Chapter 21 #2
So bloody lost in his own fiery longing, he couldn’t tell whether that little ‘yes’ came from his efforts or an answer to his inane reply of before.
Had he really believed his wife laconic?
Argyll rolled over and carried her with him so that she lay draped over him.
Lifting his head to capture her mouth, he yanked a corner of the offending material, and wrenched it sideways.
In one swift motion—taking Daria him, as he went—he whipped the other side.
Using his legs, Argyll shoved with the full force of his body.
The fabric hit the floor with a soft thump.
“Better?” he rasped against her mouth.
“Very much.”
He rubbed her at the place and pace he’d quickly learned she loved.
“So-ooooooooh.” Daria gripped her thighs like a vise about his hand.
It took but four powerful strokes to send her over again.
“Gregory,” she cried, pumping her hips, taking more pleasure—as he needed her to.
Argyll reached a hand down and loosened the fastening of his trousers. His fingers shook with the force of his want, and the bloody fear of it.
Sprung so hard, his enormous erection resisted the buttons. Yanking hard, the ivory fastenings plinked around the floor. His cock, already weeping at the head, sprung free. He hissed at the brief release.
“I’m going to make love to you, Daria Goodheart, my duchess,” He positioned himself between her legs. “I’m going to make you scream with even greater pleasure,” he vowed, sliding slowly inside her.
With each inch Daria took, she lifted her hips increasingly faster. Her luminous eyes pleaded with him.
“Gregory,” she moaned.
Sweat fell from his brow. “You’re going to kill me, love.” He took in slow, shallow breaths. “I’m trying to go slow, love. You are so bloody tight.” He inched within her.
He filled her all the way.
His cock throbbed, demanding he just let himself free within her.
Propped on his elbows, her slender body framed by his, he lifted his gaze and caught the sight they made in the mirror. Argyll gently claimed her mouth. “Look at us,” he whispered. He kissed her eyes open, and then tipped her head sideways.
Their gazes collided in the mirror. Daria’s breath caught audibly. “Watch, love,” he said, his voice a low, harsh rasp as he began to withdraw his length. “Watch me take you.” He filled her.
The cry he consumed with his mouth didn’t contain pain, only desperate want.
While he worshipped the hollow of her neck and rocked in and out of her, his eyes stayed on her. Her body flush with desire, her breasts marked by his mouth, drove his lust higher.
“Look how our bodies were made for one another.” His words came sharper.
His wife managed to lift her heavy lashes.
Their movements took on a greater urgency. She lifted. He lunged. Their bodies moved in harmony.
“Gregory?” There was a quivery question in her voice, its meaning now clear, and he reveled as an ancient warrior would.
“Come,” he urged.
Crying out, Daria was coming, her body gripping and ungripping him. Squeezing him.
Wait. Wait. Wait.
Argyll clenched his eyes tight.
Not until she finishes.
And with her channel still clenching and unclenching from the force of her surrender, Argyll lost himself on a last, single thrust.
His wife’s cries filled his buzzing ears as she joined him in another surrender.
Daria scoured her fingers over the expanse of his back; her jagged nails sank into his flesh; leaving crescent tattoos that bore her mark.
Shouting and cursing, Argyll emptied himself into his wife’s sweet channel; he came in waves, pouring his seed inside.
It isn’t enough. I want more. I want it all.
All of her. Gritting his teeth, Argyll dug his fingertips into her hips, anchoring her—anchoring himself as he drove himself deeper into her.
As Daria collapsed sobbing and sweat-slicked under him, Gregory’s body gave a final shudder.
Tossing his head back, he called out the only word available to him.
“Daria.”
All the sinew and muscles in Argyll’s body failed him.
On a dying gasp, he collapsed; just managing to catch himself by the elbows to keep from crushing his wife.
A violent shaking that would not quit, hit his entire sweat-drenched body.
It stole through his limbs. He set his jaw hard and sharp to keep his teeth from clacking together.
As Argyll attempted to climb down from the most violent orgasm he’d ever known, blood whooshed in his ears, leaving his head filled with a heavy sensation.
Panting, he dragged air in sharply through his nose and mouth, a futile attempt to fill his lungs.
His elbows gave out.
This relentless hunger that rose up inside came from the fact he hadn’t had it this good in so long. Too long.
Why?
His mind violently revolted from answering.
Gasping, Argyll managed to roll onto his side, bringing his wife with him as he went; he curved his body around hers. While he fought to get himself free of the eddy that’d swallowed him whole, Daria curled up; the crease of her buttocks pressed against his limp cock.
