Chapter Thirteen
Grace felt warm and breathless, and more than a little shaken.
Had she drunk too much champagne, had it clouded her judgment?
But it had been so nice, and Rory had been so nice.
And now they were going to be married in truth, and all her fears would be put to rest. Well, some of them anyway.
The future was still uncertain, but at least she would feel more secure.
Tears of relief filled her eyes. She turned her head away so that he couldn’t see as he led her up the curving staircase.
And now there was that ache low in her belly, the want that Bolton had never relieved.
There had been times when she had wanted to scream at him for his cruelty, and he had laughed, reveling in his power over her.
Before he ran away, she had begun to hate him.
Rory wouldn’t do that, would he?
She squeezed her thighs together, attempting to control this desperate need for him.
She hadn’t forgotten the warmth of his body against hers on their wedding night, when her desire had been all tangled up with her fear of being abandoned.
He had pushed her away then. She refused to let that happen again.
Grace thought feverishly that she would make him want her.
She would be like Bolton and tempt him and tease him, until he was completely in her power, but she would never deny him the final act of completion.
As soon as they were inside his bedchamber with the door closed, she turned and kissed him, winding her arms about his neck and pressing her body to his.
He groaned, his mouth devouring hers, and then he lifted her so that she had to clasp her legs about his hips to save herself from falling.
She could already feel the hard rise of his manhood, nudging between her thighs, sending little jolts of pleasure through her.
Her neck felt too weak to hold her head up and she let it fall back with a soft groan, her body so eager for him to breach her that she could barely breathe.
She felt his mouth against her throat, the rasp of his beard against her skin.
Would he be rough, or would he be gentle? He was already a little out of control as he nuzzled against her, his warm breath bringing gooseflesh to her skin, while his hands were hard as he gripped her hips.
“I want you naked,” he said with a growl.
Grace wanted to be naked. She wanted him to be naked, too, and she told him so.
He set her down at the bottom of his bed and, with his eyes fixed on her, he began to strip off his jacket.
With trembling hands she unhooked her bodice, undoing the tiny buttons that ran down to her high waistline.
She was wearing a chemise beneath, and as she shimmied the gown down and stepped out of it, she gave a little shiver.
Not from cold, she was a long way from being cold.
Rory shrugged off his shirt and she paused with the straps of her chemise halfway down her upper arms to take him in. A line of rusty hair bisected his muscled chest and hard stomach, and his pale skin was flushed with exercise and desire. He gave a laugh, and her gaze jerked back to his face.
“Hurry up, Grace,” he said in a low teasing voice.
Hastily, she let her chemise fall, and now she was in her stockings and shoes.
Rory paused with his hands on the fastenings of his pantaloons and stared.
For a moment she thought he was going to grab her and throw her onto the bed, but then he took a deep breath and pushed his garment down over his hips and thighs and let it fall.
At some point he had already removed his footwear, and now he knelt on the floor at her feet and, grasping her hips, he pressed his face against the bare skin of her belly.
She could feel his breath hot against her, and the rasp of his jaw as he rubbed against her. She felt him smile and then he ran his tongue down to the thatch of dark hair at the junction of her thighs.
Grace gasped, her shaky legs opening to his intrusion. Shakily, she put her hands on his head, threading her fingers through his bright hair. He licked his way across the slick warm skin, teasing her as she gasped and clung to him.
Bolton had used his fingers on her, making promises and then not delivering, but she wasn’t sure she could bear it if Rory did that to her.
“Please,” she gasped. “I need . . . I need . . .”
One last swipe of his tongue, and he was standing, lifting her with him until he had her tight against his naked body.
She let her shoes fall to the floor, and once more she wrapped her legs around him, only this time there was no clothing between them and she felt only skin and the hard jut of his cock.
She felt feverish, desperate with want, the needs of her body overcoming all else.
His cock nudged her slick entrance and then he was inside her just a little bit, filling her. She went still, because this was new and she wanted to enjoy it. She felt as if she had waited forever for this moment.
He stopped. He must have felt some resistance, or perhaps he was just being careful, but she didn’t want him to stop.
She began to kiss him, doing her best to distract him, and he groaned and took her mouth with his.
Deep, passionate kisses that spoke of a desire equal to hers.
The next moment, they were on the bed and she was clasped in his arms, her legs still locked around him, and she pushed herself up so that she was impaled.
The sudden entry as he breached her didn’t hurt, she was aroused enough to prevent that, but she felt the strangeness of it.
He must have felt it too, because he stopped as if frozen, and lifted his head to look down at her.
