Chapter 50 #2
“Ben—” she whispered, her voice failing her for the last syllables.
Nothing had ever felt as wonderful as Eliza’s body rocking against his own, claiming him for hers. He was made for her. And that notion had his heart clenching. Because if he truly had been made for someone like Eliza, then this could not possibly be sinful—and Eliza was right.
He was free now. To worship her in all her brilliance and loveliness. To dig his fingers a little too hard into the succulent skin of her thighs. To tease her breasts with his teeth. To claim her in every conceivable way as she claimed his cock with her sweet quim.
Her breath escaped in sharp, ragged pants; she was incapable of speech. The sounds of her desperation were somehow more tantalizing than any praise she could have conjured.
Benedict licked the sweat gathering along the underside of her breast for no other reason than he couldn’t imagine not doing so and earned a whimper.
His ballocks tightened at the sound, the taste of her, the slick slide of her tight cunt along his cock.
Benedict was painfully aware that he would not last much longer.
Determined to draw one more climax from her, Benedict slid his hand between them, trapping her pearl between the edges of two fingers and circling his palm along her belly.
Her pants raised an octave in pitch, fingernails scrambling at his shoulders.
“Are you close?” he gasped, no longer ashamed of the ragged begging.
“Uh-huh,” she nodded. Her mouth slotted against his, but neither of them was capable of something so complex as kissing, merely brushing against each other with every thrust.
He tightened the space between his fingers as he thrust up hard—brilliant Eliza crashed down on him at the same moment. Her cunny gripped his cock like a vice, trapping him inside her as if he would ever leave.
A groan ripped from Benedict’s chest as he released inside her. Pleasure overwhelmed every one of his senses, vision whiting out as he shuddered in Eliza’s arms.
He collapsed back onto the bedroll, too sated to remain upright. Eliza came with him, splayed across his chest, their ragged breaths evenly matched.
“Is it always like that?” she whispered after a moment.
“I’ve never experienced anything like that. I’m not certain there’s a word for what that was.”
“So it was— I did it properly?”
Benedict decided in that moment that his life’s mission was to ensure she never had cause to sound unsure again. “Any more properly and I’d never walk again.”
Eliza gave a pleased little hum, tracing the lines of his chest with her fingernails.
“This next bit can be a bit of a… mess.” Reluctantly and at great personal cost, Benedict shifted his hips to slip from her warmth. It was also the moment the potential consequences of their choices knocked at the door of his mind.
He brushed the thought aside in favor of wrapping his arms around her. He grasped the corner of a blanket, wiping away the evidence of their combined pleasure with a pang of disappointment.
“Did you— Was it enjoyable for you?” he asked, waiting for the gnawing sense of loathing that typically accompanied any display of vulnerability, but it was strangely dormant.
“Very much so,” she said, before popping her head up to prop her chin on his chest. “Can we do it again?”
Benedict’s smile tugged at his lips. “I would very much like to say yes and spend the rest of the day between your thighs.”
“But?”
He tipped his head toward the windows, where the sun was very much up. “It’s frankly a miracle we’ve not been discovered as it is, what with an entire fire brigade nosing about the grounds.” Benedict captured her pout with his lips.
“Well, if you simply must be practical about it, I suppose I am quite hungry.” Despite her musing, Eliza made no indication that she wished to move from her perch atop him.
There was still one lingering, impossibly weighty question running through his head on a constant loop. Desperately, he wanted to ask her to marry him, to be his wife, to build a new home and a life together.
But he had no home, no living, no kind of life to offer to a wife—especially one so fine as Eliza. And so he bit his tongue.
Instead, he took a moment to appreciate her mouthwatering curves as she popped up to her feet to toss her chemise, robe, and slippers back on. Then he thrusted his own legs into his breeches.
Reality pressed against the edges of the glass walls. Outside, the world waited—consequences, expectations, and choices they could no longer outrun.
Benedict’s chest ached as they left their little greenhouse heaven. He couldn’t bring himself to release her hand as they made their way back to Weston’s house.
