Rules for a Fake Fiancé (Rogues Gambit #1)

Chapter Twenty-Two

When you risk everything, be sure he makes an equalwager.

T revor was not a man who enjoyed drinking. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He liked the taste of it. He liked the sociability of it. Some of his best memories were of sitting with his mates drinking brandy. Sometimes they smoked, but he’d never acquired an appreciation of that. Sometimes they gambled as they played cards, but he’d never seen the sense in that either. He simply enjoyed a good drink with his friends without becoming stupid.

Tonight, he was spinning drunk.

Tonight—and for the last many nights—he’d stumbled home while singing a German drinking song with his closest friends. One had helped him up the stairs. Another had helped him out of his clothes. Then they all left, but not before repeating the phrase they’d been saying for a month now.

“Forget her, Trev. Don’t let a country cit be the ruin of you.”

It was that last phrase that upset him. Mellie wasn’t the ruin of him. At times, he’d wondered if she might be the making of him. She had a way of making his path obvious. He thought more clearly when she was around. He could talk things through with her. He could sit with her in that beautiful house of hers and allow the quiet order of the place to clear the cobwebs from his mind.

For years he’d thought it was her father who did that, but Mr. Smithson was as cluttered as it was possible for a brilliant scientist to be. His lab was a mess, and his thoughts often skittered in different directions at once. But his notes and his experiments were usually pristine, the science behind them crystal clear. It was only now that he realized Mr. Smithson’s notes were in Mellie’s precise hand. Likely she helped her father organize his thoughts enough that everything else rolled out in neat lines.

That was what she did. She made her home nice. She made people feel comfortable. She made him feel like he was a lazy, useless aristocrat because he’d had all the opportunity in the world but spent his days bouncing from party to party and only sporadically did his own research.

Hence the drinking. He’d known before that he wasn’t worthy of her. Now he saw how very much he wanted her and couldn’t have her. She had thrown him over and was daily courted by men who were smarter than him, whose family and friends weren’t desperately trying to break them apart, and who had at least a courtesy title, if not the real one.

He’d lost her. And so he’d looked for solace in his friends, in copious amounts of brandy, and cigars. Yes, he’d tried cigars again because the thought of burying himself in any of the myriad light skirts who’d been thrown his way made him nauseous.

But he hated cigars. They made him gag and left a foul taste in his mouth. Which meant tonight had been about the brandy. And the wine. And ale. And anything else alcoholic that could possibly be consumed while lamenting his failures.

He closed his eyes, allowing the room to spin him into unconsciousness. True to form, the room spun, but his mind conjured up her face. Her voice. Her luscious body.

“Trevor?”

Bloody hell, he loved her voice.

“The door was open, and I…well, I just came in. I’d like to talk to you. Trevor?”

Damn that sounded close. As if it were real. As if…

Someone touched his shoulder, and his eyes snapped opened. “Mellie!” he cried, though it was more a hoarse croak.

She frowned at him. At least he thought she did. Then she turned and quickly lit a candle. He winced from the light, but couldn’t stop looking at her.

“Mellie?” he croaked again.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m bloody pissed. Are you really here?”

“Yes, I’m here,” she said, her voice rueful. “And I can smell the drink on you. Did you swim in it?”

“Tried to,” he admitted. “Only way to stop thinking about you.” Then he shrugged. “But it doesn’t work.”

“So then why do it?”

Well, wasn’t that a bugger of a question? And that was the whole damned point. She asked the right questions, which always led to the right answers. And here he’d thought it was him with the ideas. Well, it was, but only because she asked the right questions.

“Trevor?”

“Mellie, can I kiss you? I really miss kissing you.”

She touched his forehead, stroking his brow. “I need to talk to you. Can you focus for a moment?”

He could focus on anything that was her . So he rubbed his eyes, pushed up on his bed, and sat facing her. But his hands…damn, he needed to touch her, so even as she sat primly beside him on the bed, he had to feel her skin. He had to outline the length of her thigh, to stroke the creamy softness of her arm, to know the round firmness of her breast.

“Trevor.”

His gaze shot to hers. He noted with pleasure that her cheeks were flushed, her lips were moist, and most especially that her nipple had hardened under his caress. But then she trapped his hand, not pulling it away, but stilling his movements.

“Mellie,” he said, putting all his feeling into these words. “I’m so sorry I failed you.”

She smiled. “You didn’t fail me. Everything you planned happened just as you said.”

