Chapter 11 #3
Virginia’s hips found an answering rhythm.
She wanted him deeper, faster, harder. She urged him to take more.
And he knew, breathing her name, somehow penetrating impossibly, the spasms beginning, for her, for him, and suddenly the man moving within her began to carry her across the bed, across time and space, as the fever of need became a crushing urgency.
Virginia cried out, grasping his shoulders, an instant from ecstasy, trying to find his mouth with hers. “Hurry, Devlin, hurry!” she moaned.
He was driving hard and fast now and he turned to take her mouth in another mating as urgent and frenzied as the other one.
Virginia felt her body break apart into a million pieces.
Even so, she was aware of the exact moment he gave her his seed—she felt him expand impossibly, then she felt his body convulsing in her arms just as it convulsed inside of her, and she held him tightly, stroking his back, as he simply kept coming.
When he was done, she lay very still, stunned, impossibly aware of the man who lay heavily on top of her, who remained inside of her, half as hard now, half as huge, and she held him in her arms, moved in a way she had never dreamed of.
This was right, she thought, remaining stunned. No wonder she had wanted him so. Nothing was more right than this moment, lying there in his arms, sated and replete, still joined as if one.
She felt the moment he was himself again. His body tensed; he shifted and moved away from her, breaking the union of their bodies.
She lay very still, and unable to help herself, she turned only her head to look at him.
He lay on his back, his eyes closed, still completely clothed, although his britches were open and his shirt askew. His chest rose and fell harshly. She stared at his perfect profile, already strained with emotions she dared not guess at. But she knew he was already thinking.
“Devlin?” she whispered, suddenly worried. She was on the verge of a great happiness, and surely she need not worry now! Not after what they had just done, the beauty of what they had just shared. Surely he was feeling what she was, too.
But he did not answer her and he did not open his eyes.
She knew he was not asleep. Suddenly she wished that he would reach out and stroke her arm, her hair, anything, smile just a little and reassure her that he, too, was feeling simply wonderful.
The bed dipped as he sat up. She also sat, expecting him to turn to her, to say something, and she waited, but he stood, not looking at her—not even once. She glimpsed his expression, and she thought she saw his features rigid and strained with displeasure, and perhaps, with anger.
“Devlin?” she whispered again, and heard how fragile and pleading her tone did sound.
There was the rustle of cloth as he fastened his britches and tucked in his shirt. He finally glanced at her, his face smooth and expressionless. “Go to sleep, Virginia,” he said.
She stared, his dispassionate words as painful as the stabbing of a knife.
“It’s late,” he added, his brief smile forced.
Oh, God, what was he thinking? Why was he behaving as if nothing had happened? Why wasn’t he happy?
“Devlin,” she began, suddenly panicked.
But he was crossing the room, he was leaving.
“Devlin?” She could not believe he would leave without a meaningful word, kiss, or even a look.
But at the door he paused, not turning to look at her. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said.
She knew he referred to the physical invasion of his large body into her small, narrow one, and she was finally disbelieving.
He walked out.
He was a man on a mission. He traversed the house with hard, purposeful strides, refusing to think. He only knew one thing. Never again.
He had failed to keep the vow he had made, to her and himself, and he had failed his parents, both alive and dead—he had failed. In the end he had been caught up in a hunger that was impossible to control or resist. He had never felt such urgency before and he was never going to feel it again.
Never again.
He stood before Sean’s closed bedroom door.
He did not see the wood there—he saw only violet eyes, wide and glazed, and he heard only her wild cries of pleasure, her begging for more.
What was wrong with him? A woman was only a vessel.
Elizabeth, Fiona, they were objects to be used.
Goddamn it. When he was inside of her, something had begun to break apart inside of him, something had begun to tear apart, almost like a dying man in an endless black tunnel, finally glimpsing the shadow of faraway light and life.
He didn’t like it.
He didn’t like it one bit.
Never again.
He realized he was standing in front of his brother’s door. He could still hear Virginia’s cries, he could still taste her, he could even smell her, all over him. If he dared, he could walk through the blackness and seize that faraway light.
The idea shimmered, beckoned. Devlin shoved his terrible thoughts aside and focused on a far more important matter. What if he had gotten her pregnant?
He reminded himself that he wouldn’t be around to find out.
His mind was ruthlessly made up. If anything, the thought of her being pregnant confirmed his decision. He banged upon the door twice.
Sean answered it, clad only in his drawers and looking as if he had been soundly asleep. But he took one look at Devlin and his eyes widened.
Devlin meant to smile at him. Nothing was more impossible. “Fine,” he said.
“What?” Sean asked, shock in his gaze, for he clearly knew what his brother had just done.
“You have my permission to court Virginia. Court her, woo her, win her love, it’s all the same to me—but in the end, you will marry her.”
Sean gaped.
Devlin slammed the door in his face.