“My nymph.” He shoved inside, claiming her in action and in words. “My wife and my mate. You’ll never leave me.”
“I won’t leave,” she gasped when he gave her the chance. “Trust me, Conrad.”
His eyes blazed with emotion. “I do. More than anyone. I love you.”
“I love you,” she whispered back.
Her words unleashed an animalistic frenzy. He mated her mouth, cramming himself inside. She felt his possession everywhere, her pussy clenching at his filling thrusts. He was close, she could tell, his girth stretching her to her limits, his stones slapping against her lips.
“I want to spend inside,” he growled.
The notion flashed heat across her senses. He’d stilled, his body rigid with the effort to hold himself in check. He was waiting for permission, she realized. When she nodded, his nostrils flared, and with no hesitation, he took what she offered. He pounded into her mouth, his hand a vise in her hair, his eyes glowing with dark adoration.
“I am going to come so hard,” he rasped. “Every drop is for you, Gigi.”
Suddenly, he held, grinding against her lips. He came with a savage shout. His pleasure flooded her in hot, salty bursts, and mindless with need, she swallowed what she could. The rest spilled over her lips and down her chin.
His chest heaving, he collapsed onto the bench, gathering her onto his lap. He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, not seeming to mind that she tasted of him. In fact, he seemed to like it, and the thought made her squirm with arousal against his hard thighs.
“Thank you, my love.” While her husband exuded satisfaction, the hunger in his eyes was far from satiated. “Now it’s your turn.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
When Conrad awoke, he was instantly aware that Gigi was not beside him. This was displeasing. However, he was reassured by her lingering scent, which told him she hadn’t been gone long. Perhaps she needed a moment alone after the intensity of last night.
Perhaps he did, too.
Fitting his hands behind his head, he stared into the dark, swirling canopy of his bed. He’d tested her limits last night. At first, he’d worried that maybe he’d gone too far: that he ought to have waited before coming down his near-virgin bride’s throat. What he’d discovered between Gigi’s sleek thighs had relieved his concerns. Her pussy had been so swollen and ripe that it had required only a few licks before her sweet juice filled his mouth.
That had been in the carriage. When they arrived home, he’d carried her to his bedchamber and made love to her through the night. They’d fallen asleep, entwined and momentarily appeased. Now thoughts of their intimacies—including how she’d cried her climax into the pillow while he’d shafted her from behind—had given him a morning cockstand that tented the bedsheet. He thought about hunting Gigi down and giving her another injection of marital bliss…yet something stopped him.
I must talk to her first. I must tell her about Pearce.
Unease slithered through him as he recalled her reaction to his plans for Robert’s family. The way she’d taken their side instead of his. His dominant behavior in the carriage had stemmed partly from a need to reinforce their bond—to show her how fully she belonged to him. He needed to know that, come what may, he could count on her loyalty.
While they hadn’t yet discussed the ball, he knew she didn’t agree with his method of justice. If Gigi had any faults, it was that she was too tender-hearted. Her empathy and sheltered upbringing blinded her to the harsh realities of life. The duchess and Lady Anne might weep at the prospect of having their lives of privilege and luxury ripped away, but that was too damned bad. They’d made their bed and now they had to lie in it. Moreover, the argument that they were “family” held no water. If the situation were reversed, if Conrad needed help from Lady Katerina, she would probably spit on him.
Vengeance was the goal that Conrad had been working toward for decades—that defined him not as a victim but as a victor. He’d expected Gigi to see his point of view, yet she’d advocated for his enemy. This did not bode well, especially as it pertained to his plans for Abel Pearce. All along, Conrad had told himself that once she was his, she would understand why he needed to destroy that which Pearce most cared about. Why selling Chuddums off piece by piece until there was nothing remaining of Pearce’s legacy was a necessary act of justice.
Worry gnawed at him. Maybe he should have told Gigi earlier, but the time had never felt right. He hadn’t felt certain enough of her love…until now. Last night, she’d surrendered to him so sweetly, and if she could trust him to have his depraved way with her, then surely she could take his side against Pearce.
In his head, he prepared concessions. He would spare Miss Letty’s spa. If Gigi’s other friends needed work, he would see to it that they were not left in the cold. He would toss out his idea to develop a bustling square for them…just not in Chuddums. Truth be told, he’d avoided this conversation long enough. News of Pearce’s misfortune might have hit the village by now, and Conrad wanted to be the one to break the news to Gigi.
When she didn’t return to bed, he rang for his valet and got dressed. He found her downstairs in the drawing room. Sunlight streamed through the window, gilding her upswept raven locks and rich burgundy dress. She was scribbling at the escritoire but smiled at him as he approached. Tipping her chin up, he gave her a thorough morning kiss.
“You look hard at work,” he murmured.
“I felt uncommonly energized this morning.” She gave him a teasing look from beneath her long lashes. “Which is odd, given how little I actually slept.”
“Blame yourself.” He ran a thumb along her cheekbone. “You are quite the distraction, love.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
He was about to kiss her again when Owen stalked into the room.
“Good morning,” he said. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Actually, I need to speak with my wife—” Conrad began.
