Night of Pleasure

by Delilah Marvelle

  “Kick off your slippers,” he commanded still sitting on the edge of the bed.

  She did. They fell into the fabric of the bundled gown.

  He patted the space beside him. “Now lay down so I can untie your corset strings.”

  She averted her gaze and came back onto the bed with each knee, raising her chemise past shapely legs and thighs. She slowly lowered herself onto the bed with a silent trust that made his own throat burn. Her black hair cascaded around her shoulders as she laid herself belly flat against the bed, her cheek resting on the linens. Her hands trailed up slowly across the expanse of the mattress around her leaving ripples in the linen, as if she were openly reveling in the smooth feel of the fabric draping the bed.

  He swallowed, realizing something.

  This wasn’t a virginal woman who feared him and his dastardly advances in the typical sense. This was a woman who had laid herself half-nude, waiting to be touched and pleasured. So why was she refusing to stay? What was keeping her from him?

  She glanced back at him from over slim shoulder, still laying on her stomach and captured his gaze. “Aren’t you supposed to undress?”

  He loved this woman. He frantically undid his belt and shrugged off his robe, letting it fall off the bed. Naked, he straddled the backside of her thighs and yanked at the corset strings, loosening them as fast as his hands could move. It took him eighteen heavy breaths (yes, he was counting) before he pried it free from her body and tossed it.

  He rolled her over, tugged her chemise up the length of her body and over her head. Whipping it aside, he exposed all of her. “Jesus.” He ran his hands across the naked, white smooth expanse beneath him that felt like newly ironed silk with the heat still clinging to it. Seeing the plump fullness of her breasts, dark nipples, her smooth stomach, wide hips and the curling hair between her thighs, blurred his passion into savage need.

  His breath hitched in his throat. There was no going slow. Not after waiting seven years.

  He captured her mouth with his own and heatedly parted her lips with his moving tongue, her scent, her warmth, her softness surrounding him until he could barely breathe. He possessively cupped her full breasts, pushing her hard nipples against his open palms.

  She stiffened beneath him, her hands still laying at her sides, but slowly used her tongue to return his kisses as if she were genuinely trying to enjoy whatever he was doing. He deepened their kiss and blindly grabbed each of her arms and brought them up and around himself. Her hands stayed around his shoulders, where he left them, and even though they didn’t tighten around him as he’d hoped, they stayed.

  He shifted his naked body against hers and ground his stiff cock into her thighs, the friction bringing a chest-tightening awareness to every inch of it that made him groan. Breaking their kiss, he lowered himself down the length of her body, his fingers trailing down that smooth, endless, glorious skin.

  He was about to spread her legs, when he froze, noticing several thick, whitened scars on her stomach and legs. Ones he didn’t notice earlier. Maybe because of the fact that he’d been too delirious. A tight knot seized his gut as he slid his finger on the largest that extended from the outside of her thigh to the inside just below her hip. He captured her gaze. “What happened?”

  She covered her breasts with her hands and shifted beneath him, as if only now realizing she was naked. She looked down to where he pointed. “I tried crawling through a window that had been smashed when the house caught fire three years ago,” she awkwardly whispered. “It cut through the fabric of my robe. It was when those men broke into our home at night back in New York after the election. I wrote to you about it.”

  His eyes widened. “You didn’t tell me you were hurt or that the house caught fire. You only told me the men had all been arrested before any real damage was done.”

  She shrugged and tried to use the linens to cover herself. “What would my telling you that I was hurt have done? Healed it?” She eyed him. “I can assure you, I survived. I smashed a few vases against their skulls when the pistol was out of bullets and my father went for an ax. My only regret is that I never learned how to properly aim.” She said it matter-of-factly. All while laying naked beneath him.

  Goddamn her for continuing to devour pieces of his heart like hard candy.

  Whoever thought the blue-eyed girl he’d sent into a breathing panic by removing a piece of candy from her glove could shoot from a pistol and smash vases over the heads of other men. It almost didn’t make any sense.