He shook his head. Not as he said. Or perhaps, maybe exactly as he’d said, but it wasn’t what he wanted anymore. He didn’t want to be estranged from her. He didn’t want any of it.

He sighed, the drink clearing out of his mind a little. She was the more potent drug anyway. “You came to talk to me. What did you want to say?”

His hand had gone slack, so she drew it to her lips. She pressed a kiss to his fingers that sent fire straight to his cock. And her words—damn, they went straight to his head.

“Trevor, I love you. Don’t tell me it isn’t real love. I know my own mind. I love you, and I want to fight for you.”

He gaped at her, his body and mind throwing him a thousand different reactions all at once. There was joy, stunned incredulity, even denial and shame, because he wasn’t worthy of her. And most of all, there was his baser instinct, the one that said clearly: possess this woman now. Take her, and make her yours without doubt, without hesitation because…

Well, he never got to the because . He simply stayed with the growing need that became a now .

He kissed her. He wrapped his arms around her so that she couldn’t run. She wasn’t running. She was leaning forward and searching for his lips. That made it a thousand times easier to maneuver her into bed. To clumsily strip her out of her dress and rip the ties of her corset and shift.

Her breasts spilled into his hands. Oh yes. There were other words, he knew. Things he should be saying, but he couldn’t grab hold of them. He was lost in the smell of her as his mouth went to her nipples. He suckled her breasts, then he tongued her nipples, and when she clutched his shoulders and cried out, he knew he had found heaven on Earth.

He’d already been undressed. His mates hadn’t bothered putting him in any type of sleeping clothes, which was perfect. Her dress was pooled about her waist as he nuzzled and sucked on her glorious skin. Thankfully, she helped him by tossing aside her corset. And when he tugged on her gown, she lifted her hips to help him.

Good woman. Good, wonderful, luscious, amazing woman with the scent of the gods between her thighs. He found her curls, knew the dewy wetness there, and nuzzled her open with his chin. Her feet got tangled somewhere, but she fixed the problem somehow. He didn’t care. He was too busy tasting her. He nipped at her skin, he gloried in her scent, and he spread her wide open.

His fingers were clumsy. That frustrated him, so he decided to abandon all use of them in favor of his tongue. He spread her and licked her, and the taste was like spicy cream.

She bucked beneath him, her cries echoing through the room. He thrust his fingers inside, needing to feel the greedy clutch and pull of her body. God, she was tight, but the wetness everywhere had him slipping in with ease.

But he’d been slow. Her contractions were easing. And her keening gasp, that he so adored, had faded to a breathy sigh.

“Don’t stop,” he murmured. “No, don’t stop.”

So he licked her again. He pulled his fingers aside and used his hands to spread her wider. He licked her just to hear that sound. And when she was pushing down against his mouth, he knew it was time.

She would be his now. Now!

He pulled himself up her body, stopping momentarily to worship her breasts. He sucked on her, tugging on her nipple until her special cry began. Not orgasm yet, but the nearness, the approach, the almost there.

And he was almost there.

He thrust.

Inside!

Her heat and her wet surrounded him. God yes. God glorious.

She stiffened beneath him, and belatedly he realized that she’d been a virgin, and there was pain for her.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “It will get better soon.”

He held himself still. Or rather, he held his throbbing cock in place, fully seated. He couldn’t stop himself from raining kisses along her neck and her cheeks and her lips.

“It’s all right,” she murmured. “You’re just…so much.”

He dropped his forehead to hers, trying to hear her over the pounding in his head. “So much?”

“So big.”

He grinned. The bigger his cock, the greater his possession of her. She thought he was huge, and that meant she would not forget him. She would remember that he was her man. He was the one who had taken her maidenhead and claimed her as his own.

Those thoughts spun over in an endless circle of glory in his mind. He tried to wait for her to catch up. He truly did, but without him willing it, his body began to move. First a shift that shot pleasure up his spine. Then a thrust in reaction to the joy that made her gasp in that sweet way of hers.

He looked in her eyes. He tried to apologize without words because he was moving too fast. She wasn’t in that keening place yet. Her breath hadn’t caught, and her body was so amazingly tight around him that he couldn’t tell if she was clutching him.

But when he looked into her eyes, when the light caught the sweet pink flush of her skin and the rosy red of her lips, he saw her smile. It was Mellie’s smile. It was the one she gave him when she learned something new, the one that wasn’t a laugh, but a sweetness that was all her. It never failed to squeeze his heart tight and make him worship her. He’d do anything for that smile, if only she would give it to him again.

“I love you,” she whispered.

