Never Say Never to an Earl (Heart of Enquiry Book 5)

by Grace Callaway

  “That’s enough,” he said.

  His tone—quiet and girdled with steel—halted her chatter. That and his aura, pain and loneliness oozing through the thick layer of anger. Her heart wept for what he’d suffered as a boy, alone, abandoned to the cruelties of the world without anyone’s protection. A boy whose birthday hadn’t even been recognized.

  “You didn’t deserve it,” she insisted. “You were just a child. And, furthermore, your father should have put a stop to what was going on. He ought to have protected you and—”

  “Polly, enough. I get the picture. I didn’t deserve to be beaten.”

  “No, you did not.”

  “And you don’t find the sight of the scars repellant, just the fact of how I got them.”

  “I could never find you repellant,” she said, appalled that he could even think such a thing.

  “Then why are you still all the way over there?” He crooked a finger at her. “Come here.”

  Uncertain of his mood, the welter of emotion in his aura, she nonetheless didn’t hesitate to do as he asked. She didn’t want him to think, for even a second, that she could be repulsed by him. That she could think of him as anything but the most attractive and wonderful man in the world. She opened her mouth to say so, but all that emerged was a whoosh of air from her lungs because his arms closed around her like bands of steel, pulling her onto the bed, locking her against him.

  His face buried in her hair, he whispered, “Thank you. For being in my corner.”

  In those words, he conveyed a world of feeling, similar to when he’d thanked her for believing in him. Now she understood even more why that was so important to him. That even a god could be besieged by inner monsters and be in need of reinforcements. And she vowed to herself that she would never let him down.

  “I’ll always be in your corner.” She hugged him back. “I’m your wife. I… care about you.”

  She caught herself in the nick of time. She knew his views on love and intimacy, but surely he wouldn’t mind having her affection? After all, he showered her with affection all the time. With his gifts. His endearments. The way he made her feel like the most desirable creature in all of Christendom.

  His fierce words rumbled into her ear. “And you’re loyal, devoted, and protective of those you care about, aren’t you?”

  “You make me sound like a well-trained spaniel,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

  His hold loosened enough for him to look down at her. Although his pain hadn’t faded entirely, something else bloomed in his aura: hope. Blue and so beautiful it made her throat convulse. And something else beneath that, dim yet glimmering, something that she didn’t quite recognize but which made her heart pound…

  “Not a spaniel.” He smiled slowly. “You’re more of a… guard kitten.”

  She huffed out a breath. “That’s hardly intimidating.”

  “I don’t know. At certain points last night, I felt your little claws biting into me.”

  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Worriedly, she searched his shoulders for marks.

  He laughed and kissed her soundly on the nose. “No, you didn’t hurt me. God, Polly, as if you could. I’m teasing, of course. Although, if you want to kiss it all better”—he waggled his brows—“I wouldn’t stop you.”

  The heavy moment had passed. In its place was a different sort of tension, one that made her pulse quicken, her body blossoming with awareness of him. Of his addictive male scent, his strong and virile form, his eyes radiant with sensual heat. Desire soared in her, tempered by the need to show him how much he mattered.

  He made her feel beautiful, and she wanted to return that gift. To make him feel every bit as wanted as he made her feel. Thus far, she’d been content to let him take the lead in their lovemaking. Could she be bold enough to try something different?

  When he bent his head to kiss her, she ducked out of his way.

  “Polly?” he said, his brows knitting.

  In answer, she placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed. She saw his look of surprise the second before he fell back, his head landing on the pillow. Before she lost her nerve, she clambered atop him, straddling his hips.

  “All right,” she said.

  His brows shot up. “Er… all right?”

