She moved to the door, breathing easier free of her corset and out of the gown the duchess had forced on her today.
It wasn’t Bea. She never knocked.
It was likely the duchess or her maid, checking in on Nora.
Opening the door, she discovered how wrong she was. Neither the duchess nor one of her maids stood there.
It was Constantine, still wearing that darkly elusive expression.
He stepped inside, compelling her to take a step back. Closing the door behind them, he turned the lock with a soft snip.
“Wh-what are you doing in here?”
“How was your stroll with Prentiss?” He asked the question mildly enough, stated it evenly, without inflection, but there was still something in his voice that gave her pause.
She angled her head and eyed him, trying not to let the sight of him this close, alone in her bedchamber, addle her thoughts.
“Lovely,” she replied, noting that his expression darkened to a scowl. Did he not like Mr. Prentiss? “And how is Lady Elise?”
“Lovely,” he echoed.
“Should you not be downstairs with her?”
“I’m right where I want to be.”
With her? In her bedchamber?
Alone in this vastly inappropriate scenario?
It seemed uncharacteristic of him to place either one of their reputations at risk in such a way. He had much to lose. Lady Elise did not seem like a female to look the other way at her husband’s (or husband-to-be’s) indiscretions.
“How is your head?” His gaze flickered over her face as if seeking the answer in her features.
Her fingers moved to her temple. “M-my head?”
“It was aching. Remember?”
“O-oh.” She shrugged, recalling the excuse she had used to flee the drawing room. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” He took another step closer. “I’d hate for you to be feeling poorly.”
“That is . . . kind of you to say.” She backed up a pace, inching deeper into the room.
“Nothing kind about it. Rather selfish of me, actually.”
She frowned. “Selfish?”
“Indeed. If you were unwell then you wouldn’t be up for this.”
He advanced then, his body crowding her. The air grew charged, crackling between them.
She retreated, and he followed like a predator in steady pursuit. Her heart took flight like a wild bird in her chest.
All at once, she stopped. Excitement warred with wariness inside her. Lifting her chin, she froze in place, waiting.
He reached for her, tumbling her against him. He wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her easily.
She held her breath as he clasped her against him, suspended above the ground, her body pressed so tightly to his that it would be impossible to determine where either one of them ended and began. They were eye level and she found herself drowning in his dark gaze.
Then they were moving.
He was walking quickly with her in his arms, her toes dangling inches off the ground as he carried her.
She could scarcely digest what was happening.
Everything was sensation.
Was that her pounding heart? Or his? With their bodies plastered together, she could not know for certain.
He set her down carefully on the edge of the bed, and then he dropped at her feet, lowering himself before her until he was on his knees like some prostrated medieval knight.
She moistened her lips. “Wh-what are you—”
His hands landed on the tops of her knees, the heat of his palms singeing her through the fabric of her nightgown. “Let’s rid you of this, hm?”
Before she knew what he was about, his fingers seized the hem of her nightgown and he yanked it up, over her knees, over her thighs, with rough and, to be honest, faintly thrilling movements.
She obliged, lifting her bottom so that he could continue pulling it up over her hips.
And that’s how she knew she wanted this . . . how she knew she was totally and irrevocably lost.
Logic might have fled her, but her body knew what it wanted. Before her mind could recognize the truth, her body was already there. It knew. It was in total agreement with Constantine.
She wanted this.
She wanted him. She had since the night of the tonic. No. That was not true. She had wanted him before that. Certainly by the time he had taken her to Middlesex to observe the surgery. Because he knew she would like it. Because he cared for her pleasure.
He pulled the nightgown the rest of the way over her head and tossed it aside.
She sat naked, propped on the edge of her bed.
He came in closer, nudging her thighs open and wedging himself between them. He set his hands on her thighs and this time there was no barrier. No nightgown in the way, no interfering obstacle of fabric to bar him from her skin. Just his big searing palms gliding over the tops of her thighs.
She trembled, gooseflesh puckering her skin as he explored her body, skimming her flesh, touching and fondling her until she couldn’t stop from moaning.
Sensation rippled over her. It was like her body didn’t belong to her anymore. She shook and trembled, sharp little pants escaping her.
He moved from her thighs to her breasts. She jerked at the first contact. Her breasts felt heavy and alien in the cups of his palms. His head dipped, his tongue flicking over one nipple, then the next.
Her head dropped back on her shoulders, her hair swishing down her back as he sucked first one nipple and then moved to the other one, pulling it deep in the hot cavern of his mouth until she was shuddering and crying out, one of her hands flying to his head, diving through the thick strands of his hair, clutching him tightly to her.
His teeth toyed and worried her nipple, growling around it, “How I have longed to do this . . .”
She whimpered as his big hand palmed down her stomach.
She thrust out her chest as he continued sucking her breasts, gasping when his hand dipped between her thighs.
His dark hooded eyes looked up at her and he said thickly, “I think it’s time to return the favor you bestowed on me.”
