Chapter Twenty-Two
T WENTY - T WO
Bishop’s hands drop from my throat to my hips, gripping so tightly that I gasp in pleasure and press against him, my arms going around his shoulders as I kiss him back.
Whatever experience I have with kisses, they were chaste things, I now realize, with Bishop’s mouth on mine, my lips parting under his, the kiss itself enough to ignite a fire that drives to the core of me.
At some point, the pressure eases, as if he’s realized what he’s doing, but when he tries to pull away, I wrap my fingers in his hair and his groan sets my already racing pulse galloping.
He falls back into the kiss and before I know it, I’m up against the wall, his hands on my thighs, shoving my skirts up until he can press between my knees.
His hands grip tight enough to bruise, and when I squirm, he mistakes it for pain, loosening his hold.
I put my hands over his and press, showing him I want more.
His fingers dig in, and I moan as my body cries out for this, sensation strong enough to obliterate thought, all my grief and frustration and fear feeding into that strong grip on my thighs.
If there’s pain, my body doesn’t interpret it like that.
It feels only sensation. Rough and wonderful sensation, a thousand times better than all my dreams of the night before.
And then that sensation is exploded by another, as he hikes my skirts higher and presses between my legs and oh my gods.
The hardness of him rubs against me in exactly the right spot.
The legs on my drawers part, the gap between them opening, Bishop’s hardness pressing through his trousers into my bare softness, and it doesn’t matter how many times I’ve pleasured myself, it wasn’t like this.
His scent engulfs me, his groans enough to make my head spin. My hands drop, pulling him against me.
This is hunger. Forget any gnawing in my belly when my dinner is late. This is real hunger, so overwhelming I can think of nothing but sating it.
His hands move to my arse, gripping it hard, and I gasp, head thrown back in pleasure, breaking the kiss in spite of myself. His face buries in my neck, inhaling deeply as he thrusts against me, groaning my name.
“Delia,” he groans. “My Delia.”
I gasp, lifting myself to feel the full pressure of him against that perfect spot, and he adjusts to help, thrusting until I hear myself crying “Please, oh, please,” and then waves of pleasure slam through me, and his mouth is on mine again and I’m crying out against it, as he pushes harder, gasping until his hardness pulsates against me and his whole body shakes with it.
He drops his head to my neck, nuzzling, whispering, “Delia” and other things I can’t make out, my own body shaking as the waves subside. Then he goes still. Very, very still, and I know what’s coming next.
Embarrassment.
Passion spent, he’ll back away quickly, mumbling apologies, and I don’t want that. I don’t want it at all.
So I whisper in his ear, “I don’t have any experience with this, but I do think—if you wanted to convince Silas you had taken your wedding night—you needed to remove your trousers.”
He pulls back sharply, sees my grin, and lets out a whooshing laugh, one that rocks through him for long moments before he can control himself.
“I didn’t mean to do that. I’d never—”
I stop his words with a firm kiss. “I know, but it was exactly what I needed.” I shiver and roll my shoulders. “When you leave, I’ll have time to grieve, but for now, that was what I needed. Release.” I kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
“I still apol—”
“And if you insist on apologizing, I’ll scream. Worse, I’ll be insulted. Neither of us meant for that to happen, but we both enjoyed it, and now I bear helpful bruises with no pain endured.”
His eyes meet mine, shadowing with worry. “Are you sure I didn’t hurt you? I was rough.”
“Not too rough,” I say. “And I needed that, too.” I press my lips to his. “I would tell you if I didn’t like something. I liked that very much.”
He kisses my cheek and lowers me to the floor, gingerly, as if I’m too bruised to stand. I smile at that and adjust my skirts, as he looks around, still seeming dazed by what just happened.
“Can I make a suggestion?” I say. “About how to handle Silas’s suspicions?”
Bishop’s attention locks on me, his face going serious.
“Of course,” he says, and in that, I catch a glimpse of the Alpha he’ll be.
Not one who demands blind obedience or bristles at suggestions.
He’ll listen to advice. He won’t always take the advice, but he’ll consider it and he’ll follow it when it works.
“I think you can use what happened between us,” I say.
He tenses. “Pretend I forced myself—”
“No. Silas knows you wouldn’t, and it’d only make him more suspicious. But…” I step closer. “You do find me attractive, yes? Desirable?”
His nostrils flare, as if he is inhaling my scent, and his voice is rough when he says, “Very much.”
“Good. Then use that, and I’ll do the same.”
He blinks, as if he must be misunderstanding. He has made the shocking admission that he desires me, and I easily returned the sentiment. Clearly, I mean something else.
