Chapter 8 #2
“I understand,” she told him. “But for my own past, sometimes I cannot shake the wish that I could recall more of it. Our courtship, for instance. I have nothing more than bits and pieces of our time together at Riverdale Abbey—some lines of poetry, the hint of a recollection that may be real or just a figment of my imagination.”
“What else do you need to know?”
She thought as they moved deeper into the shadows. “When did we first dance together?”
“It was at a ball. You were astoundingly lovely, as always, and I risked your brother’s wrath by asking you for a dance.”
Verity smiled, even as she searched her mind for a hint of that first occasion. Regretfully, there was nothing. How frustrating it was to have naught in her mind in place of what she knew must have been an occasion most momentous.
“I suppose Everett must have been quite vexed with us.”
“He was not pleased by the prospect, no.”
“Why?” Verity snuck another glance up at her handsome husband, but the darkness kept his face from her.
“He seems to believe that you would trifle with me, that your reputation should have been enough to warn me away. I should think he would be pleased instead that the two of us are happy and in love.”
“He is a stubborn man.”
They stopped near a fountain, the sound of the water trickling a pleasant distraction from the weightiness of her thoughts.
“He is indeed very tenacious,” she allowed fondly, for despite his reservations concerning her marriage to King, she loved Everett dearly.
“I am also woefully imperfect and undeserving of you, as he knew all too well,” King drawled as he took her into his arms, pulling her into the hard strength of his chest.
She settled there, resting her hands lightly on his shoulders, grateful for the solid feeling of him, so vital and alive.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that she had come close to losing him.
Not just last night, but at some point before.
The troublesome sensation that she had been apart from him returned.
“Why undeserving?” she asked. “I beg to differ. You saved my life.”
“Anyone in my place would have done the same.”
“I doubt that.”
“Because you are an angel, always seeing the best in others. Me included.” He cupped her cheek, sending an answering quiver of delicious warmth through her.
“I’m hardly an angel.” She turned, kissing his palm.
All the upheaval of the past day, her fears over Emma, her upset at his refusal to unburden himself to her, her shock at his absence, ebbed as they stood together in the waning moonlight.
There was nothing between them now. Not disapproving brothers, not the painful past, nor the uncertain future.
Nothing but the two of them, Verity and King.
Her body was acutely aware of every move he made as he flattened his other hand on the small of her back, holding her to him.
“I am truly sorry for leaving last night,” he said softly.
“I am your wife now. You can come to me with your worldly cares. Don’t hide them from me.”
His thumb rubbed slowly over her lower lip, setting her heart pounding. “There is nowhere I would rather be than at your side.”
She closed her eyes, tilting her head back to receive his kiss. The first flitting of his mouth over hers was brief and light. Not nearly sufficient. She must have made a noise of frustration because he chuckled, the sound low and deep and seductively soft, like velvet pulled over bare skin.
“Patience, sweetness. We have all night and every night after.”
They hadn’t had last night, but she kept that to herself.
She had already forgiven him for leaving, and she understood the reason.
Although he presented himself to the world as if he were cold and precise, incapable of feeling, she knew the tender heart that beat within his chest, the answer to hers.
“I missed you,” she breathed instead, a whisper and a prayer and a plea all at once. “I did not like sleeping alone.”
She didn’t want to lose him again as she had last night, when he had shut her out and disappeared.
He had been so harsh and angry, so closed off in a way she had never known.
In a way that frightened her. But now again, he was her King.
Charming in the moonlight, holding her in his arms as if he never wanted to let her go.
She rose on her toes and pressed her mouth to his, showing him with deeds rather than words how precious he was to her.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered against her lips. “I missed you more.”
He deepened the kiss at once, and she clung to him, kissing him back with all the pent-up emotion she had been keeping from him.
Her love for him sometimes terrified her.
It was so strong, so ferocious and all-consuming.
The nights before they had wed, she had lain awake in her bed with a yearning that had kept her from sleep.
Last night had been no different. He had been next door—or so she had thought—but every bit as out of reach.
She would have to do everything she could to show him the depth of her emotions. How much she needed him. He was hers now, and yet she still knew that same, restless longing, that worry he could never truly belong to her.
He growled low in his throat, licking into her mouth as if she herself were the dessert to be savored instead of the cream ice they had abandoned.
Her tongue slid against his, and his hand glided lower to cup her breast. Though the layers of her gown, undergarments, and corset separated her from his touch, her nipples hardened.
How she ached to be alone with him in his bedroom. To be naked.
“Perhaps we’ve seen enough of the gardens,” she suggested breathlessly against his lips.
His head lifted, his eyes glittering down at her. “What are you suggesting, wife?”
Wife.
Oh, how she adored that word. How she loved being his.
“Take me upstairs,” she said.
The walk from the garden to his bedroom was a blur of simmering desire. He didn’t know which affected him more, Verity or spirits. Last night, he had been drunk on gin, trying to drown his demons. Tonight, he was drunk on her.
And although they had already made love, he felt as eager as he had the first time. More so, even. His hands trembled as he helped her out of her gown and corset.
Slow down, you fool, he reminded himself sternly as his finger fumbled over tapes and knots and hooks.
She had forgiven him, but he still needed to make amends the only way he knew how, by giving her so much pleasure she couldn’t think of anything else. Until he replaced all her misgivings with desire.
He was so desperate to please her that he couldn’t resist dropping to his knees when he had her drawers pooled on the Axminster.
She still wore her chemise, and it was easily enough rucked up to her waist as he sought his prize.
He hooked her leg over his shoulder. One of her hands settled on his shoulder, the other atop his head, her fingers threading through his hair.