  “All right, I will kiss it all better,” she clarified, “so don’t stop me.”

  ~~~

  What kind of an idiot did she think he was? Of course he wasn’t going to stop her.

  He would never look a gift horse like this in the mouth—and, ah, God, what a mouth. Sinjin’s gaze honed hungrily on his wife’s ripe lips at they descended toward his. She kissed him with a tenderness that made his head spin, her tongue lapping at the seam of his lips. He invited her in, relishing her newfound boldness, the sensual confidence he knew he’d had a part in unleashing.

  Her tongue swirled against his, and arousal sang in his blood. Christ, the passion in her. That itself made her the most tempting woman he’d ever known, but she gave him even more. Something he’d never had and never thought he’d find.

  I’ll always take your side. I care for you.

  His chest tightened; his prick throbbed. He speared his fingers in her hair, kissing her with greedy desperation. He blinked when she slapped at his arms.

  “I’m doing the kissing, remember?” she said.

  She was clearly trying to appear stern. Since she was sitting naked atop him with her hair a silken curtain to her waist, her red nipples playing erotic peek-a-boo through the tawny tresses, and her cunny wetly kissing his abdomen, he couldn’t say he was much intimidated.

  Randy as hell, yes. Intimidated, no.

  But, as he’d said before, he was no idiot.

  “Yes, my lady.” He managed a contrite tone. “I’ll keep my hands right here at my sides where you can see them.”

  Her glorious eyes narrowed, as if she suspected he might be teasing her, but he kept his look innocent, and, with a little huff, she continued on with her game. Praise Jesus. She nuzzled his earlobe, flicking and sucking it like he’d done to her, making his blood hum. His neck arched as she kissed his throat, licking the bump, working her way down to his chest.

  Like a frisky little feline, she rubbed her cheek against the muscled planes, seeming to enjoy the scratch of his hair against her smooth cheek. Seeing her enjoyment in her explorations amplified the pleasure of what she was doing. He watched with interest as she approached his right nipple. She gave the flat disc a tentative lick, and then her gaze shot to his, the question in those aquamarine depths making his teeth ache—that was how sweet he found her. How bloody cute.

  “It feels good,” he said huskily, “though I’m probably not quite as sensitive there as you are.”

  “We’ll just have to find your special spots then,” she said decisively.

  “Special spots?’

  “The places that make your toes curl.” Her tongue traced the valley between his pectoral muscles. “Here, maybe?”

  He shivered. “That feels nice, though not toe-curlingly good.”

  “What about here?” She peppered kisses over the flexing ridges of his abdomen.

  “Getting warmer.” Aroused as hell, he wondered just how far she would go with this.

  His breath held as her lips neared his rod, which was already hard and throbbing. She hadn’t touched that part of him yet—except with her pussy, of course, and just thinking of that wet, wringing caress made seed dribble from the slit in his cockhead. Thus, he couldn’t blame her for bypassing the drooling, one-eyed monster to nuzzle his thigh instead. He had to bite back a groan when her hair slid like silk over his turgid length as she kissed her way down his lower half, inquiring now and again as to whether or not she’d hit a “special spot.”

  By the time she made her way back, settling between his thighs, he was afire. Primed as a pistol ready to fire. And dying for her to touch his cock.

  “Hmm, what could I be missing?” Her eyes sparkled at him; he loved this pla
yful side of her. “Could you give me a hint?”

  “It’s big, thick, and about to go off like a firecracker.”

  Her smiling mouth hovered a hairsbreadth above his prick, by this time an engorged and throbbing bar across his stomach. “How warm am I?”

  “Very.” He dared her with his eyes.

  She leaned over, and, to his ecstatic disbelief, pressed a soft kiss on his erection. “And that?”

  “Hot,” he breathed. “So damned hot.”

  He was so aroused that she had to use both hands to pry his cockstand away from his abdomen. He loved the way she handled him, her small hands working together to surround his thickly veined shaft. She pumped him between her palms and took note when he urged her to do it harder. Even so, her exquisitely gentle frigging threatened to make him lose his mind.

  And then she decided to use her lips. She proceeded to kiss her way up and down his pole, the butterfly touches of her lips nearly his undoing. When she licked the tip like an inquisitive kitten, he let out a tortured groan.

