He looked down to the place where they joined. “You look so pretty from here. Your tight little cunt glistening with your juices, swallowing my cock. Fuck, Alice, you take my cock so well. Such a good girl you are.”
“Oh, God.”
His hand didn’t cease the exhilarating rhythm. Neither did his hips, rolling with the cadence born of years of knowing her body. It was wild, all-consuming. He gave her wicked words, yet tinged with something tender. Something neither dared name aloud. Every thrust was a wordless plea, every stroke a demand, every caress an apology.
Their gazes clashed; his, fierce and determined. Hers, soft and dazed.
Her release burst upon her almost unexpectedly. Deeper this time, as if drawn from the very core of her soul. She clamped around the glorious fullness of him, her satisfaction flaring as Nathaniel’s rigid control slipped.
When he finally surrendered to his release, he collapsed on top of her, burying his face in her neck, holding her like he’d never let go again. His cock pulsed inside her as he roared with pleasure. Alice clung to him, her heart pounding, tears stinging her eyes.
As their breathing slowed, reality began to seep back in, and she became aware once more of her surroundings. Goodness gracious, they had practically devoured each other in the library.Portraits of august personages stared down at them as if in censure.
She suddenly felt shy. Fragile in the aftermath of the tempest that had raged through them. He didn’t try to fill the silence. But his arms were strong and comforting around her. They lay like that for a while until their cooling bodies started to feel the chill of the night that the fire was barely keeping at bay. At last, he stood, the rush of cold air where his body had been an unwelcome shock.
“Come,” he said, extending his hand to her.
“Where?” she asked warily while she stood from the sofa, trying in vain to cover herself with her chemise. The liquid warmth of his release spilled out from her center. She tightened and pressed her legs together, attempting to keep his seed from leaking out. He caught the movement, no doubt interpreted it correctly, and fire flared in his gaze again.
“To my room, of course. To take a bath, and then make love again, and again, until we pass out from sheer exhaustion.”
By the time she even considered a response to such a declaration, he had swept her up in his arms and was halfway up the curving marble staircase that led to the upper floors where the bedchambers were located. As if walking completely naked through a house that usually housed over a dozen people, including servants, was the thing to do.
“The servants…” she tried to protest.
“They are out,” he bit off without breaking his stride.
“All of them?” she replied, her eyebrows rising.
“Yes. Every single one of them. I made sure we had the house to ourselves.”
“You planned this,” she accused, frowning.
He reached the top of the stairs and turned toward the master and mistress’s suites. “Maybe. All I knew is I wanted the house all to myself. And you.”
They were nearing the end of the corridor, and Alice braced herself as they approached the master’s bedchamber. The last time she’d crossed that threshold, the room had been suffocatingly stuffy. Nathaniel and she had the misfortune of staying in this house, in these rooms, for a few days during the first year after he inherited. They had not been able to sleep well in there…or do much of anything, really. Whoever had overseen the decorating—his mother or his sister-in-law—clearly believed the purpose of a bedroom was to bury its occupants under layers of brocade, fringe, and oppressive ornamentation.
She could still recall the heavy velvet curtains the color of dried blood, pulled tight as if to smother every scrap of daylight. The walls had been covered in a lurid wallpaper pattern of gold and green, swirling with shapes that aspired to look exotic but achieved only confusion. She’d loathed the furniture most of all—oversized, fussy monstrosities carved in a grotesque mockery of “Egyptian style.” Crocodile feet clawed the carpet under the wardrobe. A gilded sphinx crouched on the mantel like a judgmental house cat. Every available surface had groaned beneath dozens—no, hundreds—of knickknacks: porcelain shepherdesses, brass candlesticks shaped like obelisks, grotesque little animal figurines, and gloom-ridden portraits of Greystones past staring down from the walls with sallow, disapproving eyes.
The memory made her want to shrink away, clutching her chemise tighter to her chest. But when Nathaniel’s shoulder pushed open the door, Alice stopped breathing.
It was not the same room.
Gone were the blood-red curtains and garish wallpaper, replaced by walls painted a soft, warm cream that seemed to catch and hold the faint glow of the corridor lamps. The windows were framed in rich midnight-blue velvet edged with a subtle gold braid, drawn back to reveal the lighter shades within. Thefurniture was solid, stately, masculine—mahogany and walnut, with clean, elegant lines. A deep armchair upholstered in leather stood by the hearth, beside a low table bearing a decanter and two glasses. The surfaces were uncluttered save for a single blue-and-white vase filled with fresh flowers on the dresser. Even the portraits were gone, replaced by tasteful landscapes in muted tones.
The room felt…like Nathaniel. Confident, understated, unapologetically himself.
She couldn’t stop her small sigh of relief. “You redecorated.”
His gaze cut briefly toward her, one eyebrow arched as though he found her observation amusing. “Of course I did. I couldn’t bloody breathe in here before.”
“I’m glad. I hated it, too.”
But he didn’t pause to let her linger in the transformed space. Instead, he carried her straight through a door she remembered leading to the viscountess’s dressing room. Except it wasn’t a dressing room anymore.
She gasped softly.
The space had been converted into a bathing chamber designed for sheer indulgence. The walls were tiled in creamy marble with streaks of gray veining. Brass fixtures gleamed in the soft lamplight. The centerpiece was a massive porcelain bath, big enough for two, its claw feet polished to a shine. Against one wall stood a low cabinet holding thick, folded towels and crystal bottles of bath oils. A plush rug—deep blue, like the curtains in the bedchamber—was spread before the bath.
