Worth Winning

by Elling, Parker

  Julia nodded against his shoulder, and a moment later, they were in the bedroom together, just as they’d been yesterday . . .

  Only today, he had no intention of stopping until he’d had his fill of her.

  *

  Julia sighed as Charles deposited her gently on the bed and joined her so that his body lay next to and partially on top of hers, his weight barely pressing her into the mattress.

  “We’re exceedingly overdressed for the next part of our conversation.”

  “Exceedingly?” Julia laughed even as she parroted his word. She never would have imagined that it would be like this, that desire and humor could be so intertwined together, that she’d enjoy not merely the kissing and the rest of it, but also just the simply act of lying with him, the anticipation of it all.

  Part of her wanted to tear off his clothes and her own. But another part wished she could prolong this moment, and this day, forever. The joy she felt was fleeting, she knew this, knew without having to think that this could not last. She shut her eyes and mentally shut out those unwanted, unwarranted thoughts. She’d have plenty of time, too much time, to think about that later. For now, she wanted to enjoy this moment, this man.

  She reached for the buttons of his shirt, finding that her fingers were shaking a little, so that he had to stop her finally, had to take his hand in hers and say gently, “I won’t hurt you.”

  He kissed her fingertips one at a time, as he had done—was it only weeks ago?—in the Clarks’ library. “Promise.”

  It was a struggle suddenly to blink back her tears, to tell him that he’d already hurt her and would no doubt do so again. But all she said was, “I’m a bit nervous is all. Edgy. Anxious. Highly strung.”

  Charles almost suppressed a smile. “Yes, thank you, I do know what the word nervous means.”

  “I mean it’s not that my nerves are affected, I’ve never understood what that means, actually.”

  He kissed the corner of her mouth again. “You’re rambling, you know.”

  “I know. It’s horrid. I’m ruining everything. This is supposed to be a romantic moment, not a lecture. But I just can’t seem to stop talking.”

  Charles chuckled. “And talking can’t be romantic?”

  “Not about nerves, certainly.”

  “Surely nerves are better than aphids,” Charles teased before continuing in a more serious tone. “We don’t have to do this—if you have any doubts at all, we should not proceed.”

  The way they were lying against one another, Julia could feel the imprint of his erection against her thigh; even through two layers of clothes, his desire was obvious, and his offer all the more touching because of it.

  She smiled. “That’s not exactly truthful.” She slid her hand, biting at her lip and fighting what was surely a whole-body blush even as she did so, down to where the shape of his penis was clearly outlined.

  Charles drew in a shaky breath and briefly pressed himself more firmly into her hand. “I know I’ll be upsetting your love of all things logical to say this, but I am more than positive, more than sure, that I would never, ever want you to do something you weren’t completely—more than completely—ready for.”

  “You’re right, that was one of the least logical things you’ve ever said to me.”

  Charles chuckled. “It’s hard to be logical when half of the blood in my body is no longer circulating through my brain.”

  Julia pressed her body closer to his, mimicking the hand that was pressed against him. “Are you always so prone to exaggeration?”

  He laughed, “Yes. I seem to remember noting that men, in general, are prone to hyperbole.”

  “I’m almost certain you said women last time.”

  “I’m almost certain your memory plays you false.” He gazed down at her, and Julia wondered how she could have ever considered his eyes to be cold in any way. They were better described as a warm gray, with flecks of blue and perhaps even hazel buried within. His mouth twisted a bit, and it was with a touch of self-deprecation that he said, “I’m completely capable of stopping, Julia, despite what I said earlier.”

  Julia leaned up and kissed him. “And I meant what I said. I don’t want you to stop. I’m anxious and a little nervous, all of which is natural, none of which means I don’t want to do . . . this, as much as you do.”

  That seemed to be all the reassurance he needed. His head lowered and he began kissing her with an intensity she found a bit shocking. Always before he’d built up the flames of passion gradually, allowed her time to feel and catalogue, to explore and adjust.

  This time, his lips were demanding, parting hers almost immediately. His tongue tangled with hers even as his hands quickly unbuttoned the front of her dress. Without looking, without needing to look, he undid the bow at the front of her chemise, and his hand slipped inside with a surety that stole what was left of her breath.

  He kissed the edge of her mouth and then nibbled along the underside of her chin, whispering, “I’m so glad you didn’t have me stop.”

  She smiled against his lips even as she arched her body into his caresses in a way that she was certain she’d feel embarrassed about, later, when she was capable of thinking again. “And here I thought you were so noble.”

  “I was noble. Offering, and being willing to follow through on the offer, was extremely noble. Sacrificial, even.”

  “I’ve never thought of you as a martyr.”

  “And today, I don’t have to be.”

  He kissed her again, their tongues tangling and mating in a preview of what was to come, and he said, “This might be the most unromantic, asexual pillow talk I’ve ever engaged in.”

  Julia pulled away a little. “I’m sorry. Should I—”

  “No, no, simply an observation. And don’t worry, one thing that people never understand is that it’s not the words that are erotic, it’s the person who’s saying them.”

  “Are you implying that you think I’m . . . erotic?”