He thrust. Her words had triggered a need so great, a welling of joy so powerful, that it took over his body.

She loved him.

He slammed in deep.

She loved him.

He slammed in hard.

She would be his. He would drill so far inside her that she couldn’t possibly get rid of him.

Again and again.

Then he heard it. Her keening gasp.

And then, God, she became a wild thing beneath him. Pulsing and crying as her body fisted him.

Yes!

He exploded.

Mine!

*

Mellie came awake slowly. She was spooning in Trevor’s arms, her mind drifting while her body entwined with his. Hours had passed. She knew it because the window in his room gave her a view of the sky. There were stars still, but fewer than before. Dawn couldn’t be more than an hour away.

But that was her only thought as she felt Trevor’s hands on her body. They were moving slowly, almost reverently. He stroked her skin, brushed her belly with heat, lifted her breasts as he brought fire to her nipples.

And behind her bottom, she felt his penis—thick and hot—as it pressed tiny pulses against her. The movements were so slow—above and below—that she wondered if he was even awake. Then she felt the press of his lips against her shoulder and the murmur of her name on his lips.

“Mellie.”

“Ummm,” she said in response.

“Mellie, it’s almost morning. I need to get you home.”

She knew it was true, but the way he touched her body mesmerized her into stillness. Or perhaps, not quite stillness, as she arched into the hand on her breast and pushed back against his cock.

He groaned as she did that, and she felt his teeth gently nip at the base of her neck right above her shoulder blades. She shivered in response, and he groaned again.

“Are you sore?” he asked.

“I feel wonderful.”

“You don’t regret—” he began, but she cut him off.

“Make me feel wonderful again.” And lest he mistake her meaning, she lifted her leg and slid it over his. The hand on her belly stilled, but she knew what she wanted, so she took his wrist and pushed his hand lower.

He knew what he was doing. Lord, he always knew what she wanted. He slid his long fingers between her cleft and began to stroke her where she wanted.

“So wet,” he murmured. Then more clearly. “Are you sure you’re not sore?”

She hadn’t the words as he stroked over her pulsing clitoris. She knew the medical word because she’d looked it up. She knew a great deal about sexuality now because she’d made a point to learn what she could. Sadly, there wasn’t much information to be found other than the anatomical names. The rest she’d learned from him or from her own nighttime stimulations.

But none of what she’d experienced before had come close to last night’s penetration. There was so much more to her time with Trevor than the contraction of muscles and the ensuing pleasure. With him, she felt a connection. As if she would die if he couldn’t be deep inside her. As if she were fallow without his possession.

And now, when he stroked her clitoris, she felt the familiar build to pleasure. Her belly tightened, her breath began to stutter, but it wasn’t what she wanted. Inside she was still empty, and she wanted to be filled by him.

“Not like this,” she gasped as she pulled away his hand. Then she turned to face him. “Take me.”

He blinked, his eyes bloodshot, but with intense focus. “Mellie—” He groaned, hunger in the sound. “It’s too soon.”

She flashed him a wicked smile, choosing this moment to echo his words. “Trust me,” she said. “It will all be all right.”

He knew that she was teasing him. She saw the rueful awareness hit his expression. But then she twisted her hips and reached down to grab hold of him. He’d taught her how to stroke him, and so she started with the head—a circle of her fingers—before she pushed down and around him.

He shuddered and thrust into her hold, but his words were clear. “What do you want, Mellie? What—”

“How deeply can you penetrate me?”

She watched his eyes widen, saw him swallow, but he answered calmly. “There’s a position,” he said.

She grinned. “Show me.”

He nodded, then rose from the bed. She’d seen him naked before, but now she saw him like a god rising before her. Muscled chest dusted lightly with hair, broad shoulders and strong arms as he lifted her knees and, of course, the broad head of his penis between them.

“I will stop if it hurts.”

She shook her head. Nothing hurt. Absolutely nothing at all.

Then he carefully lifted her legs, putting her ankles on his shoulders. She was spread before him, and he seemed to grow in size, his chest between her legs, his penis pressed against her curls.

Then he adjusted her even wider, helping her slide her legs such that her knees lay in the crook of his elbows. She’d never felt more decadent in her life. Or more open. This truly was why they called it plowing a woman. His penis would be the blade that cut her open, and she couldn’t be more thrilled.

He used his thumb to stroke her. His press started gently, but he rapidly built the tension because there was nowhere for her to go. She arched beneath him, she squeezed her legs against his arms, but there was no escape from the steady press and circle of his thumb. She pulsed beneath him, her hips lifted and lowered into his stroke, and her breasts ached with need.

