Chapter Twenty-Two #3
There was no way that penetration could hurt more than the ache consuming her. She lifted her hips, searching… inviting… welcoming.
Gazing into her eyes, he entered her. A pinch, her wince, and then an intimacy that enveloped her soul. If she carried this moment in her heart, she’d never feel lonely again.
“Darling?” he asked, his brow furrowed, and his tone sounding concerned.
He need not worry. “It feels quite lovely,” she assured him.
“So warm. So tight,” he said while pushing into her inch by exquisite inch.
So perfect.
“Fuck.” His grunted utterance was primal and raw.
Fuck. She couldn’t agree more.
Resting his forehead against hers, he slid out part way, then pushed back in. He did it again, and again, the friction created by each glide growing ever more exquisite. Warmth crawled up and down her body.
Wrapping her legs around his hips, and her arms around his back, she clung to him. His muscles flexed and contracted beneath the pads of her fingers. He was so very strong and robust, all-potent, intoxicating masculinity.
She rocked her pelvis against his, encouraging him to pump deeper.
His pace was slow and languid, like they had all the time in the world. Her inexperience made her impatient, desperate even. She clawed at his back as if she dug deep enough, it might be possible for them to share his skin.
“Harder,” she begged.
The next few thrusts were excruciatingly soft. She undulated, lifting her hips, needing more.
Another gentle slide, and then he plunged into her with so much force that she cried out.
“Yes,” she added. “Just like that.”
Soft, soft, hard, he played with their rhythm, teasing her into a frenzy. The talented scamp. The tempest beneath her skin brewed, and her body tensed.
“That’s it, darling. Come with me.” He caught her gasp in his mouth, swallowing it with a demanding kiss.
Up, up, up. Higher and higher, her body seemed to lift. A wave of euphoria washed over her, and then with a shudder, she tumbled in an out-of-control avalanche. Clitoris pulsing, she chanted his name in ecstasy.
“Fuck, Gen.” Jonathan pulled from her, his spend shooting in hot bursts that decorated her belly.
Time seemed to stand still. Her wildly beating heart was the only sound she heard. Was it possible that she was so ecstatic that she was glowing like a luminescent fairy? She certainly felt like a golden orb surrounded her.
Jonathan sat up and dropped his feet onto the floor.
Hoping to keep him beside her, Genevieve reached for him, but her muscles, still languid from her orgasm, weren’t working, so he slipped away.
Back muscles rippling, he strode across the room.
He bent over, the crescents of his perfect buttocks contracting in all their glory.
He must know she was watching because he wriggled his arse as he plucked his shirt from the floor.
Facing her, he grinned. “Like what you see, Genevieve?”
“Mmm,” she murmured, much too intoxicated to form words.
He peacocked to her, then climbed back into bed. Using the sleeve, he cleaned her belly, then tossed his shirt onto the floor. To her delight, he collapsed beside her. He tugged her close, cradling her as if she were a precious gift.
“After your fight with Roseanna, we will announce our engagement,” he said, his thrilling declaration tickling her cheek. “And we should definitely make our intentions public before my mother decides to host a wife-finding event in my honor.”
An engagement! A wedding! Her very own family! Life couldn’t be any more perfect. She and Jonathan would be so happy together.
Once they married, she wouldn’t have to wait until she earned enough money because she could ask her husband, the influential Viscount Davenport, to intervene and send for Christopher and Sophia.
First, she would have to tell him who her father was.
Even though her family was disgraced and unfashionable, Jonathan would probably be relieved to learn that she was the late earl’s granddaughter.
However…
She winced, and her heart that had been fluttering wildly seconds earlier, felt as if it had crashed and splintered into a thousand pieces. Her father would never allow her siblings to leave home, influential viscount or not. Arthur Bailey was a cruel murderer, after all.
Dear Lord, did her father have the authority to stop the marriage and force her to marry Kilsby so that he could pay his debts? Honestly, she didn’t know, and she wasn’t sure who she could ask without divulging her secret.
For the time being, sending for her siblings would have to be done in secret so that her father couldn’t prevent it.
A well-known viscount and his scandalous new boxing viscountess would attract entirely too much attention.
A ghost in the shadows would have to do the rescuing—and with her own resources—which would take time.
As for her engagement? Could she marry Jonathan while keeping her identity a secret?
Probably not. At least not in the near future.
Jonathan squeezed her shoulder. “Are you crying, Genevieve?”
“Tears of happiness,” she lied as she snuggled against him.