Chapter 18 #2
Alice's hips bucked at his words. She was on fire, her bones were alight, her body was weighty with desire, and every nerve in her body was stretched tight, desperate for release.
“Please,” she mewled. Not knowing if she was asking him to take her or to stop. “Please.”
“I will not take you here,” Marco muttered as he groaned and pressed his body against hers. She felt his manhood press against her thigh as his hand continued to pump against her. "I want you desperately, but I will not take you here. I won't leave you wanting either."
There was a gleam in his eyes, like a knife's blade in moonlight. He drove himself against her leg as his fingers pressed deep inside her. He stoked the fire in her veins to new heights with every stroke. Her release began to build once more, and she cried out.
Marco quickly clamped his free hand over her mouth. "Shhh, Alice. You must be quiet," he said as he kissed her flushed cheeks and kept up the demanding pace of his hand. His thumb was frantically stroking her bud, and she was writhing beneath him.
“Oh God,” Alice whimpered against his hand. Her body was taut. Her muscles vibrated with tension. "Marco!"
“Hush,” Marco moved his hand from her mouth and kissed away her words, his lips so firm and warm. She arched back from his mouth, needing to suck in air as the fire within her exploded. She bit her lip as she was turned into a being of pleasure as Marco wrung sensation from her.
“Watching your pleasure is exquisite,” he murmured hotly into her skin, kissing the spot where her neck and shoulder met. “You are beautiful beyond my wildest imaginations.”
Sharp, vibrant pleasure erupted within her as he pressed his fingers impossibly deep.
Her release was desperate, and she flew like a bird into the sky, soaring on clouds of ecstasy.
She drifted back to earth when the last echoes of sensation faded.
The aroma of fresh flowers and crushed grass surrounded her.
She just lay there for a long time, exhausted, almost dizzy, as if drunk.
She returned to herself and was aware that Marco was still above her. His hand was still at her center and his fingers still inside her body.
He kissed her cheeks, brow, and nose, then asked in a hoarse voice, "Are you well?"
"Perfectly," she breathed. She opened her eyes to find Marco watching her.
“I apologize if this hurts,” he whispered and slowly withdrew his fingers from inside her. Alice's body clenched around them, almost as if begging him to stay, and she winced when they finally left her body.
She could help but wonder how it would feel to have another, larger part of Marco's body inside her.
She looked dazedly into his face. His eyes were glassy, and his cheeks were flushed.
His cravat was askew, and his jacket was crumpled.
She was dismayed to see that a button was missing and there was a small tear on the shoulder.
“Oh, no. I’m sorry,” she rasped, flicking her gaze to the minor tear in the material. Marco looked down, appearing to have forgotten that he was wearing clothes at all. Then he smirked and looked up, seeming pleased by the evidence of her wild passion.
“Never be sorry for your ardor, beloved,” he whispered.
The word struck Alice. Beloved. It slipped so easily from his lips that it gave her pause.
Even when she was furious and doubted him, she couldn't stop what her heart felt for him.
She fought her emotions, but they wouldn't go away.
She wished for more than just that one word of endearment from him.
She had a sudden and desperate desire to say the three words she had been keeping hidden from herself since their first kiss. I love you.
Marco took her hand and kissed it, compassionate concern in his eyes. “Are you well?”
Alice stared at him for a second longer and then decided she could not do it.
Not yet. She was too cowardly. She was afraid to be the first one to say it.
Do you doubt me now? Marco had asked while pleasuring her.
Alice did not question whether he wanted to marry her or if he care for her deeply.
However, she was unsure if that care and desire had transformed into love.
Until she was sure, she could not risk revealing her feelings.
It would hurt too much if he spurned them.
“I must look a mess,” Alice commented, sitting up and pulling her skirts down her legs. Marco smiled and reached up to pull a dandelion flower out of her disheveled hair.
“I fear you do look as if you have been thoroughly compromised,” he said playfully, eyes dancing with delight. “Which, I must say, is utterly charming.”
“I doubt my mother will find it so,” Alice said drily, brushing grass off her dress and picking it out of her bosom. “I fear there is no way to hide the evidence of our tomfoolery."
“Is that what we are calling it?” Marco said as he raised his eyebrows.
“Well, we can hardly admit to what it was,” Alice said tartly. She finger-combed through her curls and watched as Marco openly admired her red-gold tresses, rolling free over her shoulders. “A tumble in the garden.”
“Oh, you are much more than a simple tumble in the garden, beloved,” Marco said, his eyes wistfully fixed on her hair as he ran a strand through his fingers.
“You look like a divine goddess from a renaissance painting.
If I were to commission a portrait of this moment, I would allow no other man to see it, for they would instantly fall in love with you. "
Alice’s breath caught in her throat. She tried to swallow, but it was too hard to form words. She longed to ask if he was in love with her. She needed to know, but the question stayed stuck in her throat.
“My lady!” Beth called from the house. Alice was startled by the interruption and jumped. “Her Grace says you must come inside now, my lady.”
Before Alice could protest, Marco rose to his feet and straightened his jacket. He unbuttoned it to hide that one button was missing but could not do anything about the tear. Hopefully, it was small enough to go unnoticed. He smiled and spread his arms wide, looking down at her.
“Good as new," he declared as he held out his hand to Alice. She took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet.
“If not a tumble in the garden, then what was that?” she blurted out as they ambled across the garden to the house. She could not let the matter go. “Is it as you said before? Acts of pleasure are context-dependent?”
“Hmm,” Marco smiled but did not look at her as they navigated the path. “I suppose it could be termed an act of love in this instance.”
“It could?” Alice looked at him, holding her breath. She longed to hear him say that he loved her, but he did not. They had reached the terrace. He either did not see or chose to ignore the desperate pleading in her eyes. He simply smiled and kissed the back of her hand.
“So I shall see you on Sunday, then?” he asked quietly. “At our wedding?”
“Our wedding.” Alice nodded. “Yes.