Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Frederick had imagined this moment more times than he could count—Alice spasming around his fingers, squeezing and shuddering and gasping, utterly lost to her pleasure.
The sight was wanton and more than a little arousing, but he forced himself to slow, despite the temptation to strip off his breeches and fill her.
Slow, he needed to be slow.
His teasing had made her initial slickness now like a waterfall, coating his hands, and once he had wrung the last waves of her climax from her, he withdrew his hand and brought it to his mouth.
As she watched, heavy-lidded and curious, he sucked his fingers, tasting her. Musky and sweet. He filled his nose with the scent of her, coated his tongue with her taste, and still he wanted more.
She’d expressed interest in his fantasies, but he decided he would leave those for another day—she’d been shocked at the words ‘cock’ and ‘come’. Best he introduce her to his world gradually.
“Do you… like the way I taste?” she whispered, and the spike of lust that hit him was so strong, it made his head spin.
“I do.”
“Do people often use their mouths when engaging in—” She broke away, but he decided he would spare her the indignity of referring to their activity in coarser terms.
“They do,” he murmured lowly. “And the next time we come together, I’m going to use my mouth on you until you come on my tongue.
And then I’m going to let you do the same until my knees give way.
” One day he also wanted to finish in that soft, sinful mouth of hers.
He’d imagined that, too, how she would look with his seed between her lips, swallowing him down with that insatiable hunger he knew she was capable of.
“Now…?” she asked, eyes still hungry.
“No, not now.” He kissed the sensitive skin by the side of her ear. “Much as I would like to, that sort of stimulation would make this over far sooner than I’d intended, and I would like to finish inside you, Alice my love.”
“But.” She caught his wrist, looking up at him. “Not inside me.”
“What?”
“Your seed.” She flushed bright red, and she had only just recovered from the orgasm he had given her. “If it’s inside me, we risk children.”
He studied her. “And you don’t want children?”
“Not yet. Not now. Not—” She hesitated, and he wondered if she would tell him not ever. The final punishment she could offer him, refusing to allow him children to bear his name. An empty house forevermore.
He could hardly do anything about it if that was what she did decide, and he understood her reluctance. Would he want to bear children with the woman who had ruined his life and caused the death of his parents? No, he would not.
But, and perhaps the instinct was primal and not at all based in reason, he wanted her to bear his children. To grow with their babies, and to hold their progeny in her arms. For her to love them, at least, the way he thought she could never love him.
But instead, she said, again, “Not yet.”
He could live with not yet. He could live a long time with not yet.
“Then we won’t risk it,” he said, kissing those soft, pouty lips. “I’ll pull out. And next time, we can try French letters. Not every man wants to be siring with his lovers; there are ways and means of preventing children if you would like.”
She frowned up at him. “You would like children?”
“One day, yes,” he replied honestly. “But, darling Alice, if we might postpone this particular conversation for a more auspicious moment, I would appreciate it.”
Sated as she was, he could see the moment she looked down at him and remembered, once again, that he was still in a state of rather pressing arousal. Her eyes sparked and she looked up at him again.
“I can’t use my mouth?”
He groaned, but truly, he would not last long if she did.
“Next time,” he promised, reaching down to remove his breeches.
She watched with ravenous fascination as he did so, and without prompting, she reached for him.
Her small fingers fastened around his length, and he groaned again, letting his head fall back as she squeezed and very obviously experimented with the feel of him.
He could hardly remember the first time he had touched a woman before, but it had likely been with the same air of curiosity touched with awe.
And so he lay back, giving her space to tease his rigid flesh, gliding her hands up and down his shaft, exploring the bead of liquid at the tip. Then she turned her attention lower, and he hissed a breath as she cupped him, squeezing very gently.
“Be careful there,” he managed. “It’s very tender. You don’t want to pull or squeeze them too hard.”
“But you like this?”
“Yes...” Even that single word was an effort.
Yes he liked it when she touched him in that way. He liked the way she evidently had no inhibitions about how or where to touch him. There were so many things he liked about the way they were right now. He throbbed in her hands, and she paused to reassess him.
He had to smile, even though all he really wanted to do was thrust up between her pretty fingers. Then push inside her wetness.
“That means I like what you’re doing…” he informed her hoarsely.
“You feel…” She wrinkled her nose as she thought, giving him another experimental squeeze across the shaft. “Harder than I’d imagined.”
“You’d imagined this?”
She sent him a fiery look, and he chuckled before grunting as she ran a thumb across his sensitive head. When he throbbed again, she paused, looking at him as though questioning whether she had done the right thing.
If she wanted to keep him on the edge, all she would have to do was this. Over and over again.
“I want you to beg me,” she informed him, matter-of-fact, but there was a spark of delight in her eyes as she looked down at him.
“If you’re not careful, you’ll make a mess of me.”
She pumped her hand again, slowly, and he dug his hands into the bedsheets so he wasn’t tempted to reach for her. Somehow, he knew she needed to have full control. No hands on her. Nothing but her clever fingers wreaking destruction of his body and restraint.
“Beg for what…?”
She looked from him, lying on his back on the bed, and then to herself. She adjusted, straddling his knees, and he throbbed again. He ached for her. Needed her the way he had never needed anything in his life.
“Alice, you are killing me…”
She gave him another long, vicious stroke. “Good.”
