Constantine let out a throaty chuckle, which quickly transformed into another groan as she applied just a little more pressure and moved her hand a little faster. To her satisfaction, little droplets of dew began to bead at the tip of his cock, lubricating her hand. She took it as a good sign and stroked him faster still.
“Slow down,” Constantine groaned, his hips beginning to move with her hand. “If you do not, I will...”
Constantine’s words were cut off as Elara slipped her hand down further and cupped his sac. As she gave it a squeeze, Constantine’s hips thrust forward, and she felt his manhood begin to spasm as his release shot over her wrist and forearm.
Immediately, she drew her hand upward, squeezing his manhood from root to tip. More of his release poured over her fingertips, and in that moment, she realized she had never felt more powerful.
Still panting, Constantine lifted his head, with confusion and pleasure clear in his eyes as he looked down at her. Then, reminded of how he had tasted her, she realized she wanted to taste him too. Keeping her gaze fixed on his, she raised her hand and slowly suckled her wet fingertips into her mouth one at a time.
Her lashes fluttered as she tasted him. He was saltier than she was, but she liked his release far more than her own on her tongue. She moved to draw her last release-covered finger intoher mouth, but as she did so, Constantine snatched her hand.
Possessiveness flared in his eyes as he took control of her hand and made her draw her messy finger over her lips.
“Who do you belong to,wife?”he asked, a sharpness to his otherwise throaty tone.
Elara blushed, and when she tried to slide her tongue over her lips, he tsked his tongue, stopping her.
“Answer if you want to taste me,” he commanded, gruffer than before.
“You,” she whispered.
“Say it,” he gritted out.
She tilted her chin up, meeting his hooded gaze fully.
“I belong to you,” she replied.
Constantine released her hand, only to rub his own fingertips slowly over her lips. Then, with his release gathered on the tip of his finger, he slowly slid it into her mouth and dragged it along her tongue.
“That’s right,” he whispered as she moaned. “Do not forget it again.”
Chapter 20
“Your Grace, forgive me.”
James’s voice was husky and sleepy as he pulled his tired body from the wide, cushioned, black velvet bench at the foot of Constantine’s bed.
“No need for apologies, James. You may retire for the evening. I shall ready myself for bed,” Constantine commanded in a low voice as he shut his bedroom door behind him.
In the dim light of the candles, Constantine watched as his valet struggled to stand and rub his eyes. Poor fellow. He had stayed behind to help his master, not knowing that he would return so late.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” James murmured, giving Constantine a stumbling bow. “I hope your reunion with Her Grace went well. I shall attend to you in the morning as usual.”
His face still a blank mask, Constantine simply nodded and waited until his exhausted valet stumbled out of his room. As soon as he was gone, Constantine let out a heavy sigh, sank onto the bench James had just vacated, and cradled his head in hishands. He had fallen asleep with Elara in his arms, and upon waking, he felt deeply unsettled by the realization.
Did my reunion go well?
He had never been so angry upon seeing a woman, any woman, with a man—the way he had been upon seeing Elara with the Duke of Ravenshaw. Ravenshaw had a reputation for being a beast. He rarely spoke, rarely showed emotion at all, and when he did, rumor had it that he preferred to show it with his fists.
Constantine remembered him from his younger days, when they were all friends. Even if it was Evander who was in the brawl, it was Damien who would step in to finish them, always beating their opponents to a pulp. Damien was a man who was able to take what he wanted, and if he wanted Elara... well. Constantine was not going to let that happen. In fact, he had just gone to great lengths to remind her who she belonged to.
Constantine stopped the thought as he shook his head and rose to his feet.
“This should not matter,” he murmured to himself. “This is not a love match; this is only a temporary marriage.”
And yet you are distracted by her. By her beauty. By her ferocity and intelligence.
Constantine growled at the thought and began pacing. He had to refocus and look for a new lead. Mr. Preacher was still a suspect. He was not at all sure if he believed the story about the messenger, or even Augustus’s losses. He had to keep investigating. Talk to the other people mentioned in the papers he had found in the hidden rooms Augustus had secretly rented on the main shop street in Mayfair.
