CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN #2
“You,” she said, tapping her pointer finger against the arm that encircled her waist. “Are scared of him.”
Now Maximus laughed. He wasn’t scared of Augustus. He just wasn’t used to acting against his father’s interests. It hadn’t been until Daphne entered his life that he’d felt brave enough to finally take a stance.
Silence fell, but it wasn’t heavy. Maximus focused on the beautiful woman in his arms, at the way the wind lifted her curls.
He had never held anyone like this before.
The women he took to bed did not stay the night.
Usually he made them a drink and then had a butler usher them out.
For Daphne, it would be different. If she ever deigned to be in his bed, he would let her stay as long as she liked.
“I’ve never seen the village from this far away,” Daphne said presently. “Do you come here often?”
Maximus glanced at the crypt to their right. “Sometimes. When I need it.”
Daphne nodded. A moment passed. Then, to his complete surprise, she leaned back against his chest. Maximus froze, positive he must have imagined it.
To his delight she remained in place, her head tucked just beneath his chin, her hair tickling his cheeks.
Tentatively, he wrapped the reins around the pommel.
Then he placed his other arm around her waist, pulling her completely against him.
They sat together in silence, looking out over the village.
Daphne was right; the view was spectacular, even if Maximus could barely see it through her curls.
He resisted the urge to bury his face in her hair, instead focusing on the way she felt in his arms. Her body was relaxed, her breathing steady.
It was a vulnerable position for her, to have someone at her back.
Maximus didn’t want to abuse it, but he also desperately wanted more.
She was practically sitting in his lap; surely she could feel that he was already growing hard.
Before he could stop himself, he dropped his lips to her neck.
He did it slowly, terrified she might stop him or try to pull away. She didn’t.
“Are you ever going to let me fuck you?” Maximus whispered against her skin.
Daphne matched his whisper with hers. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“What would it take?” he murmured, his mouth still against her throat. “Just tell me, and I will do it.”
She was silent for far too long. It was infuriating not knowing what she was thinking.
He wished he could read her mind. Maximus could do nothing but smell her skin, breathing in her scent as if he needed it to survive.
She smelled like the sea, crisp and fresh and sharp.
Nothing about Daphne was subtle. Maximus was constantly overwhelmed by her, and this moment was no exception.
He wanted to turn her around and press his lips to hers.
He wanted to slide his hands under her dress and touch everything she would let him touch.
If he had his way, he would fuck her right here on this horse.
But he knew she wouldn’t let him do that.
If resisting her was a way to get in her good graces, he would do it.
As long as one day, she gave in. His patience would not last forever.
“I don’t know,” she said finally.
He held her tighter. “I think you do know.”
She shook her head, and the motion made his cock fully hard. He should loosen his grip—make it so she wasn’t pressed against it. But he didn’t. He wanted her to feel it, to know the effect she had on him. Maximus needed her to feel what he couldn’t seem to say with words.
Daphne turned her head, angling her face so she was looking him straight in the eye. She held his gaze, her breath gently fanning his face. “Trust,” she said quietly. “I need to trust you first.”
Maximus processed her answer. “You don’t trust me?”
Again, silence. Only this time, he was watching her think about her answer. Her brow furrowed, a tiny line forming between her eyebrows.
“No.”
It didn’t surprise him, but it did disappoint him. He would have thought that she already trusted him. Perhaps he hadn’t been open enough with her; perhaps she did not understand how he felt. “Why not?”
“Because of our…arrangement.”
Now Maximus frowned. “What about it?”
“Anything you say to me is just to keep me around so you can anger your father.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it? If I walk away, you’ll have to marry Constance.”
“Are you going to walk away?”
Daphne paused. It seemed like she was considering something. When her reply took too long, Maximus spoke.
“Everything I’ve said to you has been genuine.”
She was still looking him in the eye. Their lips were an inch apart.
“You can trust me, Daphne.”
She looked away.
He raised the hand that wasn’t on her waist, pulling her face back to his. “I mean it. I promise.”
