Chapter 7 #3
He caressed her breast again, the lightest of touches, and her sex clenched, the ache there deepening.
She writhed against him, needing friction, needing him.
He groaned into her mouth and then lifted his head to stare down at her as he played with her greedy nipple, and pangs of pure, sweet pleasure shot straight to her core.
“You’re sure?”
She threaded her fingers through his hair, thinking him almost unbearably beautiful, his jaw angular and hard, his forehead high, his lips dark from the kisses they had shared, a lone golden wave falling rakishly over his brow. He kissed first her cheek, then her temple as he awaited her response.
Lion exhibited such tenderness that she could scarcely bear it.
Something inside her cracked and fell open.
Perhaps it was the walls she’d kept around her heart.
Perhaps something even more fragile and sacred.
All she knew was that she had fallen in love with Lion Hawthorne, Duke of Marchingham, a man who could never be hers beyond this night.
She lived in New York City.
His obligations and duties kept him here.
She was everything that horrified him.
He was all that repelled her.
Except, somehow along the course of her stay at Marchingham Hall, those sharp, distinct lines had blurred in immeasurable ways.
“I’m sure,” she told him, meaning those words more than he could possibly know.
He hesitated, holding still above her, and for a heartbeat, she feared he had changed his mind. That his sense of honor had returned. But then he shifted, shrugging out of his dressing gown.
She helped him to remove it fully, drinking in every detail she could.
His cock rose, ruddy and thick and proud between them.
His naked body was a masterpiece. She kissed his neck, his shoulder, every part of him she could find, and when she flicked her tongue over his skin above the rigid protrusion of his collarbone, he tensed.
“What are you doing?”
“Tasting you,” she admitted, savoring him on her tongue, salt and Lion.
He made a strangled sound. “My turn.”
His head lowered again, but this time, he didn’t kiss her. Instead, he took one of her nipples in his mouth and sucked.
“Oh,” she gasped out, her toes curling into the cool bedclothes.
He took his time, sucking and licking, trailing lazy circles around the distended tip before doing the same to her other breast. Simultaneously, his hand came to her hip, caressing, tentative at first and then moving with greater purpose.
His fingers traveled to her sex next, swirling over the sensitive bud hidden in her folds.
She moved beneath him restlessly, seeking the pleasure of his touch.
He seemed to know what she wanted, what she needed, drawing so deliciously on her nipples as he stroked over the swollen nub she only touched herself in the deepest depths of the night.
Doing so was a sin, she had been told in no uncertain terms at finishing school; each girl had been given a book explaining the evils of such a vulgar act.
And yet, the release that came with it if she stroked herself enough and imagined it was someone else’s hand on her had always made it worth the risk in Addy’s opinion.
The first time she had brought herself to her pinnacle, she had been terrified, so intense had been the previously unexperienced bliss.
Not so terrified she hadn’t done it again the next night, however.
Still, her own attempts to quell the need rising inside her were nothing compared to Lion’s knowing hand on her, his fingers playing her as if she were an instrument and he alone could bring forth her music.
He released her nipple. “Do you like this, Addy?”
He was almost adorably concerned. Considerate and boyish, all the haughtiness he carried about like a shield conspicuously absent. He wasn’t the duke but simply Lion, a man who wished to please her. A man with whom she longed to experience everything.
“Very much,” she admitted, unashamed. “May I touch you?”
She was curious. Was he as sensitive as she was? Would he experience the same pleasure if she touched him? What would he feel like?
“Not yet,” he denied when she reached for him, shifting his body slightly. “If you do, I’ll never last.”
She didn’t know what that meant, didn’t understand if it was good or bad. But she didn’t want to admit to her lack of experience in congress between a man and woman, for fear that if she did, he would halt. She couldn’t bear for him to stop. Not until it was over, and he was inside her.
She understood the mechanics of the act. She knew what her body wanted. It was the particular details that were lost upon her. She wanted Lion to teach her without realizing he was doing so.
So she turned herself over to him in body and mind.
Banished her thoughts and simply allowed herself to feel.
And oh, how she felt. She closed her eyes and savored his warmth, burning into her like the flames from the fire in the hearth.
