Chapter 16 #2
“It means you enjoyed what we just did almost as much as I did.” His voice was growling, and he slid a single finger inside her.
Her back arched, and she clamped a hand across her mouth, so she didn’t make too much noise, but he took her wrist and removed her hand.
“This time, I want to hear you. Don’t hold back.”
She didn’t know if she could do all that was required. Having something inside her… She had known, in a vague sense, that everything they had done before, as much as she had enjoyed it, had not been enough, but she had not known until this moment what more could be.
The flavor of pleasure was different and combined with the pleasure of his thumb on her pearl, nearly drowned her in sensation.
She gasped, moaned, and when he crooked his finger, quivered.
He was watching as she fell apart, and it felt so good to finally let go.
Instead of thinking about whether someone could hear, or if someone would walk in, or what sort of scandal or ruin this would be, she could lose herself entirely to the moment.
To Maxwell.
She had known, when she married him, that being with him in this way would be the best experience of her life; that it would propel her from liking him into something far deeper.
But she had not expected this. Nor known either that she was capable of this. Like brandy poured on flame, she was greedy, drinking up everything he had to offer, and he made sure to offer her everything.
Once this was over, she would never be the same again, and she was glad about it.
He pushed her closer and closer to that brink, and she rolled her hips against his hand, chasing that light, knowing that when it hit, she would become something different, something new.
This would be different from their other times, and the soberness with which he looked at her told her that he felt it too.
This was no longer something scandalous and forbidden.
Instead, it was a representation of their bond. Their marriage.
Just as she thought she would tip over and find her bliss, Maxwell rose, coming to lean over her. The feeling faded, and she shifted impatiently.
“Maxwell,” she moaned, and he captured her mouth with a blazing kiss as he settled his member at her entrance.
It took her a moment to understand what he intended, and by the time her mind caught up to her body, already loose and welcoming, he had thrust inside.
The stretch was almost a burn, so tight she caught her breath.
Maxwell took her face in his hands. “Let me know if this hurts,” he said, holding her gaze as he pushed, and pushed, and pushed, until she felt as though she was wholly full, until she was sure there was no more space left inside her.
And still he eased himself inside, making space for his length, demanding that her body yield. And it did. Against all odds, despite everything, it did.
Then they were joined, hip to hip, nose to nose, eyes to eyes. His mouth brushed over hers in a sweet kiss at odds with the demanding hunger of just seconds ago.
“Is this all right?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, please…”
Knowing what she meant, or perhaps just needing the same, he withdrew and pushed inside again.
This time, it was easier, the stretch lesser.
She opened her legs, letting him inside, and he took her.
Back against the mattress, her legs open wide to accommodate him, she needed to do nothing but let him plunder her as he would.
And oh, it was glorious.
“Look at me,” he demanded, holding her wrists lightly against the pillows behind her. “Don’t you look away.”
She couldn’t even if she had wanted to; he dominated all her thoughts.
Her entire world had narrowed to him. Nothing existed but the rhythmic push of his body against hers, the way his narrow hips slammed into hers.
Perhaps it ought to be uncomfortable, but with every thrust, her eyes rolled back into her head.
“Maxwell,” she gasped.
“Enjoying yourself, my sweet?” He grinned down at her, more of that male pride on his face.
Here, made vulnerable through pleasure, he seemed more open than she had ever seen him, as though every other time, he had been hiding behind defenses and guards, and now he was stripped bare.
This was the true Maxwell, and he was the most beautiful creation she had ever seen.
Another roll of his hips brought her closer to the peak he had brought her to before, and she nodded, unable to form another word.
“All right.” He threaded a hand into her hair, tugging lightly.
Everything he did was gentle and fierce all at once, as though he was testing her limits even as he was setting the pace for what their enjoyment would look like.
So strong, so powerful, so determined to take her, and yet if she gave the word, he would stop. Instantly. No matter how much he wanted her, no matter what they were doing, and how close to his own pleasure he was.
The thought made her feel powerful as never before.
This was what true control looked like; they had both come by it in different ways.
He controlled the way she moved against him. He held her body against his and strummed the strings of her pleasure with his expertise, forming her into everything he could ever want.
And she held such power.
This man, who came second only to royalty, who was richer than almost any other man in England, listened to the needs of her body and hers alone, seeking to fulfill them. So long as she let him, he would worship her and guide her into worshipping him.