Her eyes dropped to his lips. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I don’t.”
He could tell she didn’t believe him. And why should she?
He had done nothing to prove himself to her—at least, not on a permanent level that she could count on.
Maximus understood that it was not enough just to choose her for the dates.
Unless Daphne won the entire competition, unless he proposed with the explicit intent of marrying her, she would not believe in their arrangement.
They stared at each other, the wind swirling around them. Eventually, Daphne whispered, “You’re hard.”
Of course he was. She could breathe on him, and he would get hard. It was embarrassing how much she affected him, yet he had no desire to hide himself from her. If she wanted to trust him, perhaps he had to be vulnerable.
“Can you blame me?” he whispered back.
When she didn’t answer, Maximus decided it was time to take action.
They’d done everything else, he realized.
She’d been naked in front of him; he’d been naked in front of her.
She’d touched herself while he’d watched, and he’d done the same.
But Maximus had yet to touch her. Technically, he still wasn’t doing so.
There was a layer of fabric between them, and as much as he wanted to rip her dress aside, he resisted.
It was far too cold for that anyway. Instead he slid his hand slowly down her waist until it rested on her thighs.
They were on a horse; her legs were already open, making it easy to dip his hand between them, moving slowly so she had a chance to push him away.
She didn’t. His fingers rested just above her center.
Another inch, and he’d be pressing against her clitoris.
Again, he waited. Daphne’s head was still turned to his, her back firmly against his chest. It was now or never. Maximus dipped his fingers even lower.
The moment he touched her, she bit her lip.
If that wasn’t a universal sign of pleasure, he didn’t know what was.
He moved his fingers in a steady rhythm, first up and down then back and forth, touching her assertively so that she felt it through her dress.
And feel it she did. He could tell by the way her spine arched, by the small moan that escaped the back of her throat.
Maximus had never before been so turned on from something that wasn’t even skin-on-skin.
“How do you like it, Daphne?” he whispered. “Tell me.”
“Slow,” she whispered back. “At first.”
Immediately, he slowed his motions. “And then?”
“Faster.”
Maximus didn’t go faster yet. He was showing her that he could listen—that he could be patient.
Clearly patience was required in order to seduce her.
If he ever wanted to touch her properly, he’d have to do it this way first. Their lips never touched, although they came close.
It took all of Maximus’s self-control not to close the distance and smash his mouth against hers.
Everything about her drew him in: the warmth of her body, the scent of her skin, the flush that built gradually on her freckled cheeks.
Her beauty was stupefying. He could stare at her forever.
It was unbelievable to see how she reacted to his touch.
Maximus felt every hitch in her breath, heard every tiny noise that she made.
He welcomed it all, taking everything she would give him, holding her as close as he dared without trapping her.
He wanted to do so much more. He wanted to do everything.
But he could not. He would practice restraint, even if it killed him.
Maximus dared to break her gaze, tracing his eyes down her neck instead. He followed with his lips, his heart surging in his chest when he heard a gasp escape her mouth. He wanted to hear that gasp again over and over, and he wanted them both to be naked while he heard it.
“Daphne,” he murmured against the warm skin of her throat. “Daphne.”
He could only say her name; full sentences were beyond him. If it was the only word he said for the rest of his life he would be just fine with that.
“Max,” she whispered back.
His cock was so hard it was beginning to ache.
He knew she could feel it; they were pressed together too tightly for her not to.
A hundred warring desires engulfed Maximus: her on his bed, splayed open for him.
Her on her knees, pleasuring him. Him on his knees, returning the favor.
He wanted her to touch his cock, to stroke it with her perfect hands, to cry out as he fell apart inside her.
To actually fuck her would be a privilege beyond words. For now he could only imagine it.
Daphne was close. Her breaths came quickly, her hips jerking to meet his touch.
Maximus went faster now, just the way she liked.
He knew she was seconds away when her hands gripped the pommel, her knuckles whitening.
Maximus shifted his body weight forward, pressing his fingers against her clitoris while pressing her hips against the saddle. At last, Daphne came.