  Charles nodded, meeting her eyes and smiling a little. “Let me put it this way: you make aphids sound stimulating.”

  Julia laughed again, the tension easing from her body. “You were not attracted to me then.”

  His fingers curled around the smooth underside of one of her breasts, and his thumb against teased one peak into rigidity. “Wrong again. I found you distracting and annoying, perplexing and also, yes, attractive.”

  She gasped a little as he continued his ministrations, and he lowered his head to hers again. “Then again, why am I talking when I could be tasting?”

  He drank from her lips, as if she were a feast to be set upon, and, like last time, he soon divested her of her clothes. A tug here, a wiggle there—it all happened far less awkwardly than she would have thought possible.

  This time, he stood and took off his own clothes as soon as he’d removed all of hers. Where his movements with her had been sure and graceful, punctuated with a kiss and a nibble for each newly uncovered area, his clothes came off in a flurried frenzy. Julia was almost certain that he tore one, maybe two buttons in his haste to take off his shirt. His boots were kicked off and his trousers soon followed.

  Mesmerized, she watched as he removed every stitch of clothing, so that he was as blessedly naked as she was.

  Then, and only then, did he join her on the bed, where he shifted her and the ancient quilt until they were both partially underneath it, and then he propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at her.

  She blushed.

  “Must you look?”

  Charles smiled. “Didn’t you know that looking is half the pleasure?”

  Julia blushed again. “How would I know such a thing?” She tried to make her voice sound tart and reproachful, but the way he was looking at her, not touching her at all, just looking and examining her, as if memorizing every detail, was doing curious things to her skin. She was shocked to realize that just his gaze seemed to be enough to make her feel hot and tingly all over, to make tha
t now-familiar wetness gather between her legs.

  “Don’t worry. This is one arena where I can teach you.” With one lazy hand he trailed a path from her shoulder down to her belly, and instead of touching her where she most desperately wanted to be caressed, he skirted along the edge of her hip in a way that almost tickled her, his fingers tapping gently, massaging and stroking down her sensitized skin.

  “In fact, I think you’ll find that I’ve become quite creative about the things I plan on teaching you.”

  “Creative?” the question came out on another half moan, half gasp as his fingers pinched lightly at one nipple, quickly smoothing the area by covering it with his mouth and suckling gently. He continued to caress up and down her body, all while he calmly watched and watched her reaction.

  “Oh yes. Though I’ll admit to caring for you and enjoying our conversations, don’t for a moment imagine that I haven’t dreamed of the ways in which I’d like to make love to you. I want you on your back, open and eager, begging for me. I want you on your stomach, so that you can’t see me, and are forced to concentrate on feeling everything I plan on doing to you. I want you against walls and on chairs, tables, and anything else that can hold our weight. I want to take you in front of a mirror so that you can see how you look when your body becomes flushed with desire, as it is now. I want you on top of me, so that you can learn to control the pace of our lovemaking, and so I can fill my hands with your breasts and watch as you come for me.”

  He’d continued to caress her as he spoke, and though she had trouble imagining much of what he was describing, she couldn’t help but be excited. Still, she fixated on two things, “A mirror?” she gasped. “On top of you?” she repeated weakly.

  He chuckled. “Yes, my innocent love. But I won’t shock you further today. Just trust me when I say that I’ve imagined far, far more scenarios. I’ll learn what excites you most, just as you’ll learn details about me, but believe me when I say there is more than what you’ve read or intuited from your books and your conversations. For our first lesson, I believe we’ll stick to the basics. We don’t have much time, after all.”

  “I don’t have to be back until dinner.” The words were out of her mouth before she’d had time to think about what he was saying, what she was saying. Julia closed her eyes in mortification as the sound of Charles’s warm chuckle spread over her body. She couldn’t believe what she’d implicitly offered. In broad daylight, which somehow made it all the more . . . improper.

  “As tempting as that thought is,” he said, caressing the side of her neck and then kissing her there, “and believe me when I say it is tempting, I’m fairly certain you’ll be a bit sore after the first time.”

  “You don’t know?”

  Charles shook his head. “I’ve never made love to an innocent, not even a brazen one like yourself.” His fingers traced paths up and down her body, inching ever closer to the wetness between her legs and yet, never touching her there—skirting by, teasing her, tauntingly close and yet . . . never actually giving her what she wanted.

  “I’ve told you already: I am not brazen.”

  Charles dipped his head again, suckling first on one breast and then the other. He let his fingers rest against her womanhood, entwined between her curls without entering her, touching her as if by accident. His fingers tapped a bit, as if playing an instrument, but the fact that they were there, on top of her mound, seemed to be almost by coincidence.

  It was torture, and from the smile on his face, he knew it.

  “Please,” she said finally, a bit frantic over the fact that he still wasn’t entering her. When he didn’t immediately reply, merely continuing his slow torture, she changed tactics and tried to reach down to touch him.

  His body quickly arched away from hers, and he captured her straying hands with his, kissing and then releasing them, but smiling and shaking his head. Clearly, he was not prepared to allow her free reign over his body.

  “Please?” he repeated teasingly, one fingertip nestled at her entrance, so that it was coated in her wetness. “Please touch you?”

