She dropped her hand down to her side, rather dazed at how casual he was in light of what they had just done. She shook her head. “No, thank you.”
He yanked up another trunk and made his way up again.
She pressed her hands against the sides of her blazing cheeks and tried to catch her breath. She was probably going to have to make an effort and do for him what he had done for her. He had appeared disappointed when she insinuated she wasn’t interested in returning the favor.
Atwood appeared again and jogged back down the stairs. He grabbed for her last trunk, toting it up with a toss, and went back up the stairs. Not once sparing her a glance.
Imogene followed him up, knowing she ought to oversee his…needs. Whatever that meant. Oh, God. She slowly headed down the corridor leading to their bedchambers.
Setting a nervous hand to her stomacher, she decidedly made her way toward the last door he had disappeared into.
Pausing in the doorway, she peered inside.
The large latticed window on the far side of the wall had been draped with verdant velvet curtains and gave a stunning moonlit view of the park laid out in the night beyond.
A large, four-poster bed loomed, taking up almost the entire expanse of the room. An abundance of crisp, white linens and honey-colored blankets and silk plush pillows complemented the soft, golden hues of the painted walls. For a man who claimed he had gathered whatever furniture he could for her, his taste was quite elegant and impeccable.
Atwood pushed the trunks up against the wall, next to the large, mahogany dresser and mirror that were already set with a fresh basin and pitcher of water.
She knew whatever lay ahead couldn’t be any worse than the lye trauma of her childhood. And it might prove to be as pleasant as what had just occurred on the stairs. Setting her chin, she stepped into the bedchamber and closed the door behind herself.
He stood and turned, swiping his hands across the front of his trouser-clad thighs. His hands stilled as he glanced toward the door she had closed.
She smiled, albeit nervously, and made her way toward him, trying not to give away that her heart pounded so hard she thought it might pop out from her throat and hit the wall. “I’m…I’m feeling generous.”
His fiery gaze met hers. “Are you?”
She nodded. “Yes. What do you want me to…do?”
He remained perfectly still, but that set, shaven jaw conveyed he was waiting. “Come here.”
She moved in closer. Pausing before his tall muscled body, she suddenly felt light-headed. But in an insanely good way that had nothing to do with her illness.
She lifted her gaze to his.
He unbuttoned his trousers but otherwise said nothing.
She dared not look down.
Taking her hands into his own, he slowly drew them toward the flap of his trousers. “Push down the flap and the undergarment beneath.” His voice was tense but equally patient and soft.
She swallowed and with trembling hands pushed down his flap and his undergarment beneath. She instinctively lowered her gaze to what she was doing. His thick erection fell heavily toward her, making her suck in a startled breath. Her hands stilled.
She had to touch…that?
His hands gathered hers again and set them firmly against its velvety, rigid length. He forced her hands to rub it.
It was surprisingly smooth and firm. She pinched her lips to keep herself from looking at it and glanced up, trying to remain calm.
His chest rose and fell in uneven takes. “Do you want me to do the rest?” he whispered.
She nodded.
He grabbed her waist hard and yanked her up and into his arms and carried her to the bed.
She clung to him in both dread and anticipation.
His mouth drifted close to her ear, the heat of his breath against her neck. “Do you trust me?”
She nodded. She hoped she did.
“I won’t undress you or remove my trousers. That will make it less traumatic for you, given it’s your first time. But I am going to tie your hands for a small while. Will you let me?”
She nodded, desperately trying to please him, even though she was frightened out of her wits.
Laying her out on the bed, he dragged up her skirts, exposing her lower half to him completely. Tossing off her slippers, he undid the garters, his fingers grazing her skin, and rolled down her silk stockings. “These are going on your wrists. That way the marks will be minimal.”
Her breaths came in panicked takes. “Do you have to bind my hands?”
“Yes. But I’ll take them off when we’re done. I promise.” He entwined his fingers with hers, her silk stockings separating their palms. His rugged face now hung inches above hers as he raised both arms up over her head, his hands tightening against her own. “Relax. Don’t fight me or this.”
Something about the way he was holding her hands against his, as if he were trying to mentally prepare her for what he was about to do, felt oddly guiding and loving.
His large, warm body kept her in place against the mattress. Releasing her hands, he quickly wrapped both stockings around her wrists and yanked them tightly into knots.
He wrapped them tighter and tighter, until her wrists were not only bound but immovable. “Keep your hands over your head,” he urged heavily, making one last tight knot. “The rule is—I touch you. You don’t touch me.”
She blinked as the heat of his skin against hers penetrated her body and her senses. She sucked in a deep breath as his fingers trailed down her arms toward her breasts.
He leaned in and kissed her forehead, her nose, her cheek and then her lips. “Don’t panic,” he murmured. “I’m going to slip myself inside you and ride you.”
Himself? In there? “With what?” she managed.
He positioned himself above her, his hand reaching between them and held his sizable erection toward her. “With this,” he confided. “And it will hurt. But not for long.”
Her fingers dug into the linens as he nudged her thighs apart and edged its tip into her opening.
“Imogene.”
She swallowed, waiting, feeling incredibly vulnerable with her hands tied and knowing what he was about to do.
