Chapter 18
18
He kissed her with urgency, his lips like fire, his arms around her waist like iron rods. She moaned as she melted against his granite-hard chest. He groaned into her mouth, and his tongue tangled with hers, setting all of her senses on edge.
Her hands were in his hair, around his neck, and she had the urge to grind her sex against him like she had before, to rub her breasts against his body and purr like a cat.
Did she just say she wanted a real marriage? To the Duke of Pryde—the man she’d once thought as cold as stone?
But she knew there was more to him. She’d seen him with Augustus and with Mr. Hawthorne. He’d paid a fortune so she could have the Pictish mirror, and he’d been protective of her with the Regent…
Despite her reservations, deep in her heart, she wanted nothing but to bring him happiness.
And she was weary of resisting her body’s desire for him.
She was ready.
He was breathing hard now—they both were. He leaned back and looked her up and down. “Modesty… I…” He shook his head, as though trying to shake off some kind of a fog and gather his thoughts.
“What?” she murmured.
His eyes were so dark they swallowed her whole. “I can’t think straight… God… What are you doing to me?”
She? She was doing this to him? She’d never seen him with a single hair out of order. Even when he was hurrying out of the house on some secret mission, he was still meticulously collected.
Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. “Are you certain about this?” he asked.
She licked her lips and looked up at him from under her eyelashes. As she worked one button of his waistcoat free, he exhaled a ragged breath.
“I am very certain, Constantine,” she said as she began working on the next button. “I want you to fulfill your promise to put something big inside me.”
He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, a visible tremor passing through him. “Good Lord, woman, you don’t know what you’re asking. I am not a gentle lover. There’s a certain way I like things so that I don’t lose control… I don’t know that you can bear it.”
A deep ache in the pit of her stomach made her squirm and clench her thighs together. She didn’t know what he meant. But she knew she wanted everything. “I can handle it.”
He fell on her lips again, and, with barely restrained force, walked her backwards. Behind her, something heavy thumped against the rug, followed by the distinct sound of crystal rolling across wooden floorboards. The port decanter, her mind registered distantly, unwilling to focus on anything except his touch.
Her back met with a wall, and she felt the fabric of the curtain on the skin of her upper back. As he kissed her, ground against her, his hands in her hair, his hard body flattening her against the wall, she heard a slight ripping of the curtain high up by the ceiling.
He growled into her mouth like a wolf. His hands roamed her body with desperate hunger, kneading her breasts until she arched into his touch, wanting more, needing more. Each caress sent tingles through her body, making her gasp against his mouth.
“I’m going to hoist you up,” he murmured against her lips. “And I want you to wrap your legs around me.”
“What?” she asked.
“Wrap your legs around my hips.”
He ran his hands down to her waist, then he yanked her dress up. Lifting her by the hips, he pinned her to the wall with his pelvis, and she wrapped her thighs around his hips as he thrust his hard and impressive bulge straight against her sex.
“Good girl,” he rasped, and his praise made her inner muscles tense sweetly.
She moaned as friction brought the delight she craved. She was surrounded by him—nowhere to go—and she wanted nothing more than this. She began moving her hips with the rhythm of his soft thrusts, meeting his pelvis, and he groaned like an animal.
Suddenly the wall was gone from behind her back, and he was carrying her. She loved that, despite her height, he could carry her effortlessly. He threw her onto the bed and loomed over her, his arms supporting him, his face above hers.
He did not wear the cold mask of a statue anymore.
There was raw emotion on his face.
Adoration. Hunger.
Longing.
He scanned her body, breathing deeply, quickly, unevenly.And embarrassment hit her, mixed with a burning excitement when she realized her skirt and her petticoat were still pulled up to her hips. Her legs were covered only by her stockings and her shoes.
His gaze on her sex was so intense, she felt like he was already touching her.“Open your legs for me, darling.”
She squirmed, and her folds wettened. She squeezed her thighs together, her face heating.
“I don’t know if it’s appropriate… To look there…”
He fumbled with his coat, but his hands were shaking.“We’re past propriety, darling.” His voice was even, but deep and raspy. “You’re about to become mine forever. I want to see you. All of you.”
Another sweet spasm had her inner walls tightening in anticipation, her blood heating. What was his commanding voice doing to her?
She did as he asked, feeling herself become vulnerable and bare, heat creeping down her face to her neck. As his gaze dropped to her very core, he let out a sharp exhale and something animalistic crossed his features.
He growled deeper than before.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as his chest rose and fell faster, the tendons in his neck bulging.
“What a pretty seashell…” he murmured. “All mine.”
He shrugged off his waistcoat and tossed it aside, yanked his white shirt out of his breeches, and pulled it over his head so harshly, she heard the fabric tear. He kicked off his boots and shoved down his breeches and stood completely bare before her.
Besides a glorious show of broad, muscular shoulders, a hard chest with defined muscles, a finely carved abdomen going into narrow hips, and muscular thighs, there was…
Her breath hitched. A very long, thick organ stood upright amid a circle of dark hair.
She supported herself with her elbows as she craned her neck to see it better. She opened her mouth in shock.“Is this the hard thing you spoke of? The one that would bring me pleasure?” she asked, recalling his words from before when his fingers had introduced her to such bliss.
He swallowed hard. “It is.”
She couldn’t find her words for a moment. “How is it ever going to fit?”she managed finally.
“It will…and I’ll make sure you’ll love it. But first I’m going to make a feast of you.”