I continue, “Let him see that something happened down here. A moment of reciprocated passion. A mutual recognition that we might not object to the physical aspect of a marriage.” My lips twitch. “He thinks you cold, right?”
“I’m circumspect. Some mistake it for frigidity.”
“You’re in perfect control of your passions.
Until you meet a lycan, and you’re fascinated in spite of yourself.
You’re supposed to be punishing her but…
” I bite my lip and revel a little in the spark that ignites in his eyes.
“Something happened. Something unexpected. Let him see that something has kindled between us. Desire and fascination and lust.”
He swallows, his throat bobbing as his eyes spark. He seems ready to kiss me again, but then he squeezes his eyes shut, finding that legendary self-control.
“I understand your meaning,” he says. “It might lull him into believing we won’t fight him on the marriage, but if he suspects I plan to challenge him for the Alphahood, this won’t resolve that. ”
“Won’t it?” I start untying the mess of my hair, trying not to smile as he follows my movements, staring as if I’m shimmying out of my undergarments.
“You’re swept away by desire. Distracted like a boy with the first girl who lets him part her legs.
Your brain—that clever, devious, dangerous brain—has plummeted into your trousers. ”
He watches me untangling my hair for another moment, and then his lips curve. “Let him think I can’t focus on anything except my wedding night.”
“And making sons. Lots and lots of sons. Grandsons for him.” I hesitate, and then I say, “That’s what he wants. He admitted it to me. He wants us to give him grandsons, and one of them will succeed him. Not you. He threw it in my face, so that I’d know I’d never be an Alpha’s mate.”
Bishop only shrugs. “I expected as much. Silas will hang on to power for as long as he can, and when he does relinquish the crown, it’ll go to someone he can control. I’ve tried to pretend that’s me but…”
“You’re too much. Too intelligent. Too ambitious. Too proud. A stallion who’s accepted the bridle only because he knows he can throw it off at any time.”
A faint smile. “A stallion indeed. I know you’re outraged at being treated as a broodmare, but he sees me the same way. I’m a stallion of excellent lineage who’ll sire Alphas he can control. The moment I’ve done my job sufficiently, I’ll suffer a terrible accident.”
I glance up sharply, horrified, as I realize he’s right.
Silas has named Bishop as his heir, so how would he bypass him in the line of succession?
By letting Bishop father a couple of sons and then having him die—tragically, I’m sure—on the cusp of taking over.
Then Silas has to stay in charge while he raises his new heir.
Bishop leans against the wall. “Let him believe I’m distracted… and also very eager to provide those grandsons. If you seem equally willing…”
“I will. Let him think we both can’t wait for the marriage bed—and may even be jumping ahead already. Just be careful you don’t sell the ruse too well. The wolves who support you can’t believe you’ve abandoned the cause for a woman.”
“They know me too well for that. I’ll slip off with my future mate, but never when I’m supposed to be working on our plans.
Some will be amused. Others…” He shrugs.
“Others will appreciate seeing a more hot-blooded side of me. It makes me more like them. More relatable. Pack animals mistrust differences.”
“All right then. You shouldn’t linger here too long. You’ll need to send Julius, and if you can have him smuggle in food, I’d appreciate that.”
Bishop smiles and kisses the top of my head. “I will always make sure you’re fed.”
When he pulls back, he glances around, looking suddenly troubled.
I arch my brows. “Yes?”
“I hate leaving you in the cage. I only brought you down here so no one would expect to hear screams through the thick walls. Now your father has ordered you to stay, and that’s my fault.”
“I suspect he’d have locked me up down here anyway. I’ll be fine.”
He meets my gaze. “I will free you, Cordelia. I wouldn’t want you worrying that what happened between us changes that.”
“And I wouldn’t want you to worry that what happened between us means I expect to be your mate and will cling to you like a barnacle.”
His smile grows, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“I can’t imagine you clinging to anyone.
” He sobers. “When this is over, though, you’ll have my protection.
Your father may have lied about the current threat against you, but the danger does exist, and it will for as long as you are of children-bearing age. ”
He tilts my face up to his. “You will always have my protection, Cordelia. I swear that. It’s poor compensation for everything that’s happened, but I offer it sincerely.
When this is over, I won’t send you back to London and never see you again.
I don’t think that’s safe and…” His throat bobs. “It’s not what I want.”
“We’ve been through too much to go back to being strangers, Bishop. We can discuss this all later. You really need to go.”
He hesitates, and then kisses the top of my head again before leaving.