It was disappointing in a way, that men couldn’t keep going the way women could. That the enjoyment would have to cease and rest for a time. But she did enjoy this control he’d given her. She pushed his shoulder. “Lay down.”
Groaning in relief, he obeyed. She straddled him, thinking of why she learned to ride horses sidesaddle and understanding it finally. She rubbed her wetness onto his shaft, wondering if this is what she should do. But then his hands found hers, and together, they found her entrance.
“Slowly,” he advised.
And so, little by little, Justine sank onto him, the feeling strange and new and odd. When she found herself all the way seated on him, she angled and moved, finding what felt good and what felt like too much.
“Does it feel good?” he asked, his brow furrowed.
“Yes,” she gasped, and he threw his head back as she rocked forward. He held her hips and they found a rhythm together. It stopped feeling like he was inside of her, and more that they were one new, different thing altogether. He moved his thumb to between her legs and found that hard nub once again, rubbing in circles harder and harder. That feeling of crashing was happening again, faster than it had before. She collapsed her hands down to his hard chest, bracing herself as she clenched in ecstasy.
He gasped some words—something that sounded very much like cursing—and clamped his hands on her hips, thrusting upwards roughly in a way that only added to the waves cresting over her. His back arched, and she held onto him as everything inside her felt different. He relaxed down again, and she let him pull her down to his chest, holding her there.
Her world changed. The smell of him, the smell of her mixed with him, felt permanent somehow. As if it hadn’t been an act, but rather an alchemy. She was still herself, but now she was more with him beside her. She closed her eyes, feeling his heartbeat in her own blood, his skin on her skin, his breath matched with hers. There was nowhere in the world she would rather be.
**
Karl slipped out of Justine’s door, his waistcoat and jacket slung over his arm. Justine kissed him as he tried to exit, and he felt a surge of pride that she didn’t want to see him go. Things between them felt different, they were different. If shedidn’t want marriage, then that was fine, and Karl would find a way. Whatever would keep her in his life.
“Ahem,” came a voice in the passageway.
Karl pulled up straight as if he’d been struck. Turning, they both watched as Francis Brewer stood up, leaning against the wall of the passageway across from Justine’s door. His rumpled clothes and mussed hair made it clear that he had slept there. It was not yet daybreak.
“Francis?” Justine pushed out of the doorway as Karl tried to block her path.
“I believe we can fetch the vicar now, can’t we?”
“Wait,” Justine said. Karl wanted to join in, but he was at a loss of what to say. In some ways, this was precisely what he wanted—but not if Justine didn’t want it. Anything she was forced to do would diminish her, make her unlike herself.
“You cannot deny that you are ruined,” Mr. Brewer said. “Accept your fate. Live with this one in the flea-infested hotels up and down this mountain range. You’ve made us a laughingstock, as you’ve been trying to do since you were born.”
Karl did not like this way her brother spoke to her. No one deserved such contempt. As if what they had done was wrong. “There is no reason to fault your sister. I came to her room. I did this. If you wish to make insults, direct them at me.”
Francis laughed, his shoulders slumped. “You have no idea what she’s done, parading herself around, letting men run after her for years. Years!”
“And no one caught me,” Justine said through gritted teeth. “Until now.”
Karl looked back at her, realizing then and there that when she asked him here, to be with her, it was so that he would be the one who caught her. Whether she wanted to marry or not was immaterial. She wanted him, not any of the other English dandies. It was him. And he would be worthy of her.
“I will take my place at the altar with pride, if Justine wishes it.” Karl faced her brother, but hoped she marked his words. His hand sought out hers. “But I will hear no more slander from you. I do not know how the English do it, but here, I would use my fists to silence you. Remember that and choose your words wisely.”
At least Mr. Brewer had the decency to look shocked.
“Plan the wedding, Francis. But this isn’t your doing. This is my choice. My desire,” Justine said.
Karl could barely breathe. It was not the best proposal, he supposed, given that it was made by her brother, but Karl would make the best of what he was presented. “You will be my brother, and I will give you my respect. But not if you speak so poorly of my bride.” Karl liked that word. Bride. It was so close to wife. Bound together through knots no one could untangle.
Mr. Brewer narrowed his eyes. “I suppose I should have said so earlier, but Mother and Father will arrive tomorrow.”
“What?” Justine exploded out the door, knocking Karl’s arm aside as if he were nothing.
“I wrote to them ages ago. They telegraphed to say they were on their way as soon as possible. So congratulations. You’ll have a family wedding.”
**
Chapter Fourteen
Justine did not appreciate surprises that ended in her getting scolded. Unable to get more than a few hours of sleep, she escaped outside to think. Not that she was capable of contriving a big scheme, but she did have a great deal of emotions to feel, which might as well be the same as thinking.