  “Are your toes curling yet?” she whispered.

  “I love what you’re doing, sweeting.” Understatement of the year. “But there’s more you could do, if you want to.”

  “I want to,” she said immediately.

  God’s teeth. Could she get any more delightful?

  “Then take as much of my cock into your mouth as you can. Suck on me, love, and watch your teeth. Also, the tip feels especially good—sensitive, like your pearl.”

  Her eyes widened as she absorbed the blunt facts he’d delivered. He wondered if he’d gone too far. As naturally sensual as she was, her virginity wasn’t far behind her, and, moreover, she was a gently bred lady. And here he was explaining in graphic detail a pleasure that he’d engaged in with experienced lovers or whores he’d paid extra coin.

  Just as he was about to turn it into a jest and let her off the hook, she bent her head.

  His entire being shuddered as wet fire engulfed his prick. “Christ.”

  Her reply—garbled by a mouthful of his cock—shot fire up his spine. The sight of her pretty head bobbing on his rod was almost too much to bear. She could only manage to take about half of his length, but, holy hell, it was enough. He wound his fingers into her hair, gripping a silken handful, using it to guide her movements.

  “Breathe through your nose, love,” he instructed hoarsely, “and relax your throat if you can. God, yes. Just like that.”

  Watching her, feeling her, he was struck by how different this was from anything he’d known before. This wasn’t just a woman performing fellatio—this was Polly, making love to him. Lavishing his cock with selfless affection because that was what she felt for him. She cared for him. She’d said so, and now she was showing him so.

  The realization ricocheted through him. His bollocks pulsed, shooting a hot spurt of pre-spend betwixt her lips. She choked a little, and he shuddered: it was too much, he couldn’t take any more, would surely unload his cannon if this continued. Though no expert in etiquette, he was quite certain that a man did not spill in his lady’s mouth. Thus, he clamped his hands on her shoulders, hauling her over him. He had a brief instant to enjoy her shocked expression before he fisted his erection, notched it to her dew-slickened petals, and pushed her down at the same time that he drove his hips up.

  Moans exploded from them both.

  “So bloody perfect,” he groaned. “Ride me, Polly.”

  He guided her hips, showing her what he meant. It didn’t take long for her to catch on. Slowly at first, then with growing confidence, she worked herself on his erection. Rising up to the tip and then wriggling her way down, she sheathed him to the balls in her snug, hot pussy.

  “Oh, I like this,” she sighed.

  “Faster,” he urged. “Harder.”

  She obeyed. The sight of her—her cheeks flushed and eyes sultry, her cherry-tipped tits bouncing as she impaled herself on his cock—was so bloody magnificent that he wanted it to go on forever. At the same time, he had to grit his teeth against the pressure roiling in his stones. He was determined not to find release until she did. Fingers digging into her hips, he helped her fuck him, shoving his hips up as she came down. The air filled with the sounds of their panting, of the deliciously lewd slapping of their meeting flesh.

  “Sinjin,” she chanted.

  “Right here, love,” he groaned. “I love feeling you come around me. The way your pussy hugs my prick like you never want to let me go—”

  She gave a sharp gasp, and he shouted out as her convulsions milked his length. Cupping her shoulder blades, he pushed her down against his chest, his hips thrusting fiercely as his climax raged through him. Pulse after pulse of heat shot up his shaft, and he emptied himself completely into his wife’s giving depths.

  Afterward, he lay there, suffused in bliss, trying to catch his breath. Polly was still sprawled over him. She was so quiet that he thought she’d fallen asleep until she mumbled something.

  “What, love?” he said huskily.

  “Happy belated birthday.” Her drowsy words sent a bolt of warmth through him. “I’ll be better prepared next year, but just so you know: when it’s your special day, you can have anything you want.”

  Something elusive flitted through his chest, a feeling beyond the reach of words. He just cuddled her closer until her breathing evened out, and she fell asleep curled atop him.

  His adorable, protective… sex kitten.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Five days later, Sinjin stayed on the balls of his feet as he and his opponent circled one another in the practice ring at Apollo Fines’ Boxing Club. He dodged a front hook, feinting left, then went in with his own combination of punches. His boxing gloves made satisfying impact, and his adversary stumbled back against the ropes, grunting.

