Never a Bride

by Megan Frampton

  But she didn’t. She was still angry.

  “You’re so fiercely independent, Della. I thought that if there was a way to relieve some of what you carry around every day it would be an honor. I was an idiot—”

  “You were,” she interrupted.

  “But I hoped that you might be . . .” And he paused, and she could see him wince as the word came to him.

  “Grateful?” she supplied.

  He closed his eyes again, and swallowed.

  “Yes.”

  A moment as she processed what he’d said, and how she felt, and what she wanted to do now.

  She wanted to forgive him. But she wanted something else too.

  “Thank you for that,” she said in a quiet voice. His eyes opened, and he looked relieved. Until her next words. “You might be sorry,” she continued, raising her chin, “but do you understand?”

  He began to nod, then caught himself, taking a deep breath. “Explain it to me,” he said. “Please,” he added, after a moment.

  It was the “please” that made her heart soften, just a little.

  Well, that plus how ridiculously large and handsome he was. And how clearly he was suffering.

  There was definitely something wrong with her.

  But something she wanted to explore.

  “Take your jacket off,” she demanded.

  He looked puzzled for a moment, but then did as she asked, placing the jacket on the dining room table.

  It wasn’t enough.

  “Undo your cravat.”

  He did, his fingers working swiftly to undo the fabric, tossing it on top of his coat.

  His throat was bare, and she could see his strong neck. Her teeth practically ached to bite him.

  “Put your hands on your thighs.”

  He complied, and she wished his alacrity at obeying her didn’t make her so tingly. But she couldn’t lie to herself, could she?

  It absolutely did.

  She walked toward him, keeping her gaze on his face. He looked up at her, immobile, as though knowing he shouldn’t move.

  She reached him, then bent down to spread his knees apart. “Keep your hands there,” she ordered.

  He nodded, and she glanced down to confirm he hadn’t moved. Well. She also saw something else—just how aroused he was.

  It seemed as though he might be enjoying this also.

  She stepped between his legs, placing her hands on his shoulders to support herself. Then she swung one leg over one of his, then the other, so she was splayed out on his lap.

  “Hands there,” she reminded him as she felt his body start to shift as though to embrace her.

  “Whatever you want,” he replied, his voice a harsh rasp. She felt his erection against her, hard and urgent, and unable to ignore.

  She slid her hands around his neck, pulling her body up against his. Placing that part of her that burned against his cock.

  Oh. That felt good.

  His jaw was clamped, and she could feel how he was keeping himself still—for her. Because that was what she wanted.

  It felt delicious.

  She leaned forward to place her mouth against his neck, sliding her right hand over his shoulder and down onto his chest. His firm, glorious chest.

  “Can I touch you?” he asked in a ragged whisper.

  “No,” she replied, shaking her head. She dragged her teeth over the strong cords of his neck, feeling him shudder.

  “You’re going to let me do whatever I want to you,” she continued. “Is that understood?”

  “Yes.”

  Oh. The feeling that consumed her when he said “yes” so simply, so earnestly. As though he knew what it meant to her.

  She hoped he knew what it meant to her. If he didn’t after everything, then he wasn’t who she believed herself to be in love with.

  She rocked herself against him as she sucked his neck, her fingers undoing the few buttons of his shirt. She slid her hand down and tugged it from the waistband, yanking it up until it couldn’t go any farther because it was trapped by his arms.

  “Raise your hands,” she commanded, and he did, allowing her to slide the shirt off his body.

  He was breathing heavily, as was she. His gaze intent upon her face as though focused entirely on her.

  The way she wanted it.

  “Put your hands back on your thighs,” she continued.

  She flung the shirt behind her, where it presumably landed on the carpet. She moistened her lips as she looked at him—at his heavily muscled chest, at the strain in his arms as he resisted the urge to touch her.

  She lowered her lips to his nipple, drew it into her mouth and sucked gently. She heard his quick intake of breath, and could feel how his cock twitched. She smiled against his skin.

  Her left hand found his other nipple, and she rubbed it gently, sliding the pad of her finger over it, feeling the coarse hairs on his chest tickle her palm.

  He was solidly, hugely masculine, and he was entirely under her control.

  It felt intoxicating.

  “Are you trying to drive me mad?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

  She shifted so her sex was pressed more against his cock, and then drew back, then forward in a slow rhythm.

  She gave one final flick of her tongue to his nipple, then drew back, holding on to both his arms as she met his gaze.

  “Perhaps. I am proving a point.”

  His mouth twitched into a slight smile, and she saw his eyes glint mischievously. Good.

  “Then by all means, prove away. I look forward to you reaching your . . . conclusion,” he said with a sly grin.

  “Mmm,” she said, before sliding back into him. His hard cock gave just the right amount of pressure on her, and she let out a soft moan, making his eyes narrow.

  “Please, Della, let me touch you,” he pleaded.

  She shook her head, still working herself on him. “No. Not without my permission.”

  “I’ll do whatever you want, Della. Just let me touch you,” he said.

  “No.”

