Chapter 9
No, Sebastian thought to himself.
No, his problem was definitely not solved. His problem was growing by the moment, hardening against the placket of his trousers.
“Don’t play games,” he warned, keeping his distance a few paces away. “If you don’t truly want this…”
“I want this.” She crossed to him, reached for his hand, and placed it on her breast. “I want you.”
That was it.
Restraint, depleted. Argument, over. Decision, made.
There was only so much temptation a man could take from the woman who’d been the center of his every torrid fantasy. If she wanted him, she was going to get him. Every last, aching inch.
He grabbed her by the backside and lifted her straight off the floor so that her legs wrapped around his hips. Then he carried her toward the bed.
“Wait,” she said. “Are you sure it will hold us?”
In answer, he simply tumbled with her onto the mattress. She tensed and held her breath.
When the bed didn’t collapse, he arched an eyebrow in chastisement. “You know, you should have a little more faith in your husband.”
“You’re right. In the future, I will.”
“Good.”
She didn’t need to know that the bed was now sturdy because he’d followed her instructions. He’d keep that to himself.
Now that he had her beneath him, he brushed a light kiss to her lips and then trailed his mouth downward, making an arrow-straight path for her hardened left nipple.
He’d been waiting more than a decade to taste her there.
He swirled his tongue over the tight pink peak, and then drew her nipple into his mouth, suckling her lightly. She bucked and moaned beneath him, and he pulled harder still. He transferred his attention to the other breast, licking over her nipple and then painting her breast in widening circles.
She was so soft, so sweet. He could have spent a full night treasuring and nuzzling her bosom alone—and someday, he vowed, he would—but tonight, his body clamored with impatience for more.
He rose up on his knees to yank at his cravat and wrestle out of his topcoat. She helped him in the effort, unbuttoning his waistcoat and tugging his shirt free of his trousers. When he was finally bared to the waist, he lowered himself atop her. His blood sang when their bodies met, skin to skin.
He slid a hand down her body, reaching between her thighs to explore her silken heat. She gasped and bit her lip. He held her gaze as he caressed and explored. With his thumb, he covered the swollen bundle of nerves at the crest of her sex, rubbing gently back and forth. Her breathing quickened, and her eyes glazed with pleasure.
“Good?” he asked.
She nodded. “Very.”
He bent his head to kiss her neck, then dipped lower to her breasts and belly, making his way to her mound.
Her thighs clamped down on his shoulders. “Wait.”
Sebastian waited. He’d waited more than a decade already. What were a few minutes more?
She pushed up on her elbows, looking down at him. “What are you doing?”
“I mean to kiss you.” He pressed his thumb against her. “Here.”
“Are you—” She broke off, distracted by his touch. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He clucked his tongue. “Not three minutes ago, you promised to have a little more faith in your husband.”
“I should know better than to say such things.” She lay back and flung her wrist over her eyes. “Very well. Do what you like.”
He smiled with devilish intent. “I’m going to do what you’ll like, too.”
*
When he laid his mouth to her…well, to her…Mary nearly jumped out of her skin. The pleasure was so keen, so unspeakably bright. One flutter of his tongue against her most sensitive place, and she writhed beneath him.
The sweetest torture.
Within moments, he had her responding to him with startling intensity. Her pleasure mounted at an unprecedented pace. She began to gasp and moan, lifting her hips to seek more contact. Then he slid a finger inside her, and the blissful stretch sent her over the edge. She cried out and convulsed with release. Her intimate muscles pulsed around his finger.
When the pleasure had left her wrung out and panting, he slid back up her body. He reached between them to unbutton the falls of his trousers. Then he found her hand and brought it to his erection. “Touch me.”
She explored his full length with her fingertips. The softness, the ridges, the smooth skin at the tip, and the hardness that underpinned everything. She encircled his shaft, stroking lightly up and down. His resulting moan was immensely gratifying.
He lowered himself atop her, and she felt the broad crown of his erection prodding at her entrance. “Are you ready?” His voice was hoarse, strained.
She nodded, unsure if it was the truth.
He pressed against her, and then inside her, stretching her body to accommodate his. She winced with the pain of it, but tried not to cry out. The last thing she wanted was for him to stop.
He loved her in slow, gentle, steady strokes. Even when his arm muscles trembled with tension, and his breathing was harsh. He took care of her, guarding her even from the strength of his own need.
Until the very end, when his pace faltered for a moment. When he resumed, it was in a faster, harder rhythm. His gruff, masculine sounds of pleasure thrilled her. She clutched his shoulders tight.
With a final, deep thrust, he collapsed atop her, shuddering with release.
Afterward, they held each other tight. No talking or kissing. Just breathing and existing together in the most simple, essential of ways.
He drew in a deep breath and released it as a growl, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing tight. “You.”
She smiled. “You.”
He lay back on the bed, and she rested her head on his chest.
“It’s quiet downstairs,” she said. “Fanny and Dick stopped arguing.”
“Do you think they killed each other with rolling pins, or poisoned themselves?”
“More likely they went out to the stables and fell asleep. But whichever it was, I hope they cleaned the kitchen first.”
As he held her, tenderly stroking her hair, Mary’s conscience began to needle her. “There’s something I should tell you,” she said, hoping he’d take the revelation well. “Something I should have told you before we married.”
“There’s something I should have told you, too.”
“What’s that?” She was happy for him to go first.
