed straight into Max. I told her I’d been changing that bloody lightbulb in the lounge that keeps burning out, but I’m not sure she believed me.”

Meg bit her lip, her face reddening.

“I’m sorry, love, I should have had a doss out the window before I blundered out the front door at ten in the morning.”

But instead of consternation or embarrassment, which he was expecting, Meg burst out laughing. “I told her you were over fixing the faucet in the bathroom, the one that sticks.”

“And when I got home, my buttons were done up all wrong.”

She laughed louder, holding onto the bar for support. Suddenly, he found himself joining her. “So,” he said at last, “do you think she’s guessed anything’s up?”

“Totally, she called me on it. But, you know, she’s really excited. She thinks she made the match.”

“Do you mind very much?”

“Of course not. I’ll be leaving in a couple of months. It doesn’t matter to me.”

She’d be leaving, of course, but not for a good while yet, so he put the notion of loss out of his mind. “I want you to come to my house. I want to make love to you in my bed and sleep beside you all night.”

“Will we get any sleep?”

“Only enough to get us ready to go again. What do you think?”

“I think it’s the best offer I’ve had all night.”

They walked out of the pub and down a village road lined with the low stone walls that were so prevalent in this part of England.

He held her hand in a loose, warm grip and they didn’t speak. She was still savoring the amazing sex; she suspected he was, too.

She hadn’t slept with a ton of men, but with enough to know that what happened between her and Arthur was special. There was something about him that inspired her trust and that left her free to let herself go.

The night was cool, but after the heat of their passion, not unpleasantly so. There were few lights still burning in the village, and other than a cat skulking under a bush doing whatever it is that cats do at night, they were alone. Their footsteps shushed along the road. They turned again and she saw a pair of carriage lamps burning in a wonderful two-story stone house. She was surprised when that was the house he led her to. Inside, her astonishment grew. Had she expected some slovenly bachelor flat in a basement? She supposed she had.

“Oh, how beautiful,” she cried when he flipped on the lights inside and she saw that the place had been furnished with antiques and paintings on the walls that, even to her inexpert eye, were obviously the real thing. “How old is the house?”

“Late seventeen hundreds. It was the parsonage. It fell into disrepair so I was able to pick it up quite cheaply a few years ago. It’s been my hobby ever since, fixing it up and furnishing it to period.”

His pride was evident and she found that endearing.

When he led her upstairs, her steps were quick, knowing that pleasure awaited her.

“I’ve got two rooms up here that I haven’t got to yet, and then I’ll be done.”

She walked into the master bedroom and fell in love. With the window seat that needed a woman’s touch. A pretty cushion, she thought, so you could sit in there and read a novel with a cup of tea. She loved the angles of the ceiling, the slight unevenness of the floorboards. He’d kept the room masculine, but she thought a few more touches of the feminine would make the room perfect.

A few more things like the vase of roses on the mahogany drum table would give the room more balance. She had a suspicion that the roses were there for her, and that made her heart skitter.