  He dashed sweat off his brow. “Ready for a break, old boy?”

  Harry Kent grimaced, rubbing his midsection. Polly’s dark-haired brother was an unusual mix of scholar and athlete. During the sparring, he’d removed the gold-rimmed spectacles which gave him a studious mien, and his large, rangy build moved with natural athleticism.

  “I may be done for the day,” Harry said ruefully. “Devil and damn, you generate momentum with that jab of yours.”

  Grinning, Sinjin reached for a towel and slung one at his brother-in-law. They headed to the benches next to the ring, where beverages awaited on a silver cart. Founded by Apollo Fines, a gentleman and retired prizefighter, the club rivalled Gentleman Jackson’s in popularity, and the practice rings teemed with fashionable young bloods. Several of them came by to congratulate Sinjin on his recent nuptials. When they tried to lure him into their rakehell escapades, he firmly declined.

  In truth, as much as Sinjin enjoyed manly pursuits, he’d have preferred another activity this afternoon—namely a session betwixt the sheets with his new bride. But Polly had insisted that he spend time with her brother, who would be returning to Cambridge soon. Sinjin had caved, not just because he did like Harry, who was a solid, sporting chap, but because he found it difficult to say no to his wife.

  After five days of marriage, he found himself wondering why he hadn’t gotten leg-shackled earlier. He knew the answer, of course: because he hadn’t met Polly. She was the necessary ingredient to his marital bliss.

  When he’d heard marriage being discussed at the clubs, men typically joked about one of two things: the expense of the endeavor and/or its necessity in the producing of an heir and a spare. What gentlemen didn’t talk about—at least, not in public—were the grace notes that marriage added to everyday life.

  For the first time, Sinjin was waking up to the same body in his bed every morning, and he adored it. Not just because he could start the day with one of his favorite activities—and by Jove, those early lovemaking sessions were fine—but because seeing Polly the first thing when he woke gave him a sense of rightness he’d never known before.

  He was feeling… settled. Anchored by his new role as
a husband.

  There were countless other delights as well. He liked having a wife to care about his preferences, from how he took his tea to his favorite foods to assorted household decisions he’d never paid any mind to before. It soothed him knowing that she was close by; if she wasn’t, the lingering trace of apple blossoms reminded him that she would be back soon. He enjoyed their conversations, which addressed everything from mundane matters to more private ones.

  He’d never liked to talk about his past or his family, but with Polly it was different. Sharing with her came naturally. All in all, their union had the easy camaraderie and affection he had hoped for. And, as much as he liked Harry, he found himself missing his new bride already.

  “This has been grand,” he began, “but I really ought to—”

  “Let’s go another round.” Harry sent a harried glance at his pocket watch. “Polly doesn’t expect us back until three, so there’s still time… that is, if you can bear being parted from her?”

  Accompanied by a beatific smile, Harry’s words were a downright challenge.

  Sinjin had never been one to back down. “All right. One more round.”

  They returned to the ring, and as Sinjin’s body took over, defending against attacks and issuing them, his mind wandered. He wondered if Polly’s feelings for him could ever run deeper than affection. As he delivered a jab and hook combination, he told himself to be grateful with the marriage he had and not to rock the boat, especially when his new wife hadn’t yet weathered one of his storms. He’d leased an apartment to go to when the devils took over, but he had to remain vigilant to their reemergence. At the first sign of one of his moods, he would have to beat a hasty retreat.

  The notion, though necessary, struck him as wholly unappealing. It also distracted him from the oncoming attack. Harry’s uppercut snapped his head back.

  “Sorry, old boy,” the other called cheerfully.

  Once the stars cleared, and he saw one version of Harry, rather than two, he muttered, “My fault for woolgathering.” He declined the other’s offer to have a rest, and they continued sparring, with Sinjin giving as good as he got.