He increased the pressure over her as she wanted, until she was writhing, on the edge as he licked over her nipple then caught it between his teeth to gently nibble.
She held her breath as the pleasure and the pressure heightened.
And then, suddenly, she splintered apart.
Addy cried out her pleasure to the ceiling, unable to contain herself.
Lion rose instantly, sealing his lips over hers and swallowing any further sounds she made. As he kissed her, he shifted yet again, and she knew a different sensation altogether. The thick, firm tip of his cock pressed against her, seeking entrance just where she wanted him.
He guided her legs around his hips and slicked himself up and down her folds as pleasure continued to ripple through her.
She was open to him completely, their lower bodies perfectly aligned.
He grasped himself and the pressure increased.
She felt herself stretching around him, taking him in.
Slowly, slowly, he eased deeper. There was a sharp twinge of pain, taking her by surprise.
She stiffened and he stopped, tearing his mouth from hers to stare down at her.
“You’re a virgin?” he asked, brow furrowed, the cords in his neck tensed and strained, as if he scarcely held himself in check.
Clearly, he had believed her not to be one. She refused to allow herself to feel anything about that realization just now. No, she would think about it later. For now, she would allow nothing and no one to ruin this moment and keep her from what she wanted.
Including Lion.
“Yes.” Addy undulated her hips, trying to urge him on.
“Addy.” His lips were set at a stubborn angle she recognized too well.
She didn’t want to hear him prattling on about honor.
So, she kissed him, openmouthed and unabashed, giving him her tongue.
It was all the spurring he required. With a groan, he kissed her back, his tongue sliding against hers while thrusting into her.
She knew another exacting pinch as her body adjusted to the unfamiliar invasion.
He felt impossibly large and insistent, almost as if he would split her in two.
She held her breath, keeping still, tensing.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured against her lips.
She didn’t want his apologies. Didn’t want his regrets.
“I’m not,” she returned, arching her back and tentatively moving against him, following her body’s instinctive urging. The slick glide of his shaft inside her elicited a new sensation. She felt gloriously full, wrapped in the warm strength of his big body atop her, within her.
With a groan, he kissed her harder, as if the last of his control had frayed and snapped.
His hips canted into hers, driving him deeper and then withdrawing, his pace maddeningly slow.
The pain was receding now to nothing more than a pang of discomfort.
With each stroke, new pleasure shot through her, beginning at her center and radiating outward.
Addy touched him everywhere she could, trying to commit the lines of his body to memory so that even when she was at home in New York City, with an ocean between them, she could close her eyes and remember this night, the way he brought her to life.
Her fingertips trailed over the taut blades of his shoulders, the muscles of his back and forearms, lingered in his silky gold waves.
Touching him was a luxury, and she would miss it just as she would miss him.
But there was no thought for sadness now.
No space for anything but the two of them, their bodies working together in ancient rhythm, pleasure sparking like dry kindling turning into roaring flame.
He began thrusting inside her faster, harder, penetrating her deeply, losing his gentlemanly restraint.
He no longer kissed her and made love to her as if she were fragile and delicate, and she was glad for it.
She liked him this way, wild and untamed, all his elegant hauteur shattered.
He tore his mouth from hers, groaning her name. Bracing himself on one arm, he reached between them with his free hand, to where their bodies were joined. His fingers found her, stroking and teasing her needy flesh.
The ever-growing knot of pleasure tightened, heightened by each glide of him inside her.
He took the peak of one breast into his mouth, and the hot suction sent her over the edge.
She shuddered and clamped down on him, her body spasming around his thick length.
Sparks skittered up and down her spine, and a rush so potent and unlike anything she’d ever known roared through her.
All she could do was clutch him tightly and surrender to the fury of her release.
Lion continued, gliding in and out of her wetness, clutching her hip, making low sounds of helpless pleasure.
Another few strokes, and he tensed, withdrawing from her so swiftly that she mourned the loss of him within her.
Looming over her, he gripped himself. His expression awash with ecstasy, he painted her inner thigh with his seed before collapsing to the bed at her side, his breathing as ragged as hers.