So long as she gave him her consent.
With that thought, or perhaps his ragged exhale, perhaps even his breathy curse as he rested his forehead against hers, she fell apart.
This sensation was greater than anything she had ever known. It felt as though she had died and gone to heaven, and this was what true redemption felt like. Her climax was a blessing. When she slowly came back to earth still feeling him inside her, she wondered if she truly was in heaven.
Is being with Maxwell in this way the greatest bliss I could ever find in heaven or earth?
He was still inside her, looking down at her with such tenderness that her breath almost caught in her throat.
“Maxwell…” She didn’t know what she wanted to say.
Did one thank one’s partner during… this?
That struck her as being perhaps slightly odd, but she felt so impossibly grateful that he had made her feel this good, and she wanted to express that the only way she knew how.
“How are you?” she whispered.
A smile caught his face, brief and lovely. “I’m well, darling.”
My sweet. Darling. The endearments sat warmly on her chest.
“Did you…?”
“Not yet.” He shifted as though he was in pain, but she knew better than that. It was not pain he experienced—just the urgency to move. That she could understand because, as her climax had approached, she had felt the exact same thing. “How does it feel for you?”
In answer, she rolled her hips, and he groaned, thrusting into her again with more fervor this time.
“I want you to…” She didn’t know the term for it. All she knew was she wanted him to feel the same agony of bliss she had, for them to be united in this way, at least. “Please, Maxwell.”
He groaned, holding her face between his hands and kissing her fiercely, as though she was the only thing in his world.
She felt the way he stiffened, the grunt breaking from him, and the way his body shuddered on hers. She drank in his pleasure hungrily, until finally, with one final sigh and a kiss, he rolled free.
Even then, he gathered her into his arms and pressed a kiss against the side of her head.
“When we get to Marrowhurst Hall, I have no intention of letting you out of my sight,” he said. “Out of our bedchamber, even.”
“I will still need to do my sculpting.”
“Then I will build you a room for that purpose,” he said, not seeming to realize the enormity of what he had said so easily. “And you will have no need to leave the house.”
“Perhaps for some fresh air and a walk?”
“You torment me with your sense and logic.” His lips curved into a smile. “And I suppose I shall want to show you my land.”
“Are you proud of it?”
“I’m doing my best to do my brother proud.”
Thalia stared at the ceiling, letting the words sink in slowly. He rarely mentioned his brother, and never in this way, unprompted. She understood how it felt for a departed brother never to be far from her thoughts.
“You must miss him very much,” she said.
“I do. He ought to have been the Duke. I was prepared to be the second son, to take an occupation.” His nose nuzzled her ear. “And it would have been for the best, I think. I make for a far inferior Duke.”
“I don’t think that.”
“You never met my brother.”
“I wish I had.” She pressed her hand against his in silent comfort. “I expect I would have liked him.”
“Mm.” There was a contemplative note in his voice now, and he looked down at her with an expression in his eyes she could not identify. “There’s something more I ought to tell you.”
“Oh?”
“When my brother was a young man, before his death, he, and Lady Rivenhall… They were courting.”
Thalia frowned, piecing this together. “Is that how you know her?”
“In a way.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “They were in love. And Lydia was the result of that union.”
“Oh.” Thalia blinked several times.
So much for being a family friend. Lydia was his niece. No wonder he had never harbored any romantic feelings for her. Of course, he did not. They were related!
“Your brother and Lady Rivenhall…”
“Yes. My father did not approve of the match. He refused to allow Christopher to marry her. She was forced to marry another man to protect herself and her child, and my brother was…”
He did not need to finish the sentence.
Thalia put her hand over his. “That’s why you are so sure it wasn’t an accident.”
“You ought to have seen him.” Maxwell closed his eyes. “I only discovered Lady Rivenhall and Lydia after the event and have been caring for them ever since. It’s what Christopher would have wanted.”
“Then I’m certain he is proud of you.” Thalia’s heart ached for Maxwell as she met his gaze, holding it and letting him feel the weight of her certainty.
How difficult it must have been to know that the one thing his brother had wanted, their father had denied him.
“He will be so happy that you are doing what’s right by Lydia and Lady Rivenhall.
He would have loved them both. And you.”
Maxwell cupped the back of her neck and drew her down for another kiss. He said nothing, but she understood the intentions of his body, the movements that told her he was far from done with her.
A good thing, too: she was far from done with him.