by Syrie James
“Have you never experienced this, my darling?” His voice was low and sultry as he licked at her most private of places.
She gasped and nearly leapt off the bed. All she could do was to shake her head.
A soft, wolfish chuckle reached her ears. “Prepare yourself to be delighted.”
His tongue began flicking against the folds of her womanhood. A ragged breath escaped her. Dear God. It felt amazing. He kept up the attention with increasing pressure and rapidity. Kathryn writhed on the bed. This was so different from the time he had pleasured her there with his hand, or what it felt like when she pleasured herself. This was warm and wet and molten, the moisture from his mouth and tongue heightening the sensations that were building deep inside her.
Her thighs began to quiver as if an earthquake were rocking them at their very foundations. Her womb tightened and her entire body tensed.
Kathryn heard low, ecstatic moans, followed by sharper, more staccato exclamations, and was only vaguely aware that they were issuing from her own throat. Her breathing grew faster and faster until she was panting.
A crescendo rose within her, demanding release. And then suddenly her back was arching off the bed, a thousand cymbals were crashing in her head, and she was leaping off a peak, breaking apart into tiny fragments of light and sound and air.
It took a long, lazy moment for Kathryn to return to earth. She lay there, as if wrapped in golden gauze, waiting for her breathing to slow and her wits to recover.
Lance gently nuzzled her thighs and kissed his way back up to her abdomen. Sliding his body up over hers, he lay on top of her, cradling himself between her legs with his erect staff wedged between them.
“You,” he murmured, “are the most stunning thing I have ever seen.” The look in his eyes was filled with tender, unguarded affection.
Kathryn’s heart twisted. “I like you, too.” She wanted to say so much more. She wanted to say, I love you. But that would only complicate things.
Now that she had come down from the heights of ecstasy and could think again, Kathryn remembered what it was she’d wanted to ask him. She’d wanted to make sure he was okay with making love to her, knowing that it would be this one time, and one time only. That she still couldn’t be his wife.
It was a little late to bring that up now, though. They were naked and sweaty and they had already been making love since the moment he’d pulled her into his room with that hungry look in his eyes.
The full act had yet to be completed. She wasn’t about to deny him that—or deny herself for that matter. It was what she’d come here for. He was aching for it—that was physically obvious. The hard length of his manhood was pressing like a hot promise against the folds of her womanhood.
But there were so many things she was still curious about. So many things she wanted to experience. And she wanted to experience them with him.
“Before we finish this, though,” Kathryn added, nudging him with her hand in a silent request to move off of her, “I want to . . . explore a little more.”
“Do you now.” He grinned and immediately obliged, sliding off and stretching out beside her on the bed. “What kind of exploring did you have in mind?”
Kathryn boldly reached down and took his erection in her hand. To her delight, his staff twitched in her grasp like a sentient being. It was rock hard, and the short, surprised gasp he emitted was extremely gratifying.
He placed one hand over hers, then silently demonstrated the motion he craved. Under his guidance, Kathryn moved her hand up and down, excited by the way his breath caught as his own excitement built.
As she continued the motion, his blue eyes bored into hers, glittering darkly, conveying a wealth of emotions—from desire and need to a seemingly desperate struggle to maintain control.
His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed, took a breath, and finally stopped her hand. “I want to be inside you.” His voice was rough.
“I want that, too. But not yet.”
He darted her an inquiring glance. “More exploring?”
She nodded, a slow smile parting her lips. Then, bending down over that stunning male appendage, she ran her tongue over its erect tip.
Yet another thing she had read about. And had always wanted to try.
He gave another gasp.
Holding him in her hand, Kathryn swirled her tongue around him, fascinated by the way his member moved in response. Then she took him into her mouth, giving him the same attention he’d given her fingers earlier, treating him as if he were her own personal lollipop.
From the sounds he was making, Kathryn guessed that he liked what she was doing.
She loved the feel of him, loved the sound of his altered breathing, the way his hands clutched her head as if to hold it there in some silent plea to continue.
Then he stopped her again. “I can’t hold out much longer,” he admitted gruffly.
He reached into the drawer of his bedside table and retrieved a small paper envelope. Kathryn recognized it: it was the packaging for a French letter.
As he slid the condom over his shaft, Kathryn watched, captivated, and grateful that he was prepared. At the same time, for some perverse reason, it also prickled a bit. Was it common practice for dukes and former sea captains to keep sheaths in their bedside tables for all the women they made love to?
She pushed the thought from her mind. He was thirty-two years old, and his sexual history was none of her business. She was just here for one night of pleasure, after all, and she was lucky that no unexpected repercussions would ensue from their coupling.
He stretched out beside her again, half covering her body as he captured her mouth in his, returning his hand to her feminine folds that were still moist from his attentions. Soon, she was aching again with need. She moaned, and so did he, and he nestled between her thighs and poised himself at her entry.
“I’ll try to be gentle,” he murmured.
