He slid along her entrance without breaching her. “I want to feel your body milk mine with your orgasm, Annabelle. I want to stroke inside of you until you scream out.”
She shut her eyes. He was seducing her with those words, with those images. She couldn’t do it. Why? She was having a hard time remembering why.
Respectability. Yes, that was it.
“I can’t,” she all but sobbed.
He stopped rubbing against her, and for a moment it felt like the world had stopped spinning. The room was perfectly silent.
Finally, he said, “You can’t with me. You won’t.”
She looked at him over her shoulder. His face was a hard mask. She couldn’t read his emotions in his expression. But she heard pain in his tone. Faint, but there.
“I can’t,” she repeated. “I want—”
He turned his face. “I know what you want, Annabelle. I understand the concept of your respectability. Please don’t reiterate it.”
She rolled over and got to her knees to face him. “It’s not…” She shook her head. “It’s not easy for me either, Marcus.”
“It must be easier for you,” he growled. “You don’t feel—”
She dove toward him and cut him off by kissing him. She didn’t want to hear how he felt in this charged moment when it might sway her to change her mind about promises made and actions determined long ago.
She felt his hesitation, but then he crushed her to him, holding her so still and steady that she had no chance for escape.
“Fine,” he snapped as he pulled away. “You won’t allow me this. What will you give? Because I want to be inside of you, Annabelle. I want to claim you, I need to claim you.”
She swallowed. “My mouth, my hands, are they not enough? What would be enough?”
He stared at her, holding her gaze even as he wrapped an arm around her waist. He massaged her hip, not gently, but purposefully. Then he cupped her backside, and she shivered with the intimate touch. But just as she had begun to relax, he slipped his fingers between the globes of her buttocks and pressed against the entrance there. A forbidden, dark thrill of pleasure pulsed from where he touched and she stared at him, unable to blink or think or move.
“Here,” he growled.
Her lips parted. “Can you…can you do that?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“Will it hurt?” she whispered.
His hesitation spoke the answer before he said, “At first, but I will make sure you receive more pleasure than pain, Annabelle. And in the end, this will be better. Your proper husband—” he spat those words, “—will never think to take you here. So this will always be only mine. Only ours.”
She stared at him. What he was suggesting was terrifying not only in the act, but also in the emotion he implied. If she allowed him to take her…there it would be a secret that hung between them even long after he had exited her life. He would take a part of her with him. She would keep a part of him.
And it would hang within her marriage. She knew it. And she didn’t give a damn.
“Yes,” she whispered, as desperate to offer him a claim as he was to stake one. “Yes.”
He groaned with desire and yanked her against his hard chest. He delved his tongue deep into her mouth before he turned her so she was once again facing the foot of the bed. She moved to her hands and knees out of instinct and held her breath as she waited for what would come.
But he didn’t merely jam himself inside of her. To her surprise, she felt his fingers against the rosebud of her bottom once more. He pressed them to her. They were wet and slick with more than just her juices. She peeked over her shoulder to find he had retrieved some kind of oil from a drawer in the small table beside his bed and was using it to lubricate her. The pressure of his fingers was gentle as he opened her and then slipped one digit inside.
She gasped at the shock of being entered so, and he froze, letting her become accustomed to the breach.
“Is it painful?” he asked.
She shook her head as she looked at him. He was straining as he hovered behind her, his cock rock hard and his hands actually shaking.
“No, just…odd,” she promised.
“I’m going to move, Annabelle,” he warned her. His finger thrust, withdrawing and then pressing in again, this time further.
There was a twinge of pain to the act, but also a blossoming pleasure that was very unlike when he touched her clitoris or licked her sex. After a moment, the strangeness of it began to fade and she found herself arching into it, into his fingers as moans left her lips.
“My God,” he muttered as he slipped another finger inside and continued to stretch her. “You are like heaven.”
“Please,” she gasped as she lifted her backside shamelessly. “Please.”
He stopped moving his fingers and stared down at her. Their eyes met over her shoulder and he jerked out a nod. “I’ll go slowly, Annabelle. So slowly.”
She watched as he wetted her bottom again with the oil. She caught her breath, clinging to the coverlet as her body began to tingle, throb, lose control. What was he doing to her?
“Marcus,” she moaned.
He stroked a hand over his cock now, wetting it as well, and then he rubbed himself over her. First over her sex, and she hissed out pleasure. Then he moved the hot head of his member against her bottom.
“Slow,” he promised again, though she wasn’t certain if that was directed toward her or to himself.
He pushed and her body opened to accept him, stretching to accommodate his length and girth. She gritted her teeth at the mix of pleasure-pain at this invasion. Inch by inch, he took her until she felt his hips come flush with her backside.
“There,” he groaned, the strain obvious in his voice. “Are you well?”
She nodded. “It’s full, it’s…there is pain, but more pleasure. Is this like it is elsewhere?”
He leaned over her, cupping her breasts. “No, different. But I promise I’ll make it good for you.”