“Imogene, look at me.”
Her gaze jumped up to his.
He continued to remain propped above her, his free hand smoothing her hair. “If you focus on the pain, it will be all you feel. So don’t focus on the pain. It won’t last. It is my intent to not only take pleasure but to give pleasure. Believe that.” Those blue eyes intently held hers with the same measure of assurance he had given her when he had been asking her to speak through her stutter.
She relaxed, knowing everything would be all right. For he had said it would be.
Still holding her gaze, he tightened his jaw and with a quick solid thrust of his hips, he buried himself so deeply and thoroughly inside her womb, the pain seared her into gasping.
He stilled and held her tightly against himself. With a domineering hand, he buried her head against the curve of his shoulder, setting her face against it. “Bite your way through the pain. Go on. Bite.”
She didn’t even think twice. She pressed against him and clamped all of her upper teeth down onto his smooth shoulder to get through the pain.
He moved against her, jarring her. “Good. You can bite me harder. Because I’m about to ride you harder.”
She bit down as hard as she could, bracing herself.
His hips rolled slow at first, those thrusts controlled and smooth. But it didn’t last. “That’s it. Take it.” He pushed into her faster and harder, his broad frame tensing against her as he seethed out breaths.
Though each savage thrust stung against the tightness of her passage and grew in intensity, she managed to survive by keeping her teeth clamped on his shoulder.
He dipped his head toward her and sucked on the curve of her throat, making her melt and writhe in sudden blooming pleasure.
His bucking movements kept
jarring her until she realized she wasn’t in pain anymore. It was all pleasure. Sweet pleasure.
Unlatching her teeth from his shoulder, she threw back her head to better extend herself against her tied hands, and let his mouth roam and devour her throat. She felt those same stomach-tightening sensations overtaking her body. Again. Only it felt bigger. Fuller. Like it was about to rip her apart.
“Give in to it,” he rasped against her. “Like you did on the stairs.”
She gasped in overwhelmed bliss as he stroked and stroked into her. She jerked her wrists against the silk stockings, wanting so desperately to touch him and his broad back, but she couldn’t. “Can I touch you?” she breathed out between each of his thrusts. “Let me…touch you.”
“No.” He pumped into her harder. His large hands slid up and into her hair. “Let me hear you.” He rode and rode into her, harder and harder. “Come on. How does it feel?”
She moaned.
“That wasn’t good enough. Louder. Like you want more.”
She pushed out an even louder moan. For him. Only it felt like she was bringing her climax on by doing so. It was too much. “Oh!” She cried out and shook beneath him, giving in to the bursting pleasure his thrusts flung her to.
“Fuck, yes.” Fisting her bundled hair hard with one hand and grabbing her tied wrists by the knot, he pumped into her again and again, banging into her until an anguished groan escaped him, too.
He stilled, burying himself deep inside of her and eventually paused. “Shite,” he breathed out, still buried inside her. “I poured into you.”
Her heart pounded as her eyes popped open. “What?”
He heaved out a breath. “Fuck.”
Him and that word.
With a few swift tugs, he released her hands from her stockings and whipped them aside. Leaning in, he grazed her wrists with his fingers and gently rubbed them as if to take away what he had done.
She blinked at his shoulder buried above her, realizing she had indented visible, deep marks into the skin that was already covered with white scars. She slid a finger to it in concern. “Did I bite too hard?”
He rolled off to the side and collapsed onto his back. “I didn’t feel a thing.” His chest rose and fell as he stared up at the canopy above them. “I don’t know what came over me. I couldn’t even think. I just… I’ve never spilled into a woman like that before.”
Shifting onto her side and toward him, she shyly pulled her skirts down around her legs, feeling a heavy, warm wetness between her thighs. “What do you mean you spilled into me?”
He glanced toward her, still on his back, and searched her face. “I poured my seed into you. Which means you can end up with a child.”
Her stomach fluttered and crashed all at once, knowing a child might come of it. “And how will I know if…?”
“Your body will tell you.” Shifting toward her, he propped himself on an elbow. “The most certain one is when your menses ceases. The moment it does, tell me. We’ll ensure we address it and take it from there. Just be sure to tell me.”
It was so odd. How was it that she felt like she had always talked to him like this? Even though she knew there were still so many caverns of his life she knew nothing of?
She had no words to describe it. She felt like she was living the life she was meant to live. A life where she didn’t feel like she was being a burden to anyone. Nathaniel didn’t make her feel like she was a burden. He made her feel like she was her own person and he was his.
Without even thinking, she placed a hand over her heart, then let it drift and placed it against the middle of his chest.
He lowered his gaze and fingered her hand.
Her heart squeezed. It was like his attempt at returning affection. It was so endearingly sweet. “How did we end up like this?”
He continued to finger her knuckles. “One delectable woman with a lot of money and one stupid man with none.”
A giggle bubbled forth from her lips.
He smiled and continued to touch her hand as if every contour of her finger fascinated him. His features seemed at peace and at ease, as if he were content with this and them and what had happened.
Something whispered of a chance to get to know him. He wasn’t guarded. Her heart fluttered as she sidled closer. “Tell me something.”