  “Yes,” Julia whispered, her eyes meeting his, both excited and a bit annoyed that he would toy with her at this moment.

  “Like this?” His finger dipped inside her briefly, gloriously, and then left again. “Or like this?” This time his fingers parted and caressed her along the folds, his thumb lightly against her clitoris in a way that made her entire body seem to jump off the bed.

  He smiled as she moaned softly and repeated the torture, entering her with one finger, sometimes with two, his thumb alternating barely touching with lightly resting with gently rubbing the tip of her clitoris.

  Within seconds, she was panting and gripping at his shoulders almost convulsively. And, despite the fact that he seemed outwardly calm and in control, she could tell from his breathing that he wasn’t as unaffected as he pretended to appear, that he was becoming increasingly excited by her responses, so that when she shattered, minutes of delicious torture later, he too gave a small groan that seemed to be almost torn from him.

  She was aware, even as she climaxed, that this time there would be more, and she felt a small quickening of renewed desire, tinged this time with a small amount of fear, when he positioned himself over her body, the blunt head of his erection resting against her opening.

  He smiled down at her lopsidedly and seemed genuine when he said, “I really—I want and need this to be good for you and yet . . . I can’t wait, Julia.”

  “Don’t,” she whispered, her arms going to his neck, pulling him down for a kiss, and tensing just a little when he followed her advice, and she felt the hardness and softness that was him entering her ever so slowly.

  Initially, it was more unfamiliar than uncomfortable. There was a very, very brief moment of pain when he sheathed himself completely, and then he was inside her, a part of her.

  He broke their kiss on a gasp and buried his head against her neck, the look of strain on his face seemingly akin to pain.

  “Are you all right?” Julia asked tentatively.

  He laughed weakly, the sensation an odd one with them joined: she could feel the rumble of his chest against her breasts now that he’d lowered himself, could feel the way his entire body seemed to be not only in, but completely around her as his arms braced themselves on either side of her head, trying to keep his weight from crushing her. “Please don’t make me laugh, not at a moment like this. It’s far, far more than ‘all right’; it’s perfect. It’s”—he moved within her, leaving her body almost completely before sheathing himself again, completely—“It’s perfect,” he said. He moved again, in and out, teaching her the rhythm of their mating, each penetration a little deeper, a little more familiar than the last. “You’re perfect,” he whispered as he dedicated himself to the task of pleasing both of them, together.

  It wasn’t long before she was completely caught up in the rhythm they’d created. She became focused on the joining of their bodies, the way hers moved to meet his, the way she could squeeze her muscles in a way that must have been instinctive, because it wasn’t something she’d read of or heard of but was simply something she knew to do.

  They grasped at one another and pushed together, her arms sliding around his neck and curling into his hair, his weight crushing her a little at times, especially when he began to increase his rhythm and allow one of his hands to roam and caress again, to drift down to her breast even as his lips recaptured hers.

  It all built to an almost unbearably heightened place, where her fingers and arms went from kneading and caressing to scratching and almost clawing, where the desire within her tightened to a breaking point . . . and then he kissed her again, sheathing himself completely, and she shattered, convulsing around him and giving a small scream that was only half-swallowed by his kiss.

  From above her, he gave a brief grunt, and then he entered her body again, once, twice, three times and then his body emptied its seed into her, his mouth twisting away f
rom hers on a contented groan.

  He kissed her mouth again and disentangled himself slowly, rolling onto his back and then gathering her into his arms, kissing the top of her head and settling both of them for a well-deserved rest, despite the fact that it was still the middle of the morning, with many of the people in Munthrope probably just barely waking, preparing for the day.

  *

  Though they both fell asleep, it was Julia who woke first, the weight of his arm across her body an unfamiliar sensation that reached through her dreams and brought her back to reality.

  And what a reality it was.

  Putting aside the fact that she’d just made love with a man for the first time, and had quite enjoyed the experience, everything else in her life seemed to be in shambles.

  Everything he’d told her had confirmed not only Robeson’s dire warnings, but also her worst suspicions: he was obviously still keeping many things from her, and he still hadn’t even told her his full name.

  He was, most likely, as broke as Robeson had declared him to be.

  More than that, he did not seem like the type of man who could long survive on a pittance. He seemed a true gambler at heart, believing that luck would turn his way despite mounting evidence to the contrary.

  Probably he thought he could still win the bet, and despite the fact that Robeson had said that two thousand pounds wouldn’t be enough to sustain him, he’d alluded to his grand plans and no doubt thought he could double or triple the money at the tables.

  Julia didn’t know much about gambling. But she’d known gamblers, or rather, had seen firsthand what happened to the women in their lives, women whose fates were forever intertwined with the foibles of their chosen loved ones. She’d watched Jack’s mother go from being a seemingly happy, carefree woman, one with a loving husband and a beloved son, to a worried, shadow of a woman, one who hid bruises even as she pawned off her jewelry, her dowry, her wedding gifts.

  She’d seen, firsthand, what it had done to Jack as well. What it had been like for Jack to watch as his father had gambled away most of the estate only to break his neck—accidentally but perhaps purposefully—riding at a harrowing speed across the fields.