He thrust slowly, gently, and Annabelle let her eyes flutter shut. The wickedness she always tried to fight, to ignore, to change in herself, swelled high, taking over. She found herself grinding back against him, demanding more without words. And he slowly, gently gave it. He thrust into her, allowing her body to stretch before he began to increase the tempo of his hips.
She met him at every stroke, her breath coming shorter as the dark pleasure built higher and higher until it was an inferno she feared would burn her alive. But just as she feared she wouldn’t survive, he reached between her legs and pressed against her clitoris.
Explosions, volcanoes, fireworks all burst before her eyes, and Annabelle screamed as pleasure mobbed her and washed over her. It was the most intense sensation she’d ever experienced and she clung to the bed as she rode it out.
Behind her, she was vaguely aware of Marcus’s grunting thrusts, and then she felt him tense and there was a burst of hot seed inside of her.
They collapsed across his bed together, their bodies still joined. His arms came around her, and he cradled her as her wild mind calmed.
She didn’t know how long they lay together. It could have been a moment, it could have been an hour, it could have been a lifetime, but finally she pulled away, separating them, and rolled to face him.
He was watching her closely as she stroked her hand over his cheek. “That was wonderful,” she whispered.
She expected him to smile, but he didn’t. “I should not have done it.”
“Why?” She tilted her head. “Because I was inexperienced? This was our bargain, Marcus. And I…words cannot describe how much this moved me.”
“I should not have done any of it,” he said.
She blinked at the harshness of his tone. “Marcus.”
He pulled from her arms and got out of the bed. He stared down at her, but it was as if he had never seen her before. “You wanted darkness, Annabelle—well, you’ve had your fill of it. Now go home and pla
y in the light. You are no longer welcome here,” he growled.
She sat up, his words hitting her in the heart as if he had aimed an arrow straight at her. “Why? Why?”
“Must I say it?” he asked, raising his hands. “Will my utter demise be all that pleases you?”
“I don’t underst—”
“I love you, Annabelle,” he growled. “As much as I hate myself for such a weakness, as much as I despise you for making me feel it.”
“No,” she whispered as she stared at him. She had to be losing her hearing…or her mind. “That can’t be.”
“Because I’m so beneath you and an animal such as myself couldn’t dare feel such a thing for you?” he sneered. “If only that were true. But once I’m rid of you, perhaps it will be again.”
“Marcus!” she said, her eyes wide and filling rapidly with tears she couldn’t control in the face of his coldness, his hardness and the words that he said that tore her into pieces. He loved and hated her. That was what she had done to him. What her rejection had done.
“Please,” she whispered.
He stepped into his trousers, the lines of his jaw taut with tension, with anger, with pain. He might have said something to her but before he could, he was interrupted by a banging on the door from the stairs.
“Marcus, ignore it,” she pleaded, lifting the sheet up around herself.
Instead, he ignored her and stormed through the room. “What?” he shouted.
There was no expected answer from the hall. No sound of Abbot’s voice or another servant. Instead, Annabelle heard the door fly open, bounce off the wall behind it, and then her heart stopped. Her mind stopped. Her everything stopped.
“What the hell is going on here, Rivers?” a voice asked. A very familiar voice. Her brother Rafe’s voice. “And just where is my sister?”
Chapter Twenty
Marcus stared into the very angry face of the Duke of Hartholm, but as Rafe pushed into the room past him, his eyes went wider. Rafe was not alone. Behind him were two women wearing masks, but it was clear who they were. Rafe’s wife, Serafina, and his mother, Mrs. Flynn. The older woman was very pale and Marcus jerked his gaze toward Rafe.
“You brought your mother here?” he snapped as he peeked into the stair to make sure none of them had been followed. Not that a great deal of damage hadn’t, in theory, already been done.
Rafe spun on him. “You have no quarter to talk to me about propriety when my sister is here and you are half-dressed.”
The duke’s gaze moved through the room, and at the open door to Marcus’s bedchamber, he hesitated.
“Bastard!” he burst out as he strode toward and then through the door with the women and Marcus right behind him.
“Annabelle!” Rafe barked as he entered the room and found his sister beside Marcus’s bed.
Annabelle had obviously made an effort to dress, but she was in nothing more than her chemise, her stockings and one slipper. As her brother entered the room, she grasped the sheet and tugged it around herself. She straightened up and held her gaze on her family, despite her cheeks, which burned with humiliation.
In spite of the circumstances, Marcus melted at the sight of her. Everything he had told her a moment ago was true. Well, everything but one thing.
He loved her. Oh, how he loved her. There was no denying that to himself. He hated himself for being so foolish. She had told him from the beginning that she would not, could not, lower herself to his level. He even understood why, based on her past.
But he’d told her he despised her, and that was the lie. He could never. And yet he had to pretend so that she would go away and end this torture.
Something that would be much easier to ensure now that her brother stood in his bedchamber with half-naked Annabelle.
To his surprise, it was Serafina who spoke next. She looked at Annabelle, then toward Marcus and said, “Well done, Annabelle.”
