Chapter 14 #2
“Me private life, according to ye, is none of yer business, Yer Grace,” she said with a restrained sob. “I am merely takin’ a moment to breathe. Do I have yer permission to do that much?”
“Do not be like this,” he said as he strode toward her, shaking his head from side to side as his own locks began to fall out of place. “You fled the ballroom as if the devil himself were on your heels. You are causing comment where we do not need it.”
“And ye were the one causin’ a scene, nae me!” she snapped, planting her hands on her hips and refusing to back down. “Seizin’ me from Lamfort, claimin’ me like property! That is nay way to talk to another peer, nor to yer wife... at least nae in public. I ken ye daenae like me, Benedict!”
“That is no way to talk to your husband,” he countered, his voice a low, warning rumble.
“Why do ye pretend to care about me, only to bring me crashin’ back down?”
“You are impossibly wrong in your assumptions. You must see reason.”
“Or what?” she challenged, her voice trembling slightly. “Or what will you do? Will ye toss me away again? Will ye reprimand me a child?”
He took the final two steps that separated them, his sheer size engulfing her. His heat radiated, forcing her to tilt her chin back to meet his gaze.
“I will just have to teach you how to behave then,” he murmured, pinning her against the wall in an instant with his hands on either side of her head, his eyes burning into hers.
His thoughts suddenly rushed to that stolen moment in the hall, just a short time ago at Ealdwick. He was impossibly hard and frustrated, being so close to her, yet so far.
Isla pushed against his granite chest. “I daenae want ye to touch me, ye brute,” she cried. “If ye are goin’ to find me so appallin’ that ye must toss me away when I daenae do exactly as ye wish, then leave me be!”
Her words, sharp and desperate, cut through his lustful haze. His body went rigid, and the burning intensity in his eyes flickered, replaced by a sudden, stunned shock. He slowly eased the pressure of his hands as he cupped her cheeks in his hands.
“Appalling?” he asked, the word slow and heavy. “You think I find you appalling?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Like everyone else. Ye called our kiss a mistake, and ye refuse to look at me… even when we are alone. Look at… me face. What else am I to believe?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“I daenae believe ye,” she said with a quiet sob.
“You think I find these appalling?”
His hands, large and calloused, lifted slowly, deliberately, and traced the uneven texture of the scar that ran across her cheek and down her jaw and to her chest.
His touch was feather-light, reverent even, sending a jolt of liquid fire through her veins that pooled between her legs.
“I do not,” he breathed as he brought his hands back up to her face. “You earned these marks while protecting your siblings, did you not? When a beast attacked you, and you survived to tell the tale?”
Isla could only nod, suddenly breathless.
“Then I admire them,” he stated, his voice dropping to a seductive, throaty register that made her knees weak. “I find them noble. They are proof of your courage, Isla. The marks of a true warrior. The proof of a woman whose fierce loyalty I chose to bring into my home. I chose you, Isla.”
The last of her resistance crumbled with those four words.
I chose you, Isla.
His mouth descended once more, crushing hers with desperate intensity.
This kiss was a demand, a savage claim, and a profound apology all wrapped in one. He devoured her mouth, his hands moving to cup her face, his thumbs stroking the very scars he had just praised.
Isla moaned into his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving herself over to the force of his desire. Her polished composure dissolved, leaving only the fierce, passionate woman beneath who so dreadfully needed her husband.
He broke the kiss only to travel down her neck, finding the sweet, sensitive hollow beneath her ear.
“You are exquisite,” he breathed, his voice thick. “And you are mine, my Duchess.”
He backed her fully against the cold wall, his body pressing his weight into her, letting her feel the hard, undeniable evidence of his arousal.
His hands were everywhere. Tracing the lines of her waist, back and forth, before settling on the curve of her hip, all the while pulling her flush against him.
“You asked what I would do, Duchess,” he growled. He pressed his hips tighter against hers, eliciting a sharp, needy gasp. “I will show you that when I claim you in public, I will take you in private.”
“What if someone finds us?”
“Let them dare to come between me and what is mine.”
“But…but…” She mumbled but didn’t find any more words of protest.
She wanted him. Urgently. She wanted his kiss, his touch, his heat—and this need defeated every rational part of her.
“Do you not want this, Isla?”
“Aye… I do,” she said as her eyes traveled to his broad chest.
She reached out then, pressing and leaning against him as one would use a wall to prevent fainting.
I am so inexperienced, unsure of what to do. Everythin’ is happenin’ impossibly fast, and yet not fast enough as blood rushes to parts of meself I didnae ken existed!