“Touch your breasts,” he said. He had one free hand to reach forward, but he wanted her to work her other side. She did as he bid, lifting her right breast to his view while he stroked her left.

“Pinch your nipple.”

He did, and she did. And fire flared from her chest to her belly and sizzled in her spread thighs.

“Now,” she gasped. “Trevor, now.”

His hand dropped away from her breast, and he leaned forward.

“Please—” she began.

He speared her.

A thick penetration that burned with pleasure.

Oh yes!

“Mellie—”

“Again!”

He leaned forward a little more, pulling her legs wider as he moved. She felt his slow withdrawal, the collapse of her belly, the suction as she tried to keep him inside. But he was the man, and he did as he willed.

He pulled back, but he didn’t escape. And then he thrust again.

Yes.

She was impaled, and the impact sent sparks of fire shooting through her body.

“Again!”

This time, she was the one who spread her legs further. She was the one who tightened her calves trying to pull him deeper. And she was the one who gripped his strong shoulders and held on.

Yes!

Yes!

Yes!

The thrusts were growing more rapid, the feeling of being split open repeated in escalating blows. She loved it. She loved every spreading, pulsating, pounding impact.

And when orgasm burst through her body, she allowed her consciousness to explode as well. She let everything in her become a gift to him. For his possession, for his adoration, for his seed.

She’d never known it could feel this primal. Or that this act could be so very…everything. Woman and man joined.

Yes!

He drove into her one last time. An impact that had him releasing with a warrior’s cry—part triumph, part call to arms. His head was thrown back, his expression fierce, he looked like a god staking a claim.

She was his, and he would defend her unto death.

That was what she saw as he released. And that was what she heard in her soul: mine! So she answered in her heart: yours.

Then he fell to the side, barely catching his weight on his forearms before dropping heavily on top of her. She didn’t mind. It felt right. And so she lay in blissful joy with his weight pinning her down.

And she nearly drifted back to sleep.

She might have if he weren’t making her so hot. Sweat was beginning to form where they lay, belly to belly. And worse, she needed to take a breath. So she shifted. Then she wriggled. And then, sadly, he groaned, and he slipped out of her as he rolled to his side.

She mourned his loss. Mourned the emptiness that came afterward as her belly hollowed out. But he was beside her, breathing into the sheets.

She pressed a kiss to his forehead. He answered with a kiss to her shoulder. And her eyes drifted shut again.

But she couldn’t sleep. She had to get home before dawn.

She eased herself sideways. Her body was heavy with lethargy, but she knew if she gave in to it, she’d sleep until noon. She couldn’t do that. She’d be compromised publicly, and that was a complication she wasn’t willing to risk.

“I have to leave,” she murmured, the words meant for herself as much as him.

His hand tightened, pulling her close, but then it opened. He knew she had to leave. He moaned as he rolled onto his back. His eyes were closed, his skin shadowed from his morning beard, but he still looked handsome.

She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips.

His mouth curved into a smile, but he didn’t move beyond that. And then a moment later, he groaned again, his words coming out muffled. “I’ve never felt more sated in my life.”

She chuckled. She felt equally good, though she really wished he’d open his eyes. It didn’t matter, she told herself. He was tired. So she pulled on her corset and shift. Her crumpled gown was there on the floor, but she smoothed it as best she could. She dressed quickly and somewhat quietly. She kept hoping he’d rouse. She wanted to make plans with him. She wanted him to say all those sweet things she’d read about in books. She wanted…

She sighed. He was snoring now. Which left her to grab the cloak and head home by herself. She paused at his door, waiting there. In the end, she chose to declare herself…again.

“I’m leaving now, Trevor. I love you.”

A snore was his only response.

She sighed and let herself out. She was lucky and found a hackney quickly. The driver smirked at her, especially when he heard the address, but he didn’t comment more. Ten minutes later, she was sneaking through the servants’ entrance up to her bedroom. She was trying hard not to feel awkward, but her muscles were achy, and her clothing abraded her skin where his beard had made it tender, and…

And he hadn’t said he loved her.

After all of that, he hadn’t said a word.

Which made her start to cry.

She fought it for a while. She fought all the damning, furious thoughts that crept into her mind. But in the end, she burst into tears.

But they didn’t last long. She wasn’t one to linger over tears.

By noon, she’d dried her eyes and took a frank look at what had happened.

A half hour later, she got angry.