“What?”
“What is it like being a boxer?”
He glanced up, his rugged face brightening. “It’s the only time I feel like I can actually make the entire world bend against my hands. It’s amazing.”
She hesitated and tightened her hold on his hand. “I promise not to burden you over these next few months.”
He eyed her. “You need to stop talking like that. I just took your virginity, and you’re up and saying you’re the burden?”
She swallowed. The beat of his heart against her fingers and the rising and falling of his chest became her world in that moment. She had never known anything like it. She felt so intimately connected to him. And yet…there was so much she had to know about him. What sort of secrets lay buried within him?
She shifted just enough to see his face better and eventually offered, “I imagine you were hurt knowing your own father and mother didn’t come to our wedding. Especially when all of London did. Be our union superficial or not, they should have been there.”
He slowly pushed away her hand and rolled onto his back. “I could care less.” His tone indicated otherwise. “If my mother chooses to side with my father, what can I do? I’m done chasing this in my head. I can’t keep sending her missives that just keep going unanswered. Nor am I about to hurt her in the same way my father hurt me.”
His father? She blinked. “What do you mean? What did your father do?”
He vacantly stared up at the canopy of the bed. “I would rather not say.”
She gently set a hand onto his chest. “Nathaniel. I…I am here to listen. Please know that.”
He continued to vacantly stare up at the canopy of the bed. “I thought this was about a quarter of a million pounds. Not me.”
She swallowed, that blunt response stinging more than her pride. It actually stung her heart. “Cease. I genuinely wish to know you.”
“Why?”
“Because I like you. And because…I…I want to know which of the stories are true and which are not.”
He pushed her hand off his chest. “I’m not giving that part of myself to you, Imogene. So don’t ask me which stories or true or not. Because you’ll never know.”
Her brows came together. She tried not to let agitation bite into her. “How is it that you don’t think me worthy enough of knowing things about you, and yet you feel entitled on dabbling in not only my body, but my world of stuttering and Dr. Filbert and my medications? Let the dabbling be mutual if we are to play this game of who bends to whom.”
“We are obviously done here.” He sat up. “Good night. I’ll retire into my own room.” He adjusted his trousers around himself and his hips, buttoned the flap and pushed himself off the bed, landing on the wooden floor with an aggressive thud. He strode for the closed door.
She scrambled to sit up. “Nathaniel. Please don’t be angry with me. I was merely conveying what I genuinely feel.”
He opened the door. Abruptly turning toward her, his ice-blue eyes flared. “Discussing disturbing events of my life is no different than reliving them. And I’m not about to relive what I went through just so you can better understand what I already know.”
By God. What had he endured?
Holding her gaze, he rigidly pointed. “And despite what you think, as your business partner, I have a right to ensure your health isn’t being swindled by some balding quack. I’ve seen too many people shrivel and die in the Five Points consuming tonics for their ‘health.’ If I see you taking any of that medication, you had best be wearing a pair of leather boxing gloves. I won’t say it again.”
She scrambled up onto her knees, determined to prove to him that he was
n’t in control of her life. She was. She pointed to herself. “I will decide what needs to be done when it comes to my medications. Not you. I.”
“It’s already taken care of and done. I talked to him. He knows that if he damn well comes anywhere near you, or attempts to administer any more of his tonics, I’ll be putting a knuckle through his brain.”
“But I wasn’t there to listen in on the conversation and form an opinion.”
“Yes, but I was.”
“Since when did you become me?”
He stared. “Are you arguing with me? Because I don’t like it. So I suggest you fucking stop.”
She chanted to herself not to submit to a stutter, even though she felt it coming on from the riled angst that threatened to slap her and him. She focused on each and every word, ensuring it was precise, only it turned into a mess. “I think it-it-it is the-the-the principle of the matter and n-n-not whether I think you are right or-or-or wrong. I will drink that quack juice merely t-t-to demonstrate whose hand really holds the-the-the cup.”
A muscle flicked angrily in his jaw. “I dare you.”
She set her chin. “T-t-tomorrow afternoon at four. In the-the-the parlor. Be there.”
After a long pulsing moment of silence, he shifted toward her and grated out, “You and I will be at Jackson’s. I’ve got training all day tomorrow. Or did you forget?”
She stared, swallowing a sense of calm she desperately wanted to feel.
“There is no reason for you to take that damn tonic, Imogene,” he bit out. “There is absolutely nothing physically wrong with you. Or don’t you know that?”
She squeezed her eyes shut and set her hands on her ears, not wanting to listen to him anymore. She stuttered. That was what was wrong with her. And she wished upon all wishes that stupid tonic would fix it. Only it never did. And she hated knowing it. She hated, hated, hated knowing that she would forever be at the mercy of looking stupid.
The bed suddenly shifted and a hand grazed her wrist. “Imogene.”
Startled, she opened her eyes and glanced up to find Nathaniel leaning in.
His blue eyes intently held her. “Did you need me to sleep with you tonight? I can.”
Astounded by his concern, she blinked rapidly and slowly shook her head. “I… No.”
Forever a Lord Page 18