He looked down. Her face was flushed, and her breath was rapid. Her eyes were glazed, dazed, clearly rapt with passion.

It fueled his own fire. God, he wanted her so badly his bones ached.

‘This might hurt,” he lied. It would hurt. But he was stuck between wanting to give her the truth so that she would be  prepared and giving her the softer version so that she would not be nervous.

“I don’t care,” she gasped. “Please. I need you.”

Benedict leaned down for one final, searing kiss as his hips surged forward. He felt her stiffen slightly around him as he  broke through her maidenhead, and he bit—he actually bit his hand to keep himself from coming at that very second.

It was like he was a green lad of sixteen, not an experienced man of thirty.

She did this to him. Only her. It was a humbling thought.

Gritting his teeth against his baser urges, Benedict began to move within her, slowly stroking when what he really wanted  to do was let go completely.

“Sophie, Sophie,” he grunted, repeating her name, trying to remind himself that this time was about her. He was here to  please her needs, not his own.

It would be perfect. It had to be perfect. He needed her to love this. He needed her to love him.

She was quickening beneath him, and every wiggle, every squirm whipped up his own frenzy of desire. He was trying to  be extra gentle for her, but she was making it so damn hard to hold back. Her hands were everywhere—on his hips, on  his back, squeezing his shoulders.

“Sophie,” he moaned again. He couldn’t hold off much longer. He wasn’t strong enough. He wasn’t noble enough. He wasn’t—

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!”

She convulsed beneath him, her body arching off the sofa as she screamed. Her fingers bit into his back, nails raking his skin, but he didn’t care. All he knew was that she’d found her release, and it was good, and for the love of God, he could finally—

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!”

He exploded. There was simply no other word for it.

He couldn’t stop moving, couldn’t stop shaking, and then, in an instant, he collapsed, dimly aware that he was probably  crushing her, but unable to move a single muscle.

He should say something, tell her something about how wonderful it had been. But his tongue felt thick and his lips felt heavy, and on top of all that, he could barely open his eyes. Pretty words would have to wait. He was only a man, and he had to  catch his breath.

“Benedict?” she whispered.

He flopped his hand slightly against her. It was the only thing he could manage to indicate that he’d heard.

“Is it always like this?”

He shook his head, hoping that she’d feel the motion and know what it meant.

She sighed and seemed to sink deeper into the cushions. “I didn’t think so.”

Benedict kissed the side of her head, which was all that he could reach. No, it wasn’t always like this. He’d dreamed of her  so many times, but this ... This ...

This was more than dreams.

*  *  *

Sophie wouldn’t have thought it possible, but she must’ve dozed off, even with the thrilling weight of Benedict pressing her down against the sofa, making it slightly difficult to breathe. He must’ve fallen asleep, too, and she woke when he woke, aroused by the sudden rush of cool air when he lifted himself off of her body.

He placed a blanket on top of her before she even had a chance to be embarrassed by her nakedness. She smiled even as  she blushed, for there was little that could be done to ease her embarrassment. Not that she regretted her actions. But a  woman didn’t lose her virginity on a sofa and not feel a little bit embarrassed. It simply wasn’t possible.

Still, the blanket had been a thoughtful gesture. Not a surprising one, though. Benedict was a thoughtful man.

He obviously didn’t share her modesty, though, because he made no attempt to cover himself as he crossed the room and gathered his carelessly flung garments. Sophie stared shamelessly as pulled on his breeches. He stood straight and proud,  and the smile he gave her when he caught her watching was warm and direct.

God, how she loved this man.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Fine,” she answered. “Good.” She smiled shyly. “Splendid.”

He picked up his shirt and stuck one arm into it. “I’ll send someone over to collect your belongings.”

Sophie blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he’s discreet. I know it might be embarrassing for you now that you know my family.”

Sophie clutched the blanket to her, wishing that her dress wasn’t out of reach. Because she suddenly felt ashamed. She’d  done the one thing she’d always sworn she would never do, and now Benedict assumed she would be his mistress. And  why shouldn’t he? It was a fairly natural assumption.

“Please don’t send anyone over,” she said, her voice small.

He glanced at her in surprise. “You’d rather go yourself?”

“I’d rather my things stayed where they were,” she said softly. It was so much easier saying that than telling him directly that  she would not become his mistress.

Once, she could forgive. Once, she could even cherish. But a lifetime with a man who was not her husband—that she knew  she could not do.

Sophie looked down at her belly, praying that there would be no child to be brought into the world illegitimately.

“What are you telling me?” he said, his eyes intent upon her face.