Chapter 16
Despite his almost animalistic need for her, Maxwell insisted on doing everything properly.
Or as properly as he could manage.
He attended the remainder of the wedding breakfast, and Thalia sat very coyly beside him, opting not to dance with anyone else.
He had vowed to himself that this marriage would be about protecting her and no more, but he had already broken that promise, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret it.
Not when they were here, he had the sounds of her pleasure in his ears, and every few minutes she turned to look at him with heat in her eyes.
“We ought to discuss what the next few months will look like,” he said as soon as they waved their final guest away.
“Yes, indeed!” Lydia said from behind them, oblivious to all the many ways Maxwell wished he were elsewhere, at least for now. “You will have to go on a honeymoon, of course.”
Thalia exchanged an amused glance with him. “A honeymoon? I hadn’t realized you’d planned something so… indulgent.”
“I haven’t,” he said.
All his focus had been on getting married; now she was here, and his, he sent his thoughts to what he wanted next.
Time with her. Preferably with no one else around. They would have to accustom themselves to each other.
Lydia folded her arms. “You ought to do something to celebrate your marriage, Max. The duchess deserves that much.”
The duchess. Maxwell glanced at Thalia to see how she was taking the title. He was gratified to see her smile, as though rather than receiving a shock, the use of her new title came as a delightful surprise.
“I am perfectly happy without one.”
“We will have to visit Marrowhurst Hall,” he said without thinking. “That will be your home too, when we are not in Town.”
“Is it in good hunting land?” Thalia leaned against his arm.
“No, but I have a hunting box in Leicestershire if you want good hunting.”
“I want to see it all.”
“Tomorrow,” he promised, much in the same way he had promised later, and he could almost see the way her blood heated.
He loved being able to do that to her. A single word, and she was ready to go, eager in a way few ladies had been without his having to woo them first.
His Thalia.
“Duchess,” Joyce said, gliding up to them and extending a languid hand. “How delightful you are now one of the family.”
Maxwell shot Joyce a sharp look, but she avoided his gaze, giving Thalia an unconvincing smile.
He had always known Joyce was not a fan of his getting married, and of the fact he had decided to wed Thalia at all—particularly now, with Lydia still on the market—but he had expected and hoped her to be more civil.
Still, Thalia smiled as though she had noticed no slight. “Thank you, Lady Rivenhall. I’m so pleased to be here.”
“Yes, I imagine you will do Lydia no end of good.”
“I hope so,” Thalia said.
Maxwell put a hand on the small of his wife’s back, and although her expression didn’t change and her smile never faltered, he could practically sense the way her attention zeroed in on him.
Good.
“It’s been a long day,” he drawled. “Why don’t we retire for the night?”
Lydia beamed at them both. “Congratulations, Thalia. I do hope we will be like sisters.”
To Maxwell’s delight and relief, Thalia squeezed Lydia’s hand. “I’ve always wanted a sister,” she said, and he could hear no lie in her voice.
Then she looked up at him, lips curving in a polite smile, but her eyes heavy and heated.
“Why don’t you show me the rest of the house, Maxwell?” she asked.
They made it upstairs before he kissed her right on the landing. Fortunately, Lydia and Joyce had remained downstairs, and the servants knew enough to give them a wide berth.
“Which portrait is this?” she asked, looking above her at the large portrait of his grandmother. “You are dreadful at giving tours, you know.”
“Forgive me. I find myself somewhat preoccupied.” He licked her ear. “I propose we stay at Marrowhurst Hall for a few weeks.”
“Yes.” She gasped the word, then frowned, her hands grasping at his shoulders. “But my sculpting… I have commissions, and I shouldn’t take that much time off.”
“Then sculpt there.” He kissed her neck, burying himself in the scent of her.
As always, she arched her back, giving him access to whatever he wanted, and he gripped her hips, trying to convince himself to wait for a bed.
He had waited this long.
“You would not object?” she panted.
He took her hand and hurried her along the corridor until he finally reached the master suite, dragging her through the dressing room to his bedchamber. “May I watch you work?”
“I doubt it would be very interesting.”
“That was not my question.” He took hold of the back of her dress and wrenched. Tiny buttons flew everywhere, and he tugged the gown free. It had been a masterpiece, but he could have another made. For now, he needed her. “May I watch you, Thalia?”