“What are you intending?” she asked softly.
He was shocking her, he was sure. But he was beyond caring.
“Pleasuring you,” he murmured.
“Standing up?”
“And a hundred other ways. I’ll show them all to you. But first, I need you to come on my face.”
Her lips parted, her eyes going glassy. She wanted this every bit as much as he needed it. Needed to lose himself in her, in the desire they shared. Needed to make both their pasts fade away until there was nothing but the two of them.
“You do?” she repeated, her voice husky.
“God yes, sweetness.” He nuzzled her mound, inhaling the musky, floral scent of her, soap and perfume blending with desire.
And then he cupped her bottom and licked her seam, pleased to find she was already soaked from the kisses they had shared in the garden.
He licked into her again and again, his mouth full of perfect, pink, glistening cunny.
Licked her until she writhed against him, her fingers tightening in his hair.
She tasted so good. He was drowning in pleasure, in longing.
It didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered but her.
He found the demanding bud of her clitoris and sucked hard, and her hips bucked. Alternating between licking and suckling, he sank a finger into her tight heat. She was drenched, the grip of her cunny enough to make him groan. He couldn’t wait to be inside her. Had he ever been this desperate?
Had he ever wanted a woman this much?
Pumping his finger steadily in and out, he flicked his tongue over her pearl faster, harder. He was a supplicant quite literally at Verity’s feet. On his knees for her. Mayhap he could never make it right, he could never completely earn her, but he could easily spend the rest of his years trying.
He heard her sharp inhalation of breath, felt her body twist and stiffen, her cunny spasming around his finger as he drove deep, and he knew he had brought her to completion. He longed to tongue her to another orgasm, but he swore he’d die if he didn’t have her soon.
He pressed a wet kiss to her inner thigh, then lifted his head to savor the sight of her covered in dew, his finger still in her to the hilt. The only more glorious thing to behold would be his cock, filling her.
“Forgive me,” he murmured, hating how he had been, his loss of control.
It had been many years since he had allowed himself to feel anything other than lust. But she was worth being vulnerable. He could slay the demons, if only for her.
Her fingers riffled through his hair. “Stop apologizing and finish making love to me. You’re wearing far too many clothes.”
A laugh tore from him. “Impatient angel.” He withdrew from her slowly, mesmerized by the glistening evidence of her desire coating his finger. “I needed my dessert first. It was far too sweet to be skipped.” He offered the finger to her. “Taste how sweet.”
Holding his gaze, she took the digit into her mouth and sucked.
Blazing hell. He hadn’t been prepared for her lusty response, for the way her tongue plied the bottom of his finger, for the suction of those lush lips. His cock ached, longing to replace his finger. He forced himself to recall that she was still relatively a novice.
Slowly, you fool, he reprimanded himself again.
But he didn’t listen.
Instead, he pulled his finger out of her mouth and surged to his feet, taking her lips in a slow, ravishing kiss. “Fuck,” he muttered. “I need you too badly.”
“Yes,” she whispered, tearing at his buttons, seemingly as frantic for him as he was for her.
But there wasn’t time to divest him of his garments.
He picked her up and carried her across the room, settling her on the edge of the bed.
Then he tore open the fall of his trousers, pulled her chemise around her waist, and notched his leaking cock against the sultry wet warmth of her cunt. Heaven was there. So close.
He broke the kiss.
“Need you now,” he managed to rasp, leaning his forehead into hers.
Their breathing was mutually ragged as he guided her legs around his hips. The bed was stupidly tall, but it was perfect for his height. He could fuck her this way with ease. He didn’t even need to bend his knees.
“Please,” she begged, kissing him. “Make love to me.”
She didn’t need to tell him a second time.
And although he told himself to proceed gently, he had scarcely any tenderness left in him as he thrust into her, overwhelmed instead by raw, unrestrained need.
She wrapped around him perfectly, soaked and inviting, her inner muscles clenching in welcome.
Another push forward, and he was all the way in.
With great effort, he stilled, even when his body cried out for more.
“Do you have any pain?”
“None, my love.”
She was resilient. He knew that about her.
Admired it. And now that same resilience had him losing control in a different way.
He kissed her, dragging himself through her slickness until he was almost free and then pumping hard, until he was once more being milked by her sweet cunny.
It was too good. Better than before, even, because this time, he wasn’t encumbered by the worry that he was hurting her.
This time, she was already his, and this dance between them could take the path it chose.
He slammed in and out of her, kissing her, fucking her whilst wearing every last stitch of his clothes.
He hadn’t even taken off her chemise. Her pretty breasts were hidden from view.
He broke the kiss, needing to see himself pumping into her, to see her stretched wide, taking him.
With one hand, he tore at her chemise, ripping the fine fabric down the center and setting her breasts free.
Hard pink nipples bobbed forth for his mouth.
He took his time sucking each one as he fucked her hard and deep, then straightened to watch his cock disappearing into her again and again.
“You tore my chemise,” she gasped, bracing herself on the mattress as she met him thrust for thrust, taking her pleasure.
“Forgive me,” he gritted out insincerely. “But I’d tear it again if given the chance.”
Then he lowered his head and took her nipple back into his mouth, sucking hard as he thrust into her, his fingers stroking her bud the way she’d shown him she liked.
She choked out his name, clamping down hard on him, squeezing him so tightly that his own orgasm rushed upon him. Something hot unfurled deep in his spine, and then he lost control completely. He was too late to withdraw from her. For the first time in years, King spilled inside a woman.
Inside Verity.
His wife.
And as he collapsed against her, scarcely able to catch his breath, he didn’t have a single regret.