“Oh,” she whimpered, as much from that hot gaze on her as from the wicked, delicious things he was doing to her.
She quivered as he eased one finger inside her at the exact moment his thumb found and pressed down on a tiny little button of flesh at the top of her womanhood that she didn’t even know existed, which was a shame.
She called herself a scientist!
How did she not know such a pleasure point existed on her own body?
She didn’t have time to dwell on her foolishness. Too much was happening.
She fell back on the bed with a sharp cry, arms flung above her head in total surrender as her body leaped and convulsed.
Jagged little moans tripped from her lips, endless and unremitting as she broke, hot release washing over her. Spots danced before her eyes and then she was floating back down, her body easing.
But not for long. The calm was not to last.
His finger stroked inside her clenching channel, building the ache back to a boil.
She moaned.
“You feel so perfect,” he growled. “So wet, so ready.”
And she was. She heard the wet suction of his finger working in and out of her. She felt the moisture on the insides of her thighs. His finger slipped out to play in the moisture coating her sex. “Is this for me, Nora?”
“Yes.” Her voice rose, broken and trembling.
His gaze fixed on her face as he lifted his finger and tasted it—tasted her, savoring her on him in a display of wicked, wanton pleasure. She didn’t know this man . . . this side of him. She’d had no idea it existed.
A beast intent on devouring her. Every inch of her quivered in anticipation, in greedy hunger for more.
More of the beast.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“You. I want you,” she croaked. She wanted the beas
t in him to join with the one that prowled restlessly inside her.
Then he was gone. Moving. Unleashed as though he had been waiting for her permission.
She watched as he hopped up to his feet, gaping as he hastily and gracelessly shed his garments, tossing them aside and revealing the lean lines of his body.
He stood in front of her, as naked as she had seen him last night except he looked much more impressive standing over her in this moment. Bigger. There wasn’t an inch of excess on him anywhere. Perhaps that was what years in the army had done for him, hardened his body so that it was a weapon to be wielded against the enemy.
Right now I want him to wield it against me.
The wicked thought couldn’t be helped.
He was corded with sinew and muscle, skin smooth except for the narrow trail of dark hair that led to that jutting part of his anatomy she was already acquainted with.
Her mouth watered in memory.
Tonight she would feel that cock and not just in her hand. Her womanhood pulsed, aching with emptiness, craving to be filled.
He reached for her, his hands seizing her waist. He tossed her farther back on the bed and then came down over her, spreading her thighs wide to fit his body.
He braced each of his arms on either side of her as his face hovered over hers, tension rippling along his jaw.
His hips settled into the cradle of her body, his cock prodding at the core of her.
“Constantine,” she begged at a whisper.
With a growl, he released himself. Pushed inside her with one slick thrust, filling her, stretching her deliciously.
“Ohh,” she gasped at the unfamiliar burning sensation. “Wait a moment.”
He stilled, obliging, but the pause cost him. She could see that, feel that in the strained look on his face, in the tightness lining his body.
She wiggled under him with a strangled sob, her fingers digging into his taut shoulders as if needing sudden leverage. “Oh, you feel so big inside me.”
“You’re made for me,” he countered, his lips husking against her throat, biting down on her tender skin, sending a fresh rush of moisture between her legs.
“You feel that? You’re ready for me.”
Her hands slid down his back, finding and gripping his buttocks.
She felt her inner muscles flex and that astonished her. She could control that.
She clenched, deliberately tightening, reveling in his deep groan.
“Oh, you’re milking my cock, Nora, please, tell me I can—”
She worked her hips, tilting her pelvis under him, taking him deeper with a small cry, desperate for pressure on the growing ache.
Her fingers dug into the tight swells of buttocks, urging him to—
With a growl of defeat, he pulled out and thrust then, driving into her. The friction sent sparks through her and she lifted her hips for him, greedy for more.
“You brilliant lass. You feel amazing.”
Another thrust.
She arched, crying out, reveling in the thousand pinpricks of sensation bursting throughout her.
“Harder,” she begged. Her hands tightened, reveling in how his buttocks flexed as he pumped over her, answering her plea, increasing his tempo and lifting one of her thighs, draping her leg around his waist and changing the angle of penetration, bringing himself deeper inside her.
She wept, tears rolling down her cheeks at the fullness of him sliding in and out of her. His mouth claimed hers, drinking in her cries. He kissed her senseless, his tongue sweeping against hers, arousing her on a new level, sending another rush of moisture to her sex where his cock worked in and out of her.
“How do you feel this good?”
Groaning, he continued thrusting between her trembling thighs, shoving her higher on the bed with each plunge inside her.
Her nails dug into him, hanging on for dear life.
A sob broke, twisting and turning into a keening cry. His hand came over her mouth, muffling the sound.
It was astonishing. She didn’t know it could be like this. She didn’t know her body could feel these things, that her heart . . .