They stepped inside to find both Mr. and Mrs. Weston crowded around the table where Eliza had tended his back the day before. Wayland, too, was occupied with a plate of the bland porridge the physician prescribed for those who breathed in too much smoke.
He glanced up from his breakfast. “I will not ask where you’ve been. I beg of you, never tell me.” It was a far better reception than Benedict deserved, and he had no intention of sharing what he’d just done with Eliza.
“He has a greenhouse, Papa,” Eliza said by way of reply.
“He has a greenhouse,” Wayland repeated, seemingly to himself. “Of course he does. Only half of an actual house, but he has a greenhouse.”
Benedict wasn’t entirely certain what about that fact was irritating to Wayland, nor was he willing to risk the tentative truce they’d built during their rescue mission by pressing him on it.
“Well, petal, I always knew I’d lose you to the first man who could offer you a greenhouse.”
Eliza wrapped her arms around her father from behind and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Papa.”
Benedict’s heart leaped before his head caught up, a giddy hope rising in his chest. He tamped it down, certain he would never survive the fall if he did not.
“I-I don’t understand.”
Wayland shot him a withering, albeit teasing, look. “As content as Lizzie would be to live in a greenhouse, I require a more solid roof over her head.” He held Benedict’s gaze a moment too long, something akin to pride in his eyes.
“I don’t—”
“I have quite a debt to repay. I hope between that and any insurance you have, you’ll be able to build quite a strong one—ideally less flammable than the last.”
Benedict’s heart skipped. “You mean—”
“That if you can convince Lizzie to accept you, I have no objection.”
A lingering hint of pride nagged at Benedict. “But, sir, I cannot possibly accept money from you.”
“The money always should have been yours. I cannot regret it, of course. The gaming hell brought me to my wife, and she gifted me with two precious daughters. But I think it’s high time it was returned to where it came from—not the interest though. Your father’s calculations were highway robbery.”
Benedict couldn’t speak for several heartbeats. After a lifetime of having nothing, the offer left him stunned. Then understanding slammed into him—Wayland was offering him a future with Eliza, pride be damned.
“I think I can agree to those terms,” Benedict said, then reached his hand out for Wayland to shake.
No sooner had they separated than Benedict found Eliza’s hand. He tugged her through the door and around to the back of the house, desperate for a small measure of privacy.
“Eliza?” he asked, breathless.
“Yes?” Her smile was so lovely and bright.
Benedict swallowed. “I don’t suppose you have any interest in marrying me? I understand if you need time, or aren’t sure. But I… I needed to ask.”
“I don’t suppose you have any interest in marrying me?” she repeated, levity in her voice. “Benedict Sinclair, I’m afraid the damage is done—I’ve seduced and utterly ruined you. Now you’re thoroughly compromised. You’ll have no choice but to accept my ransom demands.”
“And those are?”
“You’ll have to marry me, of course. It’s the only way to save yourself from humiliation.”
“Oh, I’ll have to marry you?” he laughed as the grin blooming on his face threatened to split it open.
“Oh yes. Now, are you going to ask me properly?”
His smile softened, mirroring the reverence in his heart.
“Eliza Wayland, my violet,” he began, wrapping first one arm and then the other around her waist to pull her closer.
Benedict could not contain the giddy delight bubbling in his chest. “Ruined or not, you’re my first choice.
Would you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife? ”
She nodded, her smile more brilliant than the sun. Elation threatened to overwhelm him. Hope and joy unlike anything he’d ever known bloomed in his chest, flooding every limb until he staggered under the weight of it.
He tightened his hold on her waist and lifted her into the air before spinning her around, earning a giggle even more infectious than the one he’d claimed that first night on the dance floor.
“That doesn’t belong there,” she teased, face beaming.
Benedict’s own certainly matched hers. “I know, but it made you smile.”
“And it is your aim to do so?” Eliza asked.
“Every day for the rest of my life.”