  He let out a frustrated noise, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. But he did as she wanted, keeping his hands clamped on his thighs as she pressed herself against him, finding the rhythm that was speeding her toward her orgasm.

  And then— “Ahhh,” she cried out as she came, flinging her head back as she held on to his shoulders.

  “Goddamn it, Della, but you are so glorious,” he said after the waves of pleasure had subsided. “Please tell me you forgive me.”

  She got off his legs, shaking her skirts out, unable to keep from staring at his broad chest and the erection that was tenting his trousers.

  He was so glorious too.

  “I know you said you were sorry, but I wanted to make sure you truly understood. That while there are things that are good—very good,” she said, raking her gaze over him, “if it’s not under your control, if you’re told what to do, then it doesn’t matter how good the thing is. It’s still not yours. Someone else owns it. Not you.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, and then he nodded. “I understand. I promise never to wrest control away from you ever again.” And then he gave a wolfish grin. “But if you wanted to hear what I would do to you if you let me move my hands,” he said, glancing down at his legs, “then I would be more than happy to comply. As in all things with you, Della.”

  It was a vow and a promise. And she believed him.

  “I forgive you,” she said at last, and then he smiled, a warm, wondrous smile that made her insides melt. As though he’d been worried the entire time that she wouldn’t—that she’d do what she wanted to him, and then just leave.

  I forgive you.

  “Thank you,” he replied. It was taking all of his will not to leap up out of the chair and take her in his arms. But he knew just how important it was to her, and so he was willing to cede control.

  Plus the way she’d demonstrated her needs was so very delightful.

 
If agonizing. His whole body burned where she’d touched him—his chest, his neck, his shoulders, and, of course his cock, which throbbed, unfulfilled, in his trousers.

  “What do you want to do?” she asked in a sultry tone of voice.

  Dear Lord, thank God you asked.

  “If I may?” he said, glancing down at his hands.

  “Yes. You can do whatever you want.”

  Permission. Permission to touch her, to tell her what he was thinking, to fuck her so hard they both saw stars.

  “First I want this gown off. You’re far too dressed for my taste.”

  He rose as he spoke, stalking toward her with a definite purpose. She spun so her back was to him, and his fingers went to the tiny buttons at the back of her gown, undoing each one as swiftly as he could.

  He heard her chuckle, and then she shifted back so her arse was nestled in his groin.

  “You’ll be the death of me, woman,” he growled.

  She glanced back at him, a mischievous look on her face. “Surely a little death will be welcome?”

  “You shouldn’t know that term, you’re a lady,” he admonished mockingly.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m no lady, just as you’re no gentleman. We’re man and woman, and what we do and say to one another is between us.”

  That was truly what she wanted, wasn’t it? To be equal partners. Not having to rely on one another for anything, but knowing they could depend on one another for everything.

  He wanted the same thing.

  Should he propose now? While her gown was half off, his upper half was entirely bare, and she had just brought herself off against his cock?

  It would be unorthodox, to be sure, but their whole relationship was distinctly different, so perhaps he should.

  The thought receded when she reached behind herself to rub his erection. “Mmm,” she said, wiggling in closer.

  He’d propose later. Now he just wanted to bury himself inside her.

  He undid the last button and tugged her sleeves off her arms, then pushed the fabric of her gown so it pooled at her feet. She stepped out of the circle of fabric, wearing her corset and shift. He undid the laces, then practically tore that off her, then yanked her shift up over her head so all she was wearing were her shoes and stockings.

  She bent to undo them, but he put a hand at the small of her back. “Wait. I want you to keep those on,” he said.

  The stockings were pale pink, with darker pink ribbons at the top. Her shoes were ridiculously delicate slippers, achingly soft and feminine.

  “And you?” she said, pointing her chin toward his trousers.

  “Do you want to help?” he asked, placing his hands at his waistband.

  “Indeed I do,” she said, stepping forward to him. Her breasts were inches away from his chest. They were beautiful, like the rest of her, her pink nipples matching the color of her stockings.

  Her fingers went to the placket of his trousers and she began to undo the buttons as he held his breath.

  And then his cock sprang free and he gasped as she slid her hand into his smallclothes to clasp her fingers around him. He shoved his trousers down, then bent down to wrap his arm around her knees and hoisted her up against his chest, then strode over to the dining room table. He lowered her gently onto the wooden surface, then climbed up on top of her.

  Her eyes were laughing, and he grinned in response.

  He’d never imagined he would be having so much fun during sex. But this was her, and everything she did was exuberant and delightful.

  He slid down her body and placed his mouth on her, feeling her shudder as his tongue flicked her nub.

  “Oh,” she sighed, and her hands went to bury themselves in his hair. She held him firmly in place—not that he was planning on going anywhere—and he licked and sucked her, adjusting the rhythm as he gauged her response.

  Her thighs were clamped around him, and then she was crying out again as he brought her to climax, his fingers and tongue and teeth working her to ecstasy.

  His cock was so hard it was painful. But it was worth the wait to taste her.

  “Oh,” she sighed again, then uttered a soft laugh. “You did promise, didn’t you?”