And he was. He entered her slowly, an inch at a time, as if aware that it might have been a long time since her last experience. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. It hurt, but not as much as she remembered. When he pressed in farther, she gripped his buttocks, urging him on. She was in no mood for stopping. He slid fully into her and she welcomed the friction. Soon, pain turned into pleasure. Their bodies were one, moving in unison like a machine.
It was wondrous. It was heaven.
And there was one more thing she wanted to try.
“Roll over,” she said.
“Hmmm?”
“I want to be on top.”
He paused, then let out another low chuckle. “As my lady commands.” Wrapping one arm tightly around her, the other gripping her derrière, he rolled them over, keeping their bodies joined together until he lay flat on his back.
“That was a neat trick,” she said, smiling.
Kathryn slid her knees up and adjusted her hips, raising herself on both hands until she was straddling him, all the while reveling in the feel of him still nestled deep inside her.
He raised himself up slightly, too, shoving two pillows behind his head and upper back before settling back against them. She quickly understood why. At this new angle, her breasts were just inches from his mouth.
“Ride me,” he invited.
“That was my plan.” As she began to move on top of him, Kathryn found her own tempo, which seemed to meld perfectly with his.
He held on to her waist with both hands. Taking one of her breasts in his mouth, he suckled it again with obvious pleasure. As she rode him, faster and faster, she heard him breathing harder and faster, matching her own rapid rate of respiration.
“I adore you, my darling,” he whispered against her breast.
My darling. No one had ever called her that before. She loved the sound of it. “I adore you,” she whispered, overwhelmed by the thrill of their union, as every sense in her body built once more to the ever-closer brink of rapture.
As she hurtled over the edge
again, sparks filling her universe, she heard him cry out, felt his spasms within her as his own ecstasy overtook him.
This, Lance thought, must be what heaven was like.
Kathryn was lying in his arms. They had both fallen asleep after their epic encounter. Lance relished the feeling of her head pillowed against his shoulder and the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she slumbered.
Their lovemaking had been everything he’d imagined it would be—no, if he were honest, it had been far beyond anything he could have imagined. This woman was incredible. She knew what she wanted and she had boldly gone after it. He had been only too happy to be the recipient of her desires.
With closed eyes he tilted his head slightly downward, kissing her soft golden tresses as one hand relished the slender curves of her back.
Oh, how I love her.
The words leapt into Lance’s mind with the force of a typhoon, taking him by complete surprise. The phrase repeated itself with the same vehement force:
Oh, how I love her.
Dear Lord, was it true? How had that happened?
Lance had promised himself he would never love again. That love only brought pain.
And yet, from the moment he’d first set eyes on Kathryn, he had felt a powerful attraction to her. In the days that followed, as they’d gotten to know each other, that attraction had slowly but surely grown into something very real and deep and profound.
He had already known for a while that he didn’t want Kathryn Atherton as his wife just because he needed her fortune. That he wanted her because he liked and admired her. But he hadn’t realized that he also needed her. That he couldn’t imagine life without her.
Because he loved her with all his heart.
Lance’s pulse began thundering so loudly in his chest he feared it might wake her.
Did she love him back?
Kathryn had just given herself to him freely, without asking anything in return. But he believed he had seen the workings of her heart in her eyes. Had heard it in her moans. Had felt it with every kiss, every touch of her hands and lips.
She did love him. He knew it.
Now, he thought, his pulse still racing. He should ask her to marry him now. If she loved him, she’d be open to his new ideas about how to make it work between them. And she’d say yes.
It was an unconventional moment to propose, perhaps—not the romantic setting he had envisioned. But on the other hand, it could not be more appropriate. She was lying naked beside him. And he wanted her naked in his bed where he could make love to her every single night for the rest of their lives.
A tiny voice piped up in the back of his head: You haven’t told her you need her fortune.
Lance’s gut tensed. How could he bring up his money problems now? They didn’t have a stitch of clothing on and had just made mad, passionate love. This was hardly the time for a discussion about finances.
That discussion would have to come later. In the morning. When they were fully dressed and he could take her, hand in hand, to his favorite bench overlooking the sea. He would sit her down and pour out his heart and explain it all.
Now he would pour his heart out about a very different matter. And he would make this woman his.
Chapter Twenty
Kathryn wanted to memorize this moment. To remember every single thing about it.
The way her cheek rested upon Lance’s shoulder. The way his naked body felt against hers. The way his chest hair tickled her chin. The sound of his breathing. The moisture on his skin. A liquid, molten substance that had mingled from two bodies into one, as if binding them together.
The way their lovemaking had bound them together just an hour or two ago.
She would take the memory of this moment with her when she left. Something to look back on all the rest of her days.
Lance moved beneath her. So he was awake, too. Rolling to his side, he turned her in his arms to face her, his head resting on the next pillow, half a foot away. His eyes blinked open.
“Kathryn,” he said softly. “Will you marry me?”
She stared at him, panic rising in her throat. Why was he asking her this again? And why now? “Lance. I’ve already given you my answer.”