And then he fell straight onto the bed between her thighs, his face so close to her sex she shifted away in embarrassment.
“Constantine!” she demanded in alarm. “What are you doing?”
He grasped her hips with his hands and looked up at her. “I’m going to kiss your pretty shell, darling. Keep your thighs open for me.”
“No! Surely, you don’t have to do that…”
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, and when his gaze met hers again, it was strangely tender. “I understand you feel shy. I wouldn’t want to do anything you don’t want me to. And I don’t have to do anything, Modesty. But I’m dying to kiss you there, dying to put my mouth on your pretty wet lips. I want to taste you, feel you tighten and shudder and fall apart from my touch. I don’t remember wanting anything more.”
Oh, dear heaven… Just his words had a wave of heat rushing through her, sweat hitting her skin.
His eyes were warm on hers. “Tell me to stop and I will. What will it be? Do you want me to kiss you there?”
A tremor rushed through her as she opened her mouth to say the most decadent words of her life. “Yes, I want you to kiss me there.”
“Good girl.”
And then his lips were on her… And he kissed her sex like he kissed her mouth…desperately, hungrily, his tongue swirling and exploring her folds.
She moaned as intense bliss spilled through her.
First his hands…and now this… Was there any end to the exquisite torture he could put her through? And how would it feel to have his hard member deep inside her, where his fingers had been…
She felt her walls squeeze deeply, heat taking over her body.
He teased her and gently sucked her flesh and all she could do was take it and try not to die from bliss. He was making noises of his own: desperate growls, masculine moans, and words of encouragement and adoration slipped through his lips like he was in a fever.
She was about to fall apart when he withdrew from her, and looked up, his fingers gently rubbing her heated, achy, needy flesh.
“Sweet girl, I can feel your walls tightening for me, can feel how drenched you are.”
He rose to his knees, his hands shaking as he held his large member. It looked so thick and swollen, long veins running along its sides. He stroked himself up and down, looking at her. Then he had her sit up, unlaced her dress and pulled it down, then unlaced her corset and pulled it over her head. And finally, with his hands that refused to cooperate, he removed her chemise.
Finally, she was left in only her stockings and slippers, which she kicked off.
He stood over her, his hair tousled, so unlike the Duke of Pryde. He looked so young and vulnerable. So different… And she loved him like this. This was the man beneath the mask.
Passionate.
Honest.
True.
He cupped her breasts and bent his head to lick and suck on them until she was breathing raggedly. Then he positioned himself between her thighs, and instinctively, she moved her hips, rubbing herself against him, wanting him to come closer. His member felt silky and hot and hard against her.
He groaned and was visibly shaking. “I am going to take you now. God help me to keep control…”
“No, Constantine. Don’t hold yourself back. Lose control. I want you to.”
“I don’t want it to hurt for you.”
“Will it?”
“It might. That’s why I wish to be gentle with you,” he whispered, his fingers trembling as they traced her cheek. “I’d rather suffer a thousand wounds myself than cause you a moment’s pain.”
He pressed his member into her entrance, and she moaned, welcoming the strange but pleasant invasion. With one hand, he rubbed her folds in that beautifully sensitive place while he slowly entered her with small, controlled thrusts.
She was stretching, stretching, and then she felt it, the pain, the snap of something inside her, and then he was in.
He cried out and shook in her arms. She gasped, overwhelmed by the wonderful sensation of him inside her. She felt so full, and the slight sting was dissolving as she tightened around him.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
He was supporting himself with his elbows, and his hands cupped her face, gently stroking sweaty strands of hair from her forehead.
“It did a little,” she said as she moved her pelvis to meet him, to bring him deeper. “But not anymore.”
He kissed her, dozens of small, soft kisses on her lips, her eyes, her cheeks. “I’m sorry, darling girl. I’m so sorry for hurting you. I promise, this will only get better. A world of delight. Anything you want is yours. I’ll do anything…”
His care made her heart tighten, and she reassured him with a deep kiss.
“Then don’t stop,” she murmured against his lips. “Show me this world of delight. I want you to take me. Do whatever you please with me.”
He gave out another wolfish growl and began moving his hips. Slowly at first, in and out, in an exquisite torture. The pain left completely as deep satisfaction took over, and she wanted him to go faster.
They were as close, as connected as two people could be. He was looking into her eyes, and she into his, and she more sure than ever she was seeing the man behind the walls he’d erected around himself.
And then he came undone, thrusting into her with ferocious abandon, and the tension was building, building, and he was groaning and murmuring:“How did I ever resist you?” and “I want you. All of you,” and “I need you,” and “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you.”
He was taking her to heights she never thought possible. Something tightened inside into unimaginable bliss, and as she cried out and arched her back, he bucked and growled and held her hips, pounding into her quickly. And as she fell apart, so did he. For a few moments, they both shook, and then he fell into her arms, burying his face in her neck, his arms wrapping around her.
They were locked together, he was still inside her, and she was melting in his arms as they breathed one breath.
Their hearts beating as one, she marveled at the transformation before her. Gone was the icy mask he always wore, replaced by something raw and real and beautiful. His eyes held such tenderness as they met hers, such vulnerability, that her heart swelled with love. This was the true Constantine—not the Duke of Pryde who the world knew, but her Constantine, who trembled at her touch and whispered endearments against her skin.
And she loved him, every part of him, even the parts he had only now dared to show.