He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from coming right then and there, the bruising pressure enough to ward off a sharp wave of desire threatening to undo all his careful work. His heart was pounding, his cock so hard. God. He was going to die of pleasure. The murderer after him would be disappointed to find his quarry had fucked himself to perdition. No better way to go, Trevor was sure of it. He’d die just to sink his cock inside her perfect, sleek cunny. It would be worth it.
But he wasn’t dead, not yet. So he gave her what she wanted. One last drag of his cock over her swollen folds, and then he returned to his position between her spread thighs. There was a spot on the bedclothes, steadily growing, from her wetness, and it filled his head with fire to see the evidence of her desire, to know he was responsible. That he had made her mindless and aching with want.
He planted a palm on her inner thigh and pushed, spreading her open as she moaned and thrust her hips, so free in her sensuality, seeking to alleviate the need within. He caressed her smooth, soft skin, reveling in the shape of her curves, the lush femininity of her form. And then he flattened his hand and delivered another firm spank to her quim.
“Oh,” she cried out in ecstasy, head rolling back on the pillow, eyes closing. “Yes, please. More.”
He gave her another because she’d asked for it. And then even he had reached the limits of his control. His restraint snapped, and he buried his head between those beautiful legs, deep into her pulsing, dripping flesh, and sucked and licked until she bucked and twisted against his lips, against his teeth as he lightly abraded her clitoris.
Only then, did he give her what he knew she wanted, sinking two fingers deep inside her. The grip of her cunny around him made his ballocks draw tight and his cock even more rigid. But he wanted her to come like this, on his tongue and fingers. To keep her position until she was utterly spent. His fingers moved quickly through her slick channel, probing deep, curling as he found the place inside her that never failed to make her splinter apart.
And she came with a cry that he knew the servants would hear. But he didn’t give a bloody damn. In the frenzy of his desire, he wanted her to cry out so all London could hear how well he had pleasured her. He stayed with her as she spasmed around his fingers and beneath his lips. Licked and sucked and fucked until she was panting and spent, and then he rose to his knees, clawing at his banyan, more eager than he’d ever been, his cock aching to be inside her where it belonged.
The banyan fell away, and with it went the game. No more pretense now, no more roles. They were only Trevor and Virtue, husband and wife.
“I want you,” she murmured, seeming to sense the shift without him needing to say it. “I want you to make love to me, Trevor.”
No surprise, for they were attuned to each other in a way he’d never experienced.
“Yes,” he managed, reaching for her wrists, feeling clumsy as he untied the ribbon and freed her. “Touch me now, darling. I need your hands on me. My God, V, I want you so much it hurts.”
She obliged him, caressing him everywhere. His chest, his shoulders. Down his arms, passing over the muscles he had earned from fencing, to his flanks, her fingers finally sinking into the flesh of his arse and pulling him against her. He didn’t know how he’d managed to deserve her. Likely, hedidn’tdeserve her. But she was his. And he would love her forever. Love her as best as he could. In every way.
He guided his cock to her cunny and thrust, filling her in one roll of his hips. For a moment, he lowered his body to hers, reveling in her walls pulsing around him, tightening on him in delicious welcome, so wet and hot. His face dropped to her neck, lost in her, in the swells of her breasts pressed to his chest, the supple give of her hips. Her legs locked around his waist, and he slid even deeper.
With a sigh from her, he moved, finding a punishing rhythm, chasing the need to lose himself inside her. Their bodies moved together. He’d always prided himself on his skill as a lover. But he abandoned all finesse now, the slippery sounds of their fucking and the clench of her cunny on his cock driving him to the edge of madness.
She held him tightly, meeting him thrust for thrust, and he reveled in the scrape of her nails on his back, up and down. He hoped she’d draw blood. Hoped that later he could look in the mirror and see the marks she’d left, a reminder of how well he’d loved her. He hoped he fucked her so well that she fell in love with him, that she forgave him for being such a fool and selling her beloved home when he should have married her from the first and preserved it for her.
There was the exquisite, sharp sting of her teeth on his shoulder, andfuck. That was almost all he could bear. He moved faster, remembering her needs belatedly and reaching between them to find her pearl and rub it furiously, coaxing another spend from her. Her gasp in his ear told him she was close. He gave her more, and when she reached her next orgasm, she tightened on him, the steady pulses of her release milking his cock.
No more holding back.
With a guttural groan, he sank deep, burying his cock as he filled her with his seed, coming so hard that dark stars speckled his vision as he emptied himself inside her. He thought of his seed taking hold, of his babe one day growing inside her, her belly round with child. How badly he wanted that, wanted her. The rush was almost overwhelming, the pleasure excruciatingly good. So good that he collapsed atop her, panting, body damp with perspiration, blood pumping with the after effects of the strongest orgasm he’d ever had.
I love you.
The words were there. His shattered mind couldn’t seem to form them on his tongue. She turned her head, her lips finding his, and held him tightly to her, their bodies still one.
CHAPTER18
The chandeliers in the ballroom were ablaze. With the number of revelers in attendance at the ball being held by Viscount Torrington and his new viscountess, the heat was nearly enough to make Virtue dizzy. She would have thought, given the similarly abrupt nature of Lord and Lady Torrington’s nuptials, that Virtue’s would not have been as remarked upon. But in truth, the source of her discomfiture had also been the curious glances cast her way, the raised eyebrows, and the less-than-subtle whispers abounding after she had been announced as the Duchess of Ridgely that evening. The ball was her debut in polite society as a married woman.
A scandalous married woman, who had wed her husband the duke with enough haste that tongues were indeed wagging, despite the intense efforts Lady Deering made on their behalf to suppress even the slightest hint of gossip. It seemed that everywhere she looked, someone was watching her with ill-concealed disapproval. She, a veritable country booby who had been abandoned by her own father, had managed to snare the most handsome duke in London as her husband.
And although she most certainly had not set out with such an end in mind, it was where she had found herself. She was the Duchess of Ridgely, impossible as it seemed.
“Do you think we might leave after I share my dance with Ridgely?” Virtue asked her sister-in-law, who was a dutiful presence at her side whilst her husband spoke with their host beyond earshot.
She was already weary, and the effect of so many stares upon her had been most taxing. For someone who had never cared for balls, the spectacle was more than a trifle overwhelming, and more so because of the unwanted attention she was receiving.
“We have not yet gone to supper,” Lady Deering said. “I expect that if we take our leave early, gossip shall swirl.”
The night loomed before them, endless and interminable. She far preferred the quiet manner in which she had spent much of her marriage thus far—alone with Trevor. Usually, in his chamber. Or the music room. Or any chamber that suited them. Just the other day, he had caught her on the ladder in the library and pleasured her as she clung to the rungs and did her utmost to keep from toppling off.
Yes, she rather enjoyed the quiet moments she’d had with her husband. Enjoyed them far too much. Each day, she fell a bit more in love with him as he showed her new facets, teased and kissed her, bathed with her, read books with her, and squired her about Rotten Row at the hour she preferred. And good heavens, that night when they had acted out the scene inThe Tale of Love. It would be emblazoned upon her mind forever.
No doubt about it, the Duke of Ridgely was unfailingly charming, wickedly sensual, and he could reduce her to a puddle of lust with a mere look.