  He gently kissed each small scar. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. I should have been. We should have been together all these years. Not apart.”

  She watched him from where she laid, all shyness and uncertainty fading.

  He dragged the tip of his tongue toward the area he knew would make her forget any pain she ever thought she knew. He parted her thighs and lowering his head, slid his tongue across that hidden velvet nub.

  She stiffened and gasped, her knees locking his head and tongue into place.

  There was no need to take her slow. He wanted her to damn well remember what it was like to scream at high speed. He sucked and flicked, flicked and sucked, lapping faster.

  She gasped again, her body quaking beneath him.

  “Think of having this every night,” he whispered against her moist opening.

  Her hands jumped to his head and pressed him harder, as if demanding he go faster.

  He obliged, dragging and dragging his tongue against that hardened nub. He sucked, licked and circled it. Sucked, licked and circled it, waiting to feel her shatter.

  She cried out, “I feel like screaming. I feel like—”

  “Do it,” he said. He licked faster.

  She bucked against him and shuddered, crying out, “Derek!”

  It was stunning hearing his name being shouted out by that lush, American accent. It made him feel like he’d finally won. For it was the first time she had ever raised her voice beyond a respectable level.

  When she stilled, he lifted his head and smugly licked his lips. “How was that?”

  Her breasts heaved and her eyes were closed. “Unreal.”

  “Good. We’re not done yet.” His hand slid down toward the curve of her wide hip and toward her smooth stomach until his fingers found the soft curls between her legs. He uncovered that small nub again and rubbed his fingers between now very wet folds.

  She moaned, her thighs quivering in response as she curled up against him. “Noooo. It’s too much.”

  “Don’t you dare argue. There can never be too much.” Knowing her senses were still reveling from fading pleasure, he slowly inserted his finger into that opening, trying to stretch her and ready her for his length. She winced.

  “Shhhh,” he soothed as he stretched her out more and more, his fingers growing slick from moisture.

  She winced again.

  Removing his finger, he positioned himself between her thighs, setting the tip of his cock at her opening. “Relax,” he whispered, his lips dipping against the softness of her outstretched neck. “It should be a touch easier now.” He held himself up with one arm above her, gripped his cock firmly, and slowly pushed it into the mouth of her womb. Her heat and wetness swallowed his erection as he pushed himself deeper into her. He edged in and continued to stretch the walls of her womb with his length until he couldn’t push any deeper and his hips were ground into hers.

  She stilled against receiving him completely.

  The feel of her virginal tightness squeezed him into a delirious state of ecstasy. “You’re almost too tight,” he rasped. “If I move, I’ll burst.”

  “Don’t burst,” she hoarsely retorted. “Don’t. I know what that means. Keep it in. Or I’m kicking you off.”

  He was too delirious to laugh. He sucked in a breath to steady his thrumming body and mind and tried not to give into wanting to thrust. “Don’t kick me off, darling. I’ll behave. I promise.” Holding himself perfectly still within that
tightness, he bent his head toward her and kissed her forehead, the bridge of her nose, and mouth. “I don’t want you to be in any pain.”

  “I appreciate that.” She let out a shaky breath. “It pinched quite a bit. It hurt.”

  He kissed her mouth again. “I’m sorry. Tell me when you’re ready for me to move.”

  She said nothing. Only stared up at him.

  He had to get her to do something other than lay there. “Wrap your arms around me,” he offered. “That will help.”

  She hesitated and wrapped her arms around his neck, her full breasts jiggling.

  He swallowed and stared down at her, his arm and body tensing. “Can I move?”

  She shook her head, tightening her hold around his neck. “No. Don’t. I’m not ready.”

  He groaned, her moist warmth holding his cock tightly. “I’m going to die.”

  “Well, now you know how it feels to be penetrated.”