“I want a family. I should have told you this before you agreed to elope with me. But it’s not only that I need an heir. I want our child—hopefully, our children—to have a true home.”
Oh, Sebastian.
He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. “My youth was a string of broken promises. You know that. You were there. How many Christmases did I spend at your house when my own father failed to collect me from school?”
“I don’t know. But we were always happy to have you.”
“You pitied me,” he said. “The worst part was, you expected my presence, every year. Always a place set at the table, small gifts wrapped and waiting. Packets of sweets, fishing lures. I always assumed you scavenged a few odds and ends from about the house to give me, so that I wouldn’t feel left out. Until the year you knitted me a muffler. You probably don’t recall.”
“Of course I do. I made Henry one, as well.”
“I still have it, you know. Blue and gold stripes, my house colors at school. That’s when I finally understood. A muffler in my house colors couldn’t have been produced on a moment’s notice. You had to have knitted it in advance, and you had it wrapped and waiting.”
“Sebastian…”
“You knew. You all knew what I didn’t want to believe. That my father’s excuses were inventions, and his promises meant nothing. He would never keep his word to come for me. I should have realized it myself.” He passed a hand over his face. “I’d never felt so stupid.”
Mary sat up in bed. “You should not have felt stupid,” she told him. “You were a boy who wanted to believe in his father. There’s no shame in that. I’m only sorry he never lived up to your hopes.”
“You can’t know how it feels. It’s like being tied to a cartwheel, tumbling from hope to disappointment over and over again. Eventually, your spirit is simply crushed. I won’t put a child through that.” His eyes met hers. “Can you understand?”
She nodded.
“So it’s not enough for me to simply sire an heir and be done with it. I want to be a good father. To be there for every Christmas, every birthday. Teach our children to ride and fish, patch up their scrapes, put them to bed at night. I know it’s more than I let you believe when we eloped. I was selfish. Because I knew if I had any chance at that life, it would have to be with you. If you not for you and Henry and your father, I wouldn’t know what family is.”
“You darling man.” She leaned over and kissed his lips. “Nothing would make me happier than a family with you. Nothing.”
“You’re certain?”
“Have you ever known me to be otherwise?”
“I suppose not.” His mouth tipped in a lopsided smile. “So what was it you wanted to tell me?”
She stroked the space between his eyes. For once, there was no furrow in his brow, and she couldn’t bear to carve a new one.
“I wanted to tell you that I love you.”
His expression shuttered. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I think I do have to say it. Because I’ve been keeping it to myself for years now, and it’s burning a hole in my chest. You don’t believe me, do you?”
He shook his head. “Not for a moment. That is, unless you mean it in some sort of friendship or fondness way. There are different sorts of love, and—”
“Wait.” She sat up in bed, reaching for the edge of the rumpled bed linens. “I’ll prove it to you. You know I worked on my trousseau for years. Every girl does. But I hemmed this particular set of bed linens the year I was one-and-twenty, I believe.” She skimmed her fingertips along the side until she found what she was searching for. “Here.” She showed it to him. “What does that say?”
He peered at it. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. It’s ‘M.C.I.’ I was dreadfully infatuated with you by that time, and in a sentimental moment, I embroidered your initial at the end of my own. Nearly seven years ago.”
“But you say you were infatuated. Infatuation isn’t love.”
“No, it’s not. I told myself the same thing. So after you’d purchased your commission and left for war, I put my feelings aside. I told myself to be practical. Giles asked to court me, and then he asked me to marry him. I said yes. Even though I knew I didn’t love him, could never love him.”
She closed her eyes and steeled herself. “But it wasn’t until I lost Henry that I truly knew. The rector came to call. And I knew—I just knew—it meant one of you had been killed. When he told me Henry had died, I was devastated. Not only because I’d lost him—but because I’d had this terrible flash of relief in the same moment. I’d thought, Thank God it wasn’t Sebastian.” A hot tear fell to her cheek, and she impatiently dashed it away. “Can you imagine? I hated myself. But after that, there was no denying it. I was truly in love with you.”
He caught her in his arms and rolled them over, so that she was beneath him. His disbelieving gaze searched hers. “Mary.”
“I love you.” She took his face in her hands and kissed his cheek. “I love you.” Then his chin. “I love you.” Then the pounding pulse under his jaw. “I love y—”
He covered her mouth with his, kissing her forcefully. As if to forbid her from loving him, and at the same time beg her to never, ever stop. They tangled tongues and limbs and hearts and souls.
He buried his face in her neck. “I need you,” he whispered hoarsely. “Can you take me again?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
This time it was different. Not slow and tender, but desperate, urgent. He raised up on his arms and stared down at her, never breaking his intense gaze as he took her in deep, powerful thrusts.
This wasn’t lovemaking. It was possession.
“You’re mine now,” he said through clenched teeth. “Do you hear me? You’re mine.”
He moved harder, faster. As if he meant to pound at her body until he became part of her, sharing the same blood and bone, and pulling away would tear them both in two.
She held him tight, arching her hips to match his rhythm. His every motion drove her higher. Closer to her peak. Closer to him.
Somehow they found each other in the feverish storm of climax, holding each other in every possible way.
He slumped atop her, and she caressed his hair and shoulders as he recovered his breath. His back was slick with sweat.
“You’re mine now,” he whispered. “Don’t even try to argue it.”
“I won’t argue it,” she said. “Just as long as you understand that you’re mine, too.”