  “Are you satisfied?” he asked.

  “Mmm-hmm. But you’re not.” She slid her hand between them and wrapped her fingers around his shaft, drawing him toward her entrance. “I want you to fuck me, Captain Enormous,” she said as she put him inside.

  “Gladly, Lady Adventurous,” he replied.

  And then finally he was inside her, her warm, soft heat surrounding him. She grabbed his arse, holding him to her as he began to thrust.

  He didn’t know how long he could last. Not when she was biting her lip, her head thrown back, her breasts jiggling against his chest. Her fingers digging into his buttocks, her passage tight.

  He kept moving, faster and faster, his orgasm building until he couldn’t hold out any longer, and he withdrew, spilling on her stomach, his hand gripping his shaft as he exploded.

  “Mmm,” she murmured when his cock had finally stopped jerking. “That was lovely.”

  He collapsed beside her on the table, not caring that the hard wood was likely bruising both of their bodies. He could handle it if she could, and he already knew she could handle anything.

  His Della. His love.

  Chapter 22

  Della didn’t want this moment to end, although she had to admit it wasn’t entirely comfortable lying on a dining room table.

  In fact, not comfortable at all.

  She shifted, propping herself up on her hand to look at him. He gazed back at her, a deep warmth in his eyes.

  And she panicked, which she shouldn’t have. She knew that. Still— “Wait,” she said, placing her hand over his mouth when he was opening it to speak. “Wait until later. I need to take care of a few things first.” She grabbed the table cloth and cleaned herself off.

  His expression made it look as though he would argue, but eventually he nodded, and she removed her hand as she drew herself up to get off the table. She cast one last regretful look at him, spread out like a banquet just for her, then picked up her shift and put it on, then her corset, and then shook out her gown and stepped into it.

  “Can you do me up?” she asked, turning her back to him.

  “I’d rather not,” he replied, but she heard him move and begin to do up the buttons.

  “I promise we’ll talk later about all this, but I don’t want to until I know—”

  “Until you know what? Isn’t it enough to know that I lo—?”

  “Shh,” she said, giving him a reproachful look. “Don’t distract me with your powers of persuasion, which are mighty. First you need to tell me where I will find Mr. Baxter. And I promise, I will come see you in a few hours.”

  He told her without hesitation. Just that; not insisting he go with her, or urge her not to do anything reckless. She’d do what she wanted to do, and he respected that.

  He wouldn’t try to stop her. He knew her. He understood her, even if he didn’t understand what she had to do before deciding everything.

  “Sarah?” Della called outside her friend’s room.

  The door opened, and Sarah poked her head out, a knowing look on her face as she surveyed Della’s state of attire.

  “I gather you accepted his apology?” Sarah said in a dry tone of voice.

  Della rolled her eyes at her friend. “Yes, you know I did. You knew I would. I can’t believe I’ve fallen in love with him, but there you go.”

  “And Mr. Baxter?”

  Della’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “I am going to see him and deal with him myself. And then, if you wish, we can go see your parents. You deserve an explanation as to why they lied to Henry.”

  Sarah’s expression darkened. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary. You’ve done enough. I need to do this on my own. Well, on my and Henry’s own. Besides,” she continued in a lighter tone, “I think you’ll have your h
ands full with Mr. Baxter.”

  “If they’re not wrapped around his throat,” Della replied.

  “And I wanted to speak with you anyway,” Sarah continued. “Henry and I have had an offer from the Duke of Northam. He’s asked us to come live with him. I’ll be his nurse, and Henry will work in the gardens. There is a school being planned there so I can continue teaching as well, if I want. It’s a generous offer.”

  “What about when—?” Della asked.

  Sarah smiled. “He’s ill, but his doctors say he’s got more time now. I’m sorry you won’t be a duchess soon.”

  “I’m not sorry at all,” Della retorted. “Does Griffith know?”

  Sarah nodded. “The duke told him just recently.”

  “He’ll be so relieved,” Della said. She had seen how much Griffith cared for his cousin.

  “It will be a good place for Emily to live. As long as you, Nora, and Lord Stanbury promise to visit often.”

  Della squeezed Sarah’s hands, then wrapped her friend in an impulsive hug. “I am so glad for you,” she whispered.

  “And I you,” Sarah replied in a soft voice. “Please try not to murder anyone before you get your happily-ever-after.”

  Della stepped back, laughing. “I will do what I can.”

  “Never?” his boatswain’s mate said after Griffith had spoken.

  Clark and Hyland had done good work assembling as much of the crew as they could find—they were in the pub where Griffith had first seen her. When his life had changed so dramatically, even though he hadn’t known it at the time.

  The ale was still mediocre, but his crew didn’t seem to care, especially since Griffith was paying.

  “Never,” Griffith confirmed. “You’ll have to sail on without me, lads.” He took a sip from his glass. “I’ll supply references for anybody who wants one. And if you decide you don’t wish to return to sea after all—if you want to follow my example—there’s work to be had with the Duke of Northam.”