His blue eyes were wide as they stared into hers, and he opened his mouth as if he was about to protest, or to ask if she wanted to stop, and Grace couldn’t allow that. She had waited long enough.
She leaned in and kissed his chin and then his throat, licking his skin and tasting male and salt. “Don’t stop,” she whispered, moving against him. The hard length of him rubbed over her aching flesh and it felt good, so good. She told him so, and then repeated, “Don’t stop.”
He groaned, loudly, and began to move again as if he could no longer help himself. As she pushed back, he bent to suck on her nipple, palming the weight of her breast in one hand. “Beautiful,” he murmured.
Grace already knew what physical pleasure could be, but this went beyond her expectations.
Rory’s body against hers, his mouth on her, the feel of his muscles moving beneath his skin as he thrust into her with increasing power.
She was being lifted up to dizzying heights, and she couldn’t stop herself from moaning and saying his name.
Maybe she was too loud because he laughed huskily and then covered her mouth with his.
A moment later she shattered, as if her body had flown apart and she was no longer herself but had become part of the starry sky.
It took some time to come back to earth.
When she did, she found herself lying in Rory’s arms. It felt so warm and comfortable that again tears filled her eyes.
What if this was something that happened all the time?
What if it became such a normal state of affairs that she did not think anything of it?
She couldn’t imagine that being the case.
All her life she had been forgotten and abandoned, and it did not seem possible that she would ever feel she belonged.
But if it was possible, then she wished she could belong to Rory MacKenzie.
He leaned in to kiss her temple and she wondered if this was what love felt like, and would she ever know. “Was it pleasurable for you?” he asked after a long moment.
“Yes. I think you know it was,” she said, glancing up at him with a smile.
“I just wanted to make certain,” he teased. “Perhaps your moans and cries were something else.”
She laughed softly.
“This might sound selfish and arrogant,” he went on, and his voice had lost its comfortable note, “but I’m glad Buckingham did not take your maidenhead. I’m glad it was me.” Then, just as her heart swelled from his words, he spoiled it. “He sounds like a right ballbag.”
Grace assumed that wasn’t good. She thought a moment and decided she was glad too, so she told him.
“He didn’t deserve you,” Rory informed her. Then he sighed. “’Tis done now.”
Grace wasn’t sure if there was regret in his voice but she didn’t care.
She was glad it had happened, and now they were married properly and she was safe.
Well, safe for as long as his interest in her remained, and she thought a little smugly that it might remain for some time.
She could already feel him hard against her again, and when she reached down to stroke him, he caught his breath and arched his hips toward her.
“You are a temptress,” he said in a husky voice.
“Am I?” she teased, and began to kiss the place between his neck and his shoulder, enjoying the intimacy of being allowed to.
Bolton had been more interested in her body than allowing her access to his, or perhaps she did not try very hard to persuade him.
Rory was different, and she wanted to know every inch of him.
“You know you are,” he grumbled, and then rolled her over so that he was on top of her. His eyes were glittering in the shadows. “Too late to go back now, even if we want to,” he added, more to himself than to her.
Did he want to? She didn’t ask in case he said yes. She was determined that he would grow to enjoy having a wife.
He nudged his cock against her with a wicked grin. “Ready?”
She was ready. She surprised herself by how ready she was. She opened her legs and he pushed in, deeper, filling her again, but when she winced, he stopped immediately.
“Are you tender, Grace?” he asked softly. “I can stop if ye are.”
“A little, but it is of no matter.”
“Of course it matters,” he said sharply. “No matter what the gossips say, I am no’ a barbarian.”
He withdrew despite her protests and then slid his body down hers, sucking and licking until he reached her intimate parts.
His mouth closed on her as if he would eat her whole, and she cried out in surprise and pleasure.
Then he clasped her hips and lifted her higher, so that he had complete access, and went to work.
Grace tried to breathe, but what she was experiencing was beyond anything she had imagined.
“Did Buckingham do this to you?” he asked in a muffled voice. “You seem a wee bit tense, love.”
She tried to find words. “Not with his . . . his mouth.”
She felt him grin. “Good,” he said, and she wasn’t sure what he meant. Was he pleased he was the first? Was it an arrogant male thing? But he had already gone back to work and soon she was squirming and gasping and begging.
When she was limp with the aftermath of pleasure, he pressed his rigid cock between her thighs, held it there, and proceeded to bring himself off. Grace listened to him groan and felt as if she would never move again. She was a sticky mess and her body was so languid she might melt.
“Sleep,” Rory said softly, when he saw that her eyes were still open. “We will talk tomorrow.”
What would they talk about, Grace wondered? But she was too tired to think further than that, and then she was asleep.