“Oh, Duchess,” he rasped, his head tipping back for a moment as she shook it from side to side. “Whatever will I do to you,” he said as he lowered his head and took her mouth again, sliding his tongue in and out of her mouth as he began to lick her lips. “You are truly a delight for the senses.”
He bent over to hike up her dress, his hand dipping beneath the hem of her gown and running up the curve of her silk-clad leg. She moaned into his chest as she put her head on him, unable to control her response to him.
She was trembling—from fear, from wonder, from the dizzying rush of something entirely new. Every breath seemed borrowed, every heartbeat too loud in her ears. She had imagined what it might mean to be a wife, but nothing had prepared her for this.
She did not know what he meant to do, only that her body leaned toward his as if it already knew.
Finally, he reached the delicate skin of her inner thigh, and she sighed in sheer relief. He trailed his fingers up and down the soft, delicate, and untouched part of her until he found himself at her entrance.
“Oh!” Her body wriggled involuntarily, another moan escaping her lips.
He ran his touch slowly over the wet folds. He let out a groan as he pressed forward and found the core of her, exploring every inch. His fingers were firm, mapping the contours of her body, exploring her without hesitation.
“Yes, just like that,” he encouraged, as her eyes fluttered closed. “This is as much for me as it is for you. Trust me.”
“I cannae see how,” she moaned as she opened her legs wider.
“Relax for me, Isla. Enjoy this.”
His words coursed through her body, melting her worries, her reluctance. She pressed her head onto his bare chest and moaned.
He increased the pressure as he worked her, his thumb stroking rhythmically against her bud, making her see stars where there were none. Isla pushed against his hand, instinctively seeking more and not caring what she looked like. All she felt was neediness.
She bit her lip to hold back a cry, her hands anchoring themselves in the thick, dark hair at the back of his neck then. She felt like she was drowning in him.
“Look at me, Isla,” he commanded softly, pulling her gaze back to his as her emerald eyes fluttered open. “You are not appalling. You are magnificent.”
“Do ye really think so? How can a man like ye…”
“You are so beautiful, so brave. Let me pleasure you.”
“What do I do?” she moaned. “I want to make you feel good too.”
“Relax your muscles and say my name when you come. You can do that, surely,” he purred.
Her body trembled at the low hum of his voice—that deep, velvety sound that seemed to ripple through her, setting every nerve alight. Heavens, how easily he could undo her with nothing more than his words.
“Yes. Yes, I will,” she replied.
He continued the relentless, skilled stroking, as if he already knew every button to press to send her over the edge. With every husky word and every touch, he broke down the icy wall she had built around her heart until it overflowed.
“Oh, Benedict!” When she could take no more, she cried out his name.
It was a rough, choked sound as her body began to shake beneath her. The room swam around her, the scent of expensive perfume and him overwhelming her senses.
“Mine,” he whispered against her mouth.
A fierce, primal cry tore from her lips as pleasure surged through every vein, shattering her in waves that seemed endless.
The world around her vanished; there was only the rough stone at her back, the heat of his body, and the dizzying rush of release that stole her breath.
Her knees buckled, her fingers clutching at him for balance, trembling as the aftershocks rippled through her.
She felt utterly undone, bare to her soul, her body humming with the memory of his touch, claimed in a way she could never take back.
He pushed his hardness against her then, through his pants, but hot between her legs.
“Can you feel what you do to me, my sweet?”
Isla slowly pushed off the cold wall, her legs weak, her breath coming in shallow, trembling gasps.
Heat still pulsed through her, fierce and aching, as if his touch lingered beneath her skin.
She felt consumed, every thought tangled in the desperate need he’d awakened, still reaching for him even as the air between them cooled.
“What did ye do to me?” she gasped.
“You are my wife. That is all you need to know right now. You will be treated this way, with every attention and touch that is befitting that. You. Are. Mine.”
Benedict watched her, his own breath still ragged as he ran his fingers through his messy hair, utterly transformed from the Duke who had arrived at the ball.
He reached out then, his movements precise despite his distraction, and began pulling down the bodice of her gown, which had been pushed up during their struggle.
Isla stood perfectly still, allowing him to smooth the velvet over her curves.
He secured the ribbons at her back with meticulous care as he brushed her skirts down.
When he was done, he gripped her chin gently, forcing her to look up at him.
“We are leaving now,” he stated, his voice a low, commanding whisper.
She simply nodded, too overwhelmed to argue, too weak to resist.