And then she forgot about Georgie. Forgot her own name. Forgot everything except the man who drove her further into a firestorm with every lick. She couldn’t stop twisting, or suppress the moans leaving her throat, one after another, undignified, guttural, animal.

Quin’s hands were everywhere, touching her, adoring her, sliding under her and biting into her bottom, then soothing the little pain, sliding around her thighs, making it clear that every silky inch met with his satisfaction, finally inching up, parting her folds, one finger going . . . there.

Olivia stiffened again, a broken moan coming from her lips.

“You’re so tight,” Quin muttered. “That’s it, Olivia. Now.” One last rough lick, one twist of that clever finger . . .

The part of her that was Olivia—smart, wry, wordplay-loving—was swallowed up by a wave of pleasure so acute that her body twisted, arched in a silent scream that matched the one coming from her lips.

Quin reared over her, caught her mouth in a wild kiss, pulled her into just the right position and thrust . . .

It was the tail end of that red-hot blindness, the utter rending of self, and for a moment Olivia didn’t register the intrusion.

And the next moment she did. It was huge, scalding hot. Excruciating.

Still, it was Quin above her, head thrown back, eyes closed.

“You feel so . . .” His voice was ragged, rough with passion. He couldn’t finish the sentence.

It was as instinctive as breathing. She rocked back, arched, took the last inches of him.

Changed her mind and wished she hadn’t. Desire was one thing; agonizing pain was another.

His throat worked and he let out a low noise, a growl of male possession and pleasure.

If Olivia’s mind had been fogged before, it was clear now. This hurt like . . . like . . . it helped to silently run over some curses that Georgiana would never utter aloud. He was not only huge, but he was burning her up. Who would have thought a body part could be so hot?

Suddenly his face changed and his eyes snapped open. “There’s something about you . . .”

Olivia tried, unsuccessfully, to look as if she were enjoying herself.

“You were a virgin!”

She didn’t bother responding. She was wondering whether women ever fainted during the act.

Quin dropped his body down a few inches, bringing his face closer to hers; Olivia suppressed a moan. Movement . . . not a good idea. A few silent curses that Georgiana had never even heard, let alone said aloud, drifted through her mind.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.” Quin’s voice cut through her body’s violent protest. He shifted again.

“Stop that,” she said grimly. “No moving.”

He nodded.

“Do you remember that limerick about the lady who was good with her needle?”

Another nod.

“Why couldn’t I fall in love with the man she learned her skills from? I don’t want you to ever move again, not backwards or forwards. You’re too big.”

A gleam of laughter beat back the fierce hunger in his eyes. He dropped his head and gave her a lingering kiss. “I’ll happily stay here forever,” he whispered. “I think this is my favorite place in the world.”

“They’ll have to bury us in a large coffin,” Olivia said, joking—because if she didn’t, she might think too much about what a tragedy this was. They didn’t fit together. He was simply too large.

“This will not work,” she said, when Quin didn’t respond to her sally about the coffin. He was kissing her cheek and her ear. All very nice, but as every nerve in her body was concentrating on the waves of pain sweeping from between her legs, she would be happy to dispense with the kisses.

“Actually, I take it back about not moving. I think it’s probably time for you to move away,” she said, trying to be nice about it.

He made a little murmur and started kissing her eyebrows. Annoying. Very annoying. “Out!” she said, giving him a little push.

“I can’t. Someone told me not to move.”

“This is not the time to develop a sense of humor.”

He rubbed noses with her, such a startling, tender movement that she fell silent. “I wouldn’t have thrust like that if I’d known you were a virgin. And I was under the impression that you informed me of your experience.”

“You inferred such,” Olivia told him. “It wasn’t my—I couldn’t clarify.”

“But you left the duke thinking his son’s heir might be on the way?” Laughter shone in his eyes.

“It served him right,” she said, giving Quin a little bite on his chin, just because it was there, and he was beautiful. “Now, I hate to sound as though I have an appointment, but I’m sure there’s somewhere important I should be.”

“Hurts, does it?” He dropped a kiss on her lips.

“I cannot even describe how much.”

“Because you’re a lady?”

She nodded.

“If I had known you were a virgin, I would have pushed up your knees, and then entered you gently, and very slowly.”

“It would have led to the same result.” Olivia couldn’t imagine that the mechanics could change, given the fixed sizes of their respective parts.

“But would you bend your knees? Just . . . to try?”

She bent her knees, grudgingly.

“Sometimes a woman wraps her legs around her lover’s waist.”

She could just see herself doing that. Like some sort of acrobat. Why hadn’t she realized how unsuited she was for bedroom activities? She might not insist on the curtains being closed every single night, but lift her legs in such an undignified way? “Absolutely not. Never,” she added, just to make sure he understood.

His eyes were laughing at her, but that was because he didn’t understand just how much this all hurt.

“Olivia,” he said, lowering his mouth on hers again, entirely relaxed, as if he meant to stay in the same position all night, “I love you.” And then he kissed her, demanding that she open her mouth, so she did.

He plunged inside, his tongue playing a wet, hot game with hers, and Olivia understood for the first time. This kind of kissing was . . . carnal. It was outrageous.

“No wonder,” she murmured.

He pulled back a fraction of an inch, arched an eyebrow.

“No wonder they don’t allow debutantes to kiss,” she explained. “It’s just another way to make love, isn’t it?”

In answer he took her mouth again, possessive, hot, sweet. All the sides of Quin at once.

“Dear heart,” he said a while later, after his hand had drifted to her breast, “does it still hurt as much as it did?”

“Of course,” Olivia said automatically. Even though she was enjoying his caresses—and how could she not?—she was always aware of the pain and the sense that something foreign and far too large was splitting her in half.

But then she wriggled a trifle and realized that it didn’t hurt quite as much as it had before.

“It does feel a little better. I suppose you shrink when we don’t do anything for a while.”

He blinked. “Sweetheart, if you think a man who’s found his way into the sweetest, tightest place in the world would shrink . . .”