Chapter Eighteen
Jerome shut the bedroom door and advanced on his wife, who stood by the dressing table, removing pins from her hair.
Neither had spoken during the carriage drive home, but he did not mistake her silence for anything but anger.
His own white-hot fury had abated a little, but not so much that he could be conciliatory.
“What is between you and Lannister?”
“We are friends! That is all.” She matched him, fists clenched by her sides, her chin up and blue eyes blazing. She was magnificently beautiful in her rage.
“I caught him hugging you before, Ava!”
“It was a comfort hug. I was upset! Over you!” Her eyes sparkled with tears, but they didn’t fall.
“A comfort hug! There is no such thing! A man of his ilk doesn’t hug a woman he’s not interested in bedding!” He turned away and paced to the fireplace, where flames danced over a log.
“What are you suggesting?” Her voice was low and panting with fury.
He turned and faced her, braced for a truth he didn’t want to hear. “Well, did he? As far as I can work out, he’s had ample opportunity!”
She stood, her generous bosom in its low-cut evening gown heaving with her emotions, and glared at him but didn’t reply.
Goaded, he said, “Is he—was he your lover?”
She closed the space between them and slapped his face, her eyes spilling tears down her cheeks even as she said through her teeth, “Is that what you think of me? That I would play you false, follow you north but dally with him on the way? How could you?”
He pulled her close and kissed her then, no more able to resist her than a siren call.
*
Yanked against his body and kissed with savage brutality, Ava’s anger transmuted to passion, and she kissed him back with equal fervor.
She even bit his lip and tasted blood. It fueled her jumbled emotions further and when he dragged her to the carpet and rolled her under him, she pushed up into him like a wanton, gasping and mewling like a demented kitten.
His hands pushed her skirts up and undid his falls, all the while his mouth ravished her neck and her hands tore at his neckcloth and tangled in his hair.
She wanted to hit him and kiss him and bite him and love him all at once. His weight kept her pinned to the carpet, and she gloried in his strength as one hand reached between her legs to stroke her, while the other grabbed her wrists and held them captive above her head.
She moaned at the searing pleasure of his touch, and he raised his head to stare down into her eyes. “You’re wet! You want me!” His voice was thick with desire.
She wrenched at his grip to get her hands free to grab his face to kiss him and show him how much she wanted him. But his grip tightened, and she made an infuriated sound of frustration as he lowered his head and kissed her deeply.
He loosened his hold on her wrists, and she tore at his jacket to pull it off.
He rose up and helped her. The cloth ripped, but he didn’t even seem to notice, tossing the garment aside, and reached down to yank at the front fastenings of her dress.
He bared her breasts, ripped off his waistcoat and shirt, and lowered his head to devour her breasts with ravenous need.
She whimpered and squirmed. Panting, she tugged at him, “Jerome!”
“You want me?” He leaned over her, panting, his cock hard and red jutted between them from the open falls of his breeches.
She nodded. “Please,” she whispered brokenly.
She was afire with a need so powerful she would expire if he didn’t touch her, take her.
He lowered his body onto hers and, holding her gaze with his, joined them with a swift, hard thrust that jolted her whole frame and drove a groan of delight from her throat.
She lifted her legs higher, as his deep, rapid thrusts escalated her pleasure.
There was nothing gentle in this brutal mutual taking, as her hands tore at his shoulders and back, digging in her nails.
She gave into the savage need to bite him and rip at him, pushing up into his downward thrusts with violent need.
Pleasure spiraled up and up within her, and she cried out with each hard thrust that took her closer and closer to the ball of bliss just out of reach.
It wound impossibly tight within her. She arched up into him as he thrust down, and it exploded in a coruscating lightning blast through her body, reverberating through her so strongly she forgot to breathe.
She felt and heard the devastating violence of his own release, even though it was slightly muted by the intensity of her own.
But as hers receded slowly, she became aware of him more, as he continued to move in her with a shuddering force.
His eyes closed, his expression torn with the agony of release, his hands gripping her shoulders from underneath as he thrust and thrust through the dying embers of his orgasm.
Slowly his body stilled and subsided on hers, heavy with the weight of total collapse.
She lay getting her breath back, listening to him breathe, feeling his warm breath against her neck, the sweat-slicked skin between them.
The heat from the fire warmed them more than they needed.
Her new gown was ruined—his jacket, too—and it didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered but this. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and squeezed.
He raised his head slowly and kissed her gently, soft, repeated kisses to her lips, his eyes dark and slumberous. “Ava,” he whispered. “My Ava.”
Then he pulled back, separating their bodies and rising, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to bed. He got rid of the remnants of her dress, her petticoats, stays, and stockings.
Then he fetched a cloth to clean her with and finally crawled into bed and pulled her into his arms. She nestled in, reluctant to break the silent truce between them with speech. She tucked her head into his chest and let exhaustion take her.
*
Jerome held her as she slipped into sleep and blinked away the tears that stung his eyes. He pressed a kiss to her hair and whispered. “I love you so much, Ava.”