“Always.” Her voice was throaty and her eyes glistened with emotion as she turned to look at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling his face down to hers. “You may do whatever you like so long as you have no objection to my sculpting.”
“If I objected, would you stop?”
She laughed against his mouth. “Never.”
“Then what would be the point of my preventing you?”
“Mm, an attempt to insert authority into my life?”
“I have other ways of doing that,” he said, his voice a growl, and pushed her to her knees before him.
His cock strained in his breeches, eager for the soft mouth that hung open in shock. Yet past the astonishment, he saw her desire and knew she would delight in this almost as much as he would.
In fact, if he had judged her correctly, this would work to prepare her for him almost as much as if he were touching her himself.
Of course, he still intended to touch her. Her pleasure was as important to him, if not more, than his own. He just wanted to ensure it happened on his terms.
She stared up at him, hungry and waiting, and he knew then she would do anything he asked of her, and more than that, she would enjoy it.
Ravenous, that was how she looked, and he liked it a great deal. More than he ought, perhaps, but he was beyond worrying about that now.
As she watched, silently awaiting his command, he unfastened his breeches and drew out his erection, running a hand up and down its length. The pleasure from that alone made him hiss between his teeth.
“Open your mouth,” he said, the words grating.
She did as she was told, and he was able to do the thing he had been secretly wanting to do for more time than he was willing to admit. Her lips closed around his turgid flesh, and it was blissful to see.
Knowing she had never done this before, and it was likely a lot for her to take, he was gentle. One hand tangled in her hair as he gave her time to accommodate him and accustom herself to the sensation of him in her mouth. His hips jerked when she swallowed, and she let out a soft humming sound.
Heaven help him, he liked the sound of that.
“That’s right,” he praised, running his thumb along the seam of her lips and the saliva that gathered there. “You’re taking me so well.”
He eased himself a little further in her mouth, and she adjusted her jaw.
When he hit the back of her throat, he groaned. So willing, so pliable… She would turn him inside out by the time they were done, and he would welcome it.
Is this how it feels to be ruined by a woman?
“You may use your hands, too,” he said, and she placed them obediently on his length.
He guided one to his stones underneath, encouraging her to squeeze lightly, and she followed instructions, her hands sure and steady.
Of course, they were. She used her hands for her living, her sculpting.
Her hands were her greatest triumph, trained to turn idle clay into statues and sculptures, sure as they guided chisel against marble to form faces.
That same care, she now applied to him, forming him into something new.
He could not imagine himself wanting another woman after having her. This marriage, which he had always intended to be an escape, might end up possessing him.
Or rather, she would.
He held her head steadily as he moved himself in and out, letting her cup her lips around him and mimic the motion with her hands.
When finally he felt himself getting closer, the pressure in the base of his spine ratcheting higher, he pulled himself free of her mouth, and she gasped, panting for breath.
The sight brought him even closer to the edge. The trust with which she had allowed him to plunder her and even stop her breath was unbelievable. She had never once intimated she wanted anything less than he gave her.
“Are you all right?” he asked, sliding his fingers under her jaw.
“Yes.” She gave a decisive nod. “I liked it.”
“You did?”
“I did. Is that odd, for a woman to like such things?”
By God, I do not deserve her.
“Not odd,” he said, bending to kiss her wet mouth. “But pleasing, all the same.” He nipped at her bottom lip. “Now get on the bed, Thalia. You have earned your reward.”
Thalia lay back on the bed, her heart pounding. The darkness in his voice when he informed her that she had earned her reward made her feel as though she was floating.
Between her legs, she could feel how slick she was. Desire still throbbed through her whenever she thought of the way he had thickened in her mouth, and the obvious way he had taken his pleasure from her.
“You are everything that is perfection,” he said as he kneeled on the ground between her legs.
His lips brushed the soft inner skin of her thigh, and she was reminded of the first time they had come together, on that sofa. When he had used his mouth on her, she had first known bliss.
This time, however, he brought his hands to her. His thumb pressed against the same bundle of nerves that he had rubbed with his thigh. His other hand slid lower, and he groaned at the feel of her.
“You’re so wet, Thalia.”
“That’s a good thing?”