  He bit back a laugh. “You aren’t being very nice.”

  “I can say the same thing about you. Mrs. Langley never said anything about size.”

  “I’ll take that to mean you’re impressed,” he breathed.

  She pressed her lips together but said nothing more.

  He dipped his head and licked her lips. “Can I move now?”

  She still shook her head, scattering black hair onto her shoulders and throat. “No.”

  He shifted his jaw and held her gaze, breathing harder. “I’m going to have to move sometime, you know. I was hoping it would be…soon.”

  She hesitated. “How long will it take once you start moving?”

  Jesus. It was like they had just taken up a painting project and she had things to do. “Clementine, I really don’t know how long I’ll take.” His voice was ragged. “But the longer you make me wait, the longer it will be.”

  Her fingers skimmed his shoulders as she lowered her gaze to his chest. “Go on then.”

  It wasn’t the sexiest of invitations, but he’d take whatever he could get. He covered her mouth completely with his and started to move inside of her, sending rippling sensations through his core. He eased the length of his cock in and out of her, slowly at first. Cupping one of her breasts and circling his thumb around the hardened nipple, he moaned breathlessly into her mouth. Pressing his mouth harder against hers, he started to thrust hard. And then harder.

  He groaned into her mouth, his body responding with quicker, sharper thrusts. If he never made love again after this, he knew he could live with that. Because he knew he’d never find a woman who mentally and physically challenged him into wanting more. He gasped as his core grew tighter against each solid movement he made within her.

  She wrapped her legs further around him, sliding her hands down the length of his back until she planted them onto his buttocks and stilled her hands.

  Her unexpected exploration of his body made him want to spill.

  She peered up at him with pinched lips, searching his face.

  Realizing she was only watching him and not at all physically responding, he paused, his breaths ragged. “Are you not feeling any of this?”

  She shook her head. “No. I liked your tongue better.”

  That certainly made his cock proud. “Oh, hell. We can’t have that.” He repositioned himself against her and stuck his own finger between where his cock reached and where her nub was. He hadn’t been hitting it. At all. He was such a moron. Thank the Lord he’d gone to a prostitute or all of this would have dashed right over his head. “Sorry.”

  He pulled her up and kneeled between her thighs, still holding onto her hips and slowly started pushing himself in and out of her, ensuring this time he hit it. He pressed and pushed, rolling his hips into her.

  Her lips parted. She closed her eyes, rolling her own hips against his.

  Now that was more like it. He gave her a steadier rhythm to match, trying to get her as close to climax before he hit his own. They pushed and pushed into each other until they were both gulping for air. She gasped as he jerked in and out of her again and again and again, each thrust growing more savage in need. Holding her tighter, he challenged her to ever let him go after this. He pounded into her.

  She cried out, his fingers fisting the linens beneath her.

  His slick, urgent thrusts continued until she finally stilled and he himself had reached the highest level of mind-reeling sensations his body could take. He scrambled to pull out, falling away from her body and shuddered, releasing everything he’d ever felt in his entire life.

  He threw back his head as his entire body convulsed and let his seed pulse out of him onto the linens around them. It was an overabundance of seed he didn’t realize he could ever spurt out. It felt wrong to spill outside of her. Because he knew he was meant to give her children. They were meant to be more than this.

  With that thought, he collapsed against her and tugged her softness against him tight, setting her hands against his now damp skin. He clung to her, his deep, heavy breathing eventually returning to normal.

  He brushed back her long, black hair away from her face, scattering it back over her bare shoulder and planted a lingering kiss on her forehead. “I don’t know how I’m going to let you go. I can’t. I can’t—”

  “You promised,” she murmured up at him without the slightest hesitation.

  It was as if what they shared hadn’t moved her but had been a random night of pleasure. It might have been good enough for when he was seventeen but not for a man who was heading toward thirty. He swallowed. He never imagined himself alone.