“I was hoping you would give me a different answer this time.”
“You know I can’t.” Kathryn sighed. “If you were expecting that just because we made love, I would give up everything to marry you . . .”
“I expect nothing of the kind.” He caressed her cheek with the back of one hand. “Correct me if I’m wrong—but as much as you love your career, I think you care about me as well. Don’t you?”
Kathryn swallowed hard. “Yes, I do care about you.”
He gently brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. “I care about you, too. I love you, Kathryn.”
He was gazing at her with a look that could only be described as adoring. Kathryn’s heart turned over. He loved her? Dear God, he loved her? “I love you, too, Lance,” she admitted, which brought a gratified smile to his lips. “But—”
“If you could continue in the profession you love,” he interrupted, “would you marry me?”
The question stymied her. “I . . . suppose I might,” she conceded. “But—”
“Then I’m sure we can work something out.”
“How? Duchesses can’t be architects.”
“Why not?”
She couldn’t believe he was asking her this. “Because, I don’t know, it’s against some long-written rule. You said so yourself. What I do is considered trade. People would frown upon it.”
“Let them frown.”
“Are you serious?”
He nodded. “You may have turned me down once, but I couldn’t give up. Kathryn: you’re the only woman I can imagine myself married to. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, raise a family with you. If the only way you’ll have me is to share me with your career, then so be it.”
Kathryn could hardly believe he was saying these things. “How would it work? My job is in London.”
“Then we’ll live in London part of the year.”
“Do you mean it?”
“St. Gabriel’s Mount is home, but we don’t have to reside here every minute. I have a house in town for a reason. When you need to be in town, we shall go to town. Hopefully, you can bring work back here sometimes. When you need to do architecture-y things, you’ll do them. That is not to say, however, that you won’t do duchess-y things as well.” As he spoke, his hand slid down to cup her breast, then began to roll her nipple between his thumb and fingertips.
“Oh?” Kathryn replied breathlessly, her blood stirring again. “And what . . . duchess-y things would those be?”
“I need an heir. And a spare or two would be nice.” His voice was husky. “I will definitely need your assistance with that.”
She couldn’t suppress a little laugh. Was this possible? Could it really work out, after all? Had he really just said I love you?
“We will have nannies and governesses to help with the children,” Lance went on, “and a staff to run the castle. The community will only need your attention from time to time. If you wish to take on architectural projects, if you can manage it without making yourself sick again, then I have nothing against it.”
“But . . . what will people think?”
“I don’t care what people think. I’m the Duke of Darcy. I haven’t been a duke very long, but from what I’ve seen, whatever a duke says, goes. If I say that my wife can work, and by God I will say it, then the world will just have to accept that.”
It was music to Kathryn’s ears.
She had vowed to never marry. But that vow had been made long before she met and fell in love with the Duke of Darcy.
And before he fell in love with her.
“Say yes, my lady,” Lance commanded, leaning in close and touching his nose affectionately against hers. “Say yes, and do me the honor of becoming my wife.”
“Yes,” Kathryn answered, h
er heart soaring. “Yes! I will.”
A beaming smile took over his face. He kissed her.
And then his roving hands started doing indescribable things to her again. With a deep sigh, Kathryn melted into his embrace, blinded by joy, her senses reeling with the promise of a future that seemed too perfect to be true.
Lance rose to consciousness from the fog of sleep, aware that his bedchamber was filled with morning light.
He stretched luxuriously, recalling the events of the night before.
The lovemaking that had gone on until dawn.
Kathryn had been a revelation, each encounter better and more satisfying than the last. It was no wonder he was still so tired. If he’d gotten two hours of sleep, he was lucky.
He was lucky for another reason—the luckiest bastard in the world, in fact. Kathryn had consented to be his wife! Joy shot through him, permeating his every pore.
He reached for his partner, only to find the other side of the bed empty. He sat up. Where had she gone? And why?
His eyes took in a small square of paper lying upon her pillow. He snatched it up. A message had been scrawled across it in pencil:
I thought it best for propriety’s sake that I return to my own bed. Didn’t want to wake you.
Below that, a simple heart had been drawn.
Lance smiled to himself. He supposed it was better that she had gone. Stolen away before the maid arrived with his morning tray. No one else knew that they were engaged to be married. Even when that fact was made public, he didn’t want word to get out that they’d slept together before their nuptials.
He wanted everything to be proper and aboveboard from this moment on.
Which reminded him: although she had accepted his hand, there was still something they needed to discuss. As soon as possible.
When he’d finished his morning ablutions and was dressed and ready to meet the day, Lance was about to ask Woodston if he knew where Miss Atherton was, when Mrs. Morgan knocked and announced that his solicitor was waiting for him downstairs.
Lance cursed aloud. Why had he agreed to meet with Megowan this morning, of all times? But then, he thought as he hastened down to his study, maybe the timing was fortuitous. He had good news to share, after all.