“Go ahead. Scream into my hand,” he encouraged.
She writhed under him, her body out of control, without grace or rhythm now.
He drove into her again and she broke, exploding in a violent burst. Her tears streamed down her cheeks. “Constantine,” she cried into his palm and went limp, quivering in the aftermath.
He didn’t stop though.
He continued riding her, pumping relentlessly.
His hands clenched around her hips, hauling her in for his plunging cock. “Almost there,” he panted.
She gasped, feeling the slow stir again, the build of sensation. “Oh, oh, oh.”
He was unrelenting, driving into her ruthlessly.
“I can’t . . . not again.” Her head rolled side to side on the bed.
His thrusts came faster, harder, pushing her again to the edge of release.
She clutched at him, her hands clawing, moving up his back. He launched her over the edge again. Unbelievably. Incredibly.
He plowed her body like a man, no, a beast, released from his cage after years of captivity, all savage intensity. As though his life depended on reaching his climax.
A few more strokes and he stilled, arching his throat and tossing back his head with a groan as he broke and spilled inside her.
Her breasts rose and fell in heavy pants.
He lowered his gaze back down to her and she knew she looked astonished, ravaged.
Wrecked.
Because that was how she felt.
She couldn’t steady her breathing. Not yet. She pushed back loose tendrils of hair from her face and stared up at him, fighting to regain her breath. “Oh . . . my.”
“Oh my, indeed.” He rolled off her and fell on his back beside her, flinging his arm over his face.
She turned her face to the side to study him, taking comfort in the fact that he was breathless, too. She supposed that meant he felt as shattered as she did.
She smiled, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him. That felt . . . clingy. Like someone who needed emotional reassurance following physical intimacy. That wasn’t her. She frowned, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of her stomach.
It couldn’t be her.
Silence descended. She held still, wondering, waiting as the seconds ticked. How long would they stay like this? How long would he remain here? In her room? In her bed?
It couldn’t be much longer. They didn’t have that luxury.
“Well,” he pronounced, lifting his arm from his face. “It is clear what must be done now.”
Chapter 26
Nora took a moment, rolling his words around in her mind, turning them over curiously . . . those words that he uttered rather grimly. What could that mean?
She moistened her lips. “What do you mean?”
“It is clear what must be done,” Constantine repeated with a touch of insistence. “What we must do.”
She reached for the counterpane and pulled it over herself. Serious conversations probably functioned better if one wasn’t naked.
He frowned as she covered up her nudity, as though he preferred she remained naked.
Perhaps he did not agree with her logic, but she felt more composed at least.
“I’m afraid I fail to understand you.” She shook her head in confusion. “What is clear?”
“After what just happened? Is it not obvious to you?”
Several things were obvious to her as she clutched the counterpane to her bare breasts. The primary item being that she was entirely too enamored of Constantine, which was insupportable.
She had thought she could do this. She had thought a physical liaison, a tryst, was possible without engaging one’s heart. She thought she was a sensible female who could balance such a thing.
And perhaps it was possible.
Only not for her.
Apparently, N
ora was not capable of an affair. Or at least she was not capable of a meaningless affair with Constantine. Apparently, she was equipped only for something meaningful with him and that, unfortunately, wasn’t to be.
She tightened her grip on the counterpane and sat up, glancing from him to the door.
When was he leaving? Would he not take himself from her bed now? Her bedchamber? Is that not how these things, these trysts, were done?
He continued, “After this”—he motioned between them—“we haven’t any other choice.”
They would speak candidly of this then? She had not been convinced they would.
Constantine was not a man of excessive words. Nor was he the manner of man to proclaim his feelings or easily own his emotions. She wasn’t sure he possessed any softer sentiments at all.
Just an inflated sense of honor and duty.
She was duty to him. Nothing more. And that truth stung. Again, proof that she should leave this house as quickly as possible and take herself home where she knew every bump and ridge in the terrain, where nothing could surprise . . . or hurt her.
At any rate, what could he say?
However shattering, this had simply been a physical act. It was no more complicated than that. At least it would not become complicated. She refused to allow it to become a difficult thing. Especially considering she would be leaving.
He stared at her steadily, his impatience palpable, crackling on the air between them.
“I must confess, what you speak of is not obvious to me.”
A flash of exasperation crossed his face. “Come now. You’re clever. I don’t see how you haven’t reached the same conclusion I have.”
“I’m sorry. I must be obtuse,” she snapped, glancing at her bedchamber door again, wishing he would simply leave.
He motioned between them again. “We cannot pretend nothing happened between us.”
“Very true, we cannot do that. But we can make certain it never happens again.”
“That is neither here nor there. Whether it happens again or not, the damage has been done.”
Damage? She flinched. So what happened between them was damage?
She may have decided they would not repeat tonight and she would remove herself from here, but she had not thought of it in those harsh terms.
The Duke Effect EPB Page 19