His toes curled. “What do you want me to beg for?” he asked, words catching and faltering as she cupped him lower. “You have me in the palm of your hand. Anything you want at your fingertips. All you have to say is the word.”
“Can I—can we do it like this?”
His gaze immediately flicked to her leg, the wasted calf muscle propped at an odd angle on the covers. “Are you comfortable there?”
“I didn’t ask if I was comfortable. Can we?”
“Yes. Yes, we can. The first time—I’ve heard the first time can be uncomfortable for some women. This way, you can be in control.” His back arched as she dipped her fingers into the wetness at the head of his cock and smeared it in slow, smooth circles, just like he had been doing to her.
“Very well,” she whispered. “This is the first time for me. Tell me when you are close.” She held his gaze sternly. “I’m trusting you to do so. I don’t know your body well enough to tell for myself.”
The trust she was putting in him made him nearly weak, or would have done if there was an ounce of strength left in him. He had never been so aroused in his life. Having a woman order him around in such a way stoked a fire in him he hadn’t known held embers.
Of course, he didn’t always want to let her take charge. He had enjoyed holding her down and having his way with her just as much, but there was a time and place for everything, and he appreciated that their dynamic included both.
“I will,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady as she increased her tempo. “But if I tell you, you must stop immediately.”
She tilted her head, curious. “If I don’t, you might accidentally—”
“Yes.”
“I see.” She applied herself to her task, and he gazed at her through pleasure-drenched eyes, the tension in the small of his back winding tighter. As the need to spill himself rose, he held up a hand.
“Stop,” he quickly said.
She obeyed him instantly, releasing him. They both watched as he twitched, and he fought back the frustrated rush that came from being denied. After everything he had done to her, he could endure this for at least a little longer.
And as she worked, her concentration utterly focused on him, he felt as though he understood her more now. So much of her life had left her feeling vulnerable, and she enjoyed being in positions that allowed her to exert control.
He could understand that. After that, his own life had gone so wildly out of control, with the rumors abounding and the death of his father, he had felt as though he was desperately trying to keep his head above the water.
Oddly, with this marriage and the things he was offering her, he finally felt as though he could breathe again.
He stopped her again, and again and again.
Until finally, when he felt as though he was going mad, she shifted up his body and pressed him to her slick folds.
She was so wet for him, and he could see it glistening on her slim thighs.
The sight almost made him lose control, but he had to stay in control of himself for her.
For Alice. He could do it for her.
Slowly, painstakingly, she found her entrance and pressed down, letting her weight push him inside her. There was a moment of pressure, of resistance, before he slid inside. She gasped, her face going slack with pleasure, and Frederick watched her greedily, not wanting to miss a single second.
He’d never bedded virgins before. His preference had always been for experienced women who knew what they were doing.
Besides, he had never wanted to ruin any young girls, and that would inevitably be the end result.
Thus, Alice was the first girl whose innocence he had ever taken, and he had not known before his marriage how much this moment would mean to him.
Despite their checkered past, she was still allowing him this honor. Gifting him her body, giving him something no one else would have.
He would be her first. Her only. Somehow, he would contrive to keep her happy enough she would never seek satisfaction outside their marriage.
Some wives did, he knew, and many husbands didn’t care—or know—so long as they were discreet.
But this was not that sort of marriage, although he had not known it at the time.
He would not look for entertainment elsewhere, and he would ensure she did not either. One way or the other.
Her face tightened with concentration as she reached an especially tight point. He gripped her hips, helping her take her weight.
“Take your time,” he told her, although his entire body was screaming at him to sink the rest of the way inside her. “It’s all right. If it hurts, you can stop.”
“I think—” She broke off and held eye contact with him for a moment, then pushed all the way down on him. He cursed, gripping her hips more tightly, but forced himself to remain still as she stiffened. But then she smiled, and it was the most radiant thing he had ever seen.
“I should warn you,” he breathed as he reached up to cup her breast, his eyes still on hers, “that I won’t last long. You were too… thorough with your hands.”
She laughed, and the sound was beautiful. “That’s all right,” she whispered, and leaned over, bracing her hands against the mattress beside his head as she experimented. Frederick kept still, letting her explore this between them just as she had explored him with her hands.
Soon, she found her rhythm, and it was all he could do to keep from exploding in her.
Just a little longer, he told himself as she gyrated her hips, her head thrown back in delight.
He slid his hand to the place where their bodies met, rubbing small circles across the bundle of nerves he’d found before.
But she was too beautiful above him, too filled with pleasure and delight, and he couldn’t hold back even if he wanted to.
“Alice…” he groaned, and she peeked down. “I need to—”
Pleasure had her dazed, eyes wide and dark and almost drugged, and he took hold of her by the waist, tugging her free just as he felt his climax barreling up from the base of his spine. She watched in fascination as he spilled across his stomach.
“Your… seed?” She glanced from it to him, then slid a finger through and brought it to her mouth.
He put his forearm over his eyes, half laughing at the thought of his wife—his proper Duchess—being so delightfully wanton. “You will be the death of me, Alice.”
“That was my plan all along,” she told him, but for once, it didn’t feel as though she was condemning him.
And after he’d cleaned himself with a rag and brought some water and washcloth to Alice so he could bathe her too, she made no demur when he collapsed in the bed beside her. Instead, half asleep, she allowed him to curl her into his arms.
This is what contentment must feel like, he thought as he finally drifted off to sleep.