An impossible rush of blood crept back into the insatiable organ.
Argyll threw an arm around her middle, pulling her closer. Needing her…
Needing her…
He went still.
Not needing her. Needing her—again.
They were different that.
Daria rested her fingers, steady when his remained useless, on top of his hand and she lightly stroked him. She traced a delicate index finger along each digit. Her steady, butterfly soft caress conferred a warmth that radiated through him.
Then, Argyll’s wife’s unfamiliar song filled the air.
“…The fox went out on a chilly night,
he prayed to the Moon to give him light,
for a many a mile to go that night…”
The rich shades of her soothing, husky contralto, a balm upon Argyll’s black soul.
Her fingers continued to stroke the tops of his hand.
“…before he reached the town-o, town-o, town-o…”
“…many a mile to go that night
Her melodic voice lulled his eyes closed, her private serenade only for him, ushered Argyll to tranquil calm. The soft, siren’s song eased the tension from his shaken being. Their bodies twined like ivy; Argyll buried his head in the top of his wife’s damp midnight black hair.
“…He ran till he came to a great big bin…
where the ducks and the geese were put there in…
Argyll stilled.
“…a couple of you will grease my chin…”
A gentle memory intruded.
“…before I leave this town-o, town-o, town-o,
a couple of you will grease my chin…”
Gregory opened his eyes.
A rumble built slow steadily, deep inside him; pure parts of him—ones he hadn’t known were there—where cynicism hadn’t spoiled and only Daria tapped.
“…I would recommend you The Fox, as it is a cautionary tale…”
Laughter burst from him.
Daria’s song faltered. “G-Greg—?”
“D-Do n-not!” he rasped, between gasps of laughter. “Do not s-stop!”
As if no question were needed, because with Daria there wasn’t any need to fill the air with questions, she resumed her verse.
“…He grabbed the grey goose by the neck,
threw the duck across his back…”
Argyll’s body shook harder. Tears of mirth stung his eyes; drops of joy that seeped from the corners and spilled along his cheeks.
Innocence existed. A place where ribald ditties and wicked song did not. He’d found it.
“…and their legs all a-dangling down-o, down-o, down-o,
he didn’t mind their quack, quack, quack,
and their legs all a-dangling down-o….”
Argyll laughed until his voice went hoarse, and his wife’s last verse faded, and his amusement settled into a soft, quiet space.
Rolling onto his back, Argyll pulled Daria across him so she lay sprawled across the hard wall of his chest.
Argyll rubbed his palms over her back in smooth circles.
Daria propped her chin up and gazed at him with luminous eyes. He’d been an object of scrutiny his entire life.
No one. Not a single man, woman, not the parents who’d given him life, ever looked at him the way this mesmerizing lady did.
Her lips curved, soft and unguarded.
Weak, his mind dulled and his body singularly obsessed with possessing the dark-haired beauty staring at him like—
His body recoiled before the storm. His cold rake’s heart knocked in his ears.
“Gregory,” she whispered, her whisper its own enthralling song.
Argyll caught her by the waist.
He was too late. It was too late.
“I love you.”
An odd warmth washed over him; the foreignness of those words; compelling for the believing way in which they were spoken.
“No,” he snapped. His pulse sped up. He went to remove her from him.
Daria clung to him; refusing to release him from her tenacious limbs. His determined wife inched her way closer, so that their noses touched. “I do, Gregory.”
“You do not even know me, Daria.”
“Because we’ve known one another only days?”
“Yes!”
Daria scrunched her brow up.
There was some reason left in her still, which meant there was also hope she’d realize she’d mixed lust up with love.
“Well, that is silly,” she muttered.
Relief slammed through him and died with her next breath.
“Sometimes there are no explaining things.” Daria reached between them.
Struck dumb, he stared blankly as his innocent wife collected his shaking hand in her steady one. She drew his palm between to her chest.
His fingers trembled.
Hers held firm.
And while her heart beat steady and calm, with the surety of one assured in their beliefs, Argyll’s skittered out of control.
“Sometimes, Gregory,” Daria’s murmurings found their way inside him. “Destiny and fate—”
Argyll jumped up, his wife landed with a small bounce upon the feather mattress. “The illusion of destiny and fate are the same as silly curses,” he said, flexing his jaw.
“They are no illusions. Illusions only in that you can’t see them, but real.”