Rafe turned on her, a look of horror on his face. “Serafina!”
She shrugged one shoulder delicately and shot a look toward Mrs. Flynn. The older woman’s lips were parted and her cheeks were flushed, but there was no anger on her face.
“Rafe, we will discuss this,” Serafina said, holding up a hand when her husband began to talk. “Yes, we will. But why don’t we give Mr. Rivers and Annabelle a moment to compose themselves and to dress?”
She caught her husband’s arm and began to drag him from the room. He shook her off. “Are you actually suggesting we leave them alone together?”
“I think whatever damage there is to be done has been done,” Serafina said softly. “Rafe. Look at me.”
Rafe did as his wife said. She held his gaze a moment and a wealth of unspoken communication went between them. Marcus couldn’t help but stare in the sight of it. It said so much about their love for each other. Their respect and care.
He found himself looking toward Annabelle, but her head was bent, her breath short, her eyes swollen with tears. She would not look at him. And that was for the best, really.
“Fine,” Rafe said through clenched teeth. “Dress yourselves. But if you are not out here in five minutes, I will break down the damn door. And one of the three of us may not come out alive.”
He glared at Marcus as he said it, but pushed past him and back into the office. Marcus sighed, entered the bedchamber and shut the door. He was alone with Annabelle again.
And yet he didn’t feel their normal connection. She still refused to look up at him, but stared at her discarded clothing.
“How did they know I would be here?” she whispered.
He shrugged as he caught his shirt and tugged it over his head before he started fiddling with his buttons. “I’m certain we will find out the answer to that question in a moment.”
She finally looked at him, her dark eyes hollow and empty. “I’m sorry.”
He stopped dressing and forced himself to meet her eyes. There was so much of him that wanted to take her in his arms, to comfort her, to tell her that he would fix this for her in any way he could. That they would face the consequences together.
But that wasn’t what she wanted. It certainly wasn’t what she deserved. She wanted a man with a title. Stealing that from her was cruel to them both. It would lead only to resentment and regret in the end.
“Get dressed,” he said, putting his back to her with great difficulty. “I’m in no mood to be shot in my alleyway tonight.”
He heard her sharp intake of breath but ignored it as he focused on finding and then putting on his boots. Behind him, he could hear her struggling with her gown. “Will you help me?”
He turned to find her wrinkled and half-buttoned, but the gown she wore fastened in the back and she didn’t seem to be able to reach any further. He hesitated. Touching her was always a danger, a temptation. And now that he had been inside of her, he wanted to do more.
What had he been thinking?
“Marcus?” Her face drained of color as she waited. “You won’t make me go out like this, will you?”
“Of course not,” he said, his tone as formal as it had been the first night she came to his club. He turned her and fastened her buttons swiftly, working hard not to touch her as he did so. “There. We are as presentable as we can be. Shall we face them?”
She looked at him, straining to find some connection between them. The connection he refused to share when he knew this was all coming to a screeching halt.
“Marcus—”
He cut her off by walking to the door and opening it. He motioned for her to leave, and she took a long breath before she did so. Before she walked with her head held high past him and into his office where her family waited.
Where the end would come.
Annabelle could scarcely breathe as she entered the room. It was funny—she was about to face her angry, likely very disappointed family, but it was the man behind her whose dismissal hurt her most.
Marcus hated her for rejecting him tonight. For making it cl
ear that he was not worthy of her virginity, and more importantly her future. Even though she didn’t believe either of those things. He was more than worthy.
Only she couldn’t say it. Because a life with him was a life with her father and brothers all over again. She would be dogged with whispers, looks, broken relationships…
And she was too much of a coward to face that after a lifetime of the same. Wasn’t she?
She found that Serafina and her mother had taken seats by Marcus’s fire, but Rafe continued to stand at the fireplace, his hand fisting and unfisting as he watched her leave Marcus’s chamber.
She had never seen him so angry.
“Annabelle,” he snapped as she bent her head. “What the hell were you thinking?”
She pursed her lips. “I have done far less than you or my brother have over the years, I would wager.”
Rafe shook his head. “Don’t be glib. It is different and you know it. What are you doing? Why are you here? What is this about?”
Annabelle looked toward Marcus, hoping she would find an ally in him. But he stared straight ahead as if she weren’t even in the room. She was alone. And she felt it keenly.
“It’s about Crispin,” she whispered.
Her brother jolted, jerking his stare toward her, his eyes narrowing. “Crispin,” he spat out.
She nodded, but before she could say more there was even further pounding on the door. Annabelle turned away. “God, what else?” she moaned.
Marcus muttered something beneath his breath and yanked the door open. And there stood Crispin, with Abbot on his heels. Her brother was disheveled, yes, but as he entered the room she could see he was not drunk. At least not yet.
“What is going on?” he barked as he looked around the room. “I saw Rafe pass through the hall with people with him, but I couldn’t believe…what are you doing here, Mama, Serafina?” He turned his gaze toward her. “Annabelle?”
The Scoundrel's Lover (The Notorious Flynns Book 2) Page 18