When had he felt anything like this? God, never. Nothing in all his exploits had come anywhere close to affecting him the same as her simple questions.
What kind of bastard tossed himself off in front of a lady? In front of an unmarried girl.
Except she wasn’t just any lady. She’d watched him before. She’d studied the act, read about it, stared at ancient depictions.
And he’d marry her in a day or so. Was he willing to be her personal, living, breathing exhibit?
She licked her lips.
God, yes.
“Move the coverlet.” He enjoyed pushing her. She hesitated. In response to her hesitation, he slowed his hand. “Unless you’d rather go back to sleep?”
She pulled the coverlet back.
Resisting the temptation to take her hand and wrap it around him, Marcus began sliding his fist again.
He did, however, grasp onto her with his free hand. For some reason, he wanted a connection with her. If he was going to do this, he needed to be touching a part of her. For all his previously brash and blatant behavior, he felt an unusual vulnerability with her staring at him.
She peered closer, and he almost laughed. Of course, she wasn’t wearing her spectacles. “Lie down beside me.”
Emily feared he’d change his mind, so she obeyed his command with only the briefest hesitation. When she lay down beside him, the mattress sank, causing her entire length to press up against him. He kept hold of her hand, though, holding it against his bare chest. From where she lay, she could glance up at his face or down to where he worked hismentula.
All of this was so very different than the drawings she’d seen. Apart from a few drawings, which depicted the male organ as overly large, most artwork showed men’s genitalia as much smaller and passive, like a cluster of grapes, or jewels. This particularmentulahad a life of its own. And it was so much larger than what she’d imagined.
It bobbed and weaved in the moment he’d released it to shift on the bed. It looked angry, purple… It seemed desperate for attention, springing up from his curling black hair.
Almost as magnificent as the organ itself was the image of his hand grasping it. The muscles in his wrist and arm flexed with each movement.
Oh, Lord… and the rest of him. The smooth skin of his hips, the corded definition in his abdomen… set butterflies loose within her. She’d seen his chest up close today, but she’d not seen all his torso. The dark hair trailed an enticing path to his groin.
She tilted her head back to see his face. He watched her with that hint of the devilry she’d always seen in him, but something else flickered in the depths of his gaze. The expression she glimpsed reminded her of what she’d seen when he’d worked himself behind Mrs. Cromwell. It wasn’t pain. She saw a vulnerability, an emptiness.
She found herself reaching up and smoothing his brow. And then she pressed her lips against his arm, wanting to impart some comfort. Wanting him to know he was safe with her.
He tightened his fingers around her grip and continued his motions with his other. Emily had thought she could watch him, remaining detached, but as he moved, as his motions became more frantic and his hips pushed upward, she clung to him. A pulsing grew inside of her, throbbing between her legs, urging her to move to the same rhythm of his hand.
Marcus’ breath hissed between his teeth. He jerked harder, more violently, and then something inside of him released. Semen squirted up in spurts, like a fledgling fountain, some landing onto his taut abdomen and the rest spilling down his hand.
She remembered the agony she’d seen on his face the night of the ball. When he’d plunged himself into that woman from behind. It had quickly been followed by disgust.
She didn’t want to see disgust.
Without thinking, she edged herself up and planted tiny, ridiculous kisses all over his face. She’d erase any anger he held for himself or anyone else. It probably wouldn’t make any difference, but she had to do something.
And then he surprised her as his lips tilted up in a slow, satisfied smile. She wanted to freeze this moment. Seal it away to remember long after he returned to his traveling ways. Save this moment to recall long after he’d abandoned her to her own devices.
What was she thinking? She couldn’t fall in love with him. Did she want to live out the remainder of her life with a gigantic and never-ending heartache?
She left one more kiss along his jaw and then rested her head on the pillow.
He squeezed her hand again but weakly this time. As though most of his strength had left him. He must have experienced something similar to what had come over her earlier that day. She’d barely been able to hold herself up. And then she’d fallen asleep.
Perhaps now he could sleep without dreaming.
“You’re awfully quiet, Miss Goodnight,” he murmured into her hair.
Often when he spoke to her, he did so with a teasing lilt in his voice. And at first, it had bothered her. It had made her think he didn’t take her very seriously. But it was in his voice now, and it didn’t bother her at all. The playful tone made her feel closer to him. As though the two of them shared a secret joke.