  Shifting his jaw, he grabbed her face and kissed her, fully knowing that regardless of whether they were ever together after tonight, he was handing over not just his heart but his entire soul to her. It was such a deranged feeling knowing he had given himself completely to someone who wasn’t capable of giving herself at all.

  When she didn’t return his kiss, merely waited for him to finish, he tore away from that mouth and fell back against the pillow.

  She set her chin against his chest.

  Maybe if he walked down that aisle, maybe if he waited at the altar dressed in his finest, she would realize after what they shared tonight she would be making a mistake. “This doesn’t need to be final. I’ll still be at the church the day of the wedding. I’ll wait an hour before I announce the end of our union before those in attendance. In case you change your mind.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “No. I won’t make the decision of taking away your right to have children or exposing myself to the possibility of— Please don’t do this before London. Don’t— I won’t be there.”

  He tightened his hold. “It makes no difference to me where or how I do this. The result is the same. You intend to walk out of my life.”

  She closed her eyes. “Don’t do this. Please. You promised.”

  “Did I?”

  She set her cheek against his chest. “Mend the rift between you and your brother. You will need him. And given the way your mother speaks of his struggles, he probably needs you more.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. She was giving him walking orders. She was letting him go. Without giving him a chance to show her the sort of husband and father he could be. “I’ll mend the rift,” he murmured. “You needn’t worry in that.”

  “He is the only sibling you have, Derek. Cherish it.”

  What did she know about cherishing? She couldn’t even cradle what he was laying out before her very eyes. The room grew quiet and all he could hear was his own breath and hers. Though he wanted to believe there would be more heavenly nights like this between them, this was it. No more letters. No more dreaming. No more wondering. No more yearning.

  This was where their story ended.

  The candles still glowed but within another hour, she knew they would wane.

  Long after his breaths had settled into an even rhythm that announced he had well-exhausted himself and fallen asleep after he pleasured them both a total of three times over th
e course of five hours, Clementine carefully slipped out of his arms.

  He didn’t move. His eyes remained closed and those masculine lips remained slightly parted. The sheets of the smooth linen had been pulled up barely to his waist, exposing the muscled contours of his large, lean body.

  He was so beautiful. She had always thought so. Since the moment they first met.

  She lingered beside the bed for a long moment, watching him sleep. She watched that broad chest rise and fall, remembering the way it felt against her hands. Now she knew what was possible between a man and a woman. It wasn’t as fearsome as she had always imagined. But then she knew that was because it was Derek she had submitted herself to. Who knew what sort of malicious things went on between men and women around the world behind closed doors?

  She only hoped that in time, Derek would forgive her.

  She had already forgiven herself. After all, she knew his worth. She had always known his worth and it had always outweighed her own. This laughing, playful Adonis deserved a world she would never be able to offer him. Unlike other females, she didn’t laugh. She didn’t flirt. She didn’t sashay into a room with a whirl, looking for things to play with next. Her sense of humor was nonexistent and pathetic.

  Her eyes burned. Everything about her was pathetic. And a man like Derek, her beautiful Derek, deserved so much more.

  Turning, she quietly gathered up her chemise, slipping it over her naked body. A very sore body. Glancing back at him, she pattered over to the easel and gently started laying out all the paints, mentally picking out the colors she needed. Her hands moved and arranged and mixed and flowed with the one world she always whole-heartedly submitted to: painting moments of life.

  She didn’t focus on what she was leaving.

  She focused on what they had shared.

  What she loved about painting was replicating the world around her and adding whatever color and light she pleased, molding it into the way she wanted it to be. Not what it necessarily was. She wandered over to the mirror and perused herself and her features, lifting her chemise high enough to expose her legs. Holding onto her own image in her head, she veered back over to the canvas. Dipping the tip of the largest brush she could find into black paint, she started moving the brush effortlessly across the canvas, the sound of the brush creating a rhythm in her mind as her gaze followed the lines and curves of what she saw.