Chapter Nine
It was, of course, impossible to sleep, or even pretend it.
Daphne was curled onto her side on the small bed in the otherwise spacious cabin with her husband lying motionless behind her. She was maddeningly conscious of his body next to hers. They had spent another hour or so on the deck, and she would allow she’d never had a more wonderful time. Sometimes they were silent and simply watched the stars, other times they talked, about anything and everything. It had seemed frighteningly normal. That this is what their marriage could be like had been a resounding thought. The laughter, the friendship as they drank and shared the things they cared about. And the sweet tension that had filled her with every heated stare from her husband, every brush of his breath against her nape, and the gradual hardness that had formed beneath her buttocks, which they had elected to ignore.
She’d had no idea what their days together would be like. So far nothing had gone as she’d expected. Somehow, when they’d retired she had thought they would occupy separate cabins. The vessel had certainly seemed large enough. As it was, Daphne dismissed Letty to another cabin when her husband had entered hers dressed in only black trousers and bare feet. The earl’s state of undress had disconcerted Daphne. Her lady’s maid had squeaked her mortification and hurried from the cabin, her eyes downcast. The wretched man had chuckled, amusement dancing in his green eyes.
With toiletries completed, she had slipped between the sheets on the small bed. He had joined her, and Daphne was certain an hour had passed, and she was still unable to sleep. She was simply too aware of the man behind her. Unwilling to examine her feelings closely, Daphne found herself oddly restless. She shifted, and he swore under his breath. Her eyes widened.
She wriggled again, and he said some choice words, ones that were decidedly unfit for a lady to hear. She fought a smile and lost. It bemused her that she was grinning widely.
If only she could tempt and torment him for six years.
“Merciful Christ,” he muttered, sounding thoroughly aggrieved. “Please, be still, my wife.”
My wife. She tried, truly she did, but a full minute passed before she kicked the cotton sheets from her leg, feeling unbearably warm. Her body felt incredibly alive, every sense somehow keener. “Are you sleeping?”
He grunted. She sighed. There was an awful frustration tugging at her insides without an ounce of mercy.
“Take what you need,” he said softly.
“I need more space,” she replied, knowing full well to what he alluded.
“Come on top of me and lay your head on my chest and your feet over my hips.”
A delicious shock flared through her, and she suddenly found it difficult to breathe. “Do husbands and wives sleep like that?”
“I don’t know. We could.”
“Do lovers?” she asked, beyond curious.
“You’re the only person I’ve ever slept with through the night,” he said gruffly.
The knowledge warmed her. She tentatively faced him. His mouth was only an inch or two away from hers. Her eyes snapped to his, and the soft light from the lone candle barely made his features discernable, but more sensually compelling than at a distance. His eyes glittered with such intensity Daphne was almost discomfited. Almost. The wicked heat lurking in his eyes was irresistible, and the other part of her was undoubtedly stirred. She repositioned herself just how he had stated, her face to his chest, one of her legs draped across his thighs. She was practically lying on top of him, and it was surprisingly pleasant.
Thud. Thud. Thud. His heartbeat lulled her for several seconds. “I would like to visit the Asylum.”
“The gambling club owned by Riordan O’Malley?”
Riordan O’Malley had begun trying to establish himself in society, and several lords and ladies were rightly alarmed. The man’s reputation was dastardly, and his interest in society was suspect. The few occasions Daphne had interacted with him at one of Georgiana’s socials, Daphne had found the enigmatic Mr. O’Malley quite interesting.
“Oh yes, Georgianna has visited, and the tales of sin and debauchery she’s mentioned must be witnessed firsthand. She, of course, went in disguise.”
“Done.”
“You’re awfully accommodating.”
“You’re adventurous.”
“And you like that,” she said, responding to the rich pleasure in his voice.
“I do. In fact, I quite like you, my wife.” His tone was mild, languid even, as if he had not just said something she had never thought to hear from him. Daphne was very aware not many men in the ton actually liked their spouses. It was such a simple phrase, yet so frightfully complicated. It hinted that more was possible, and the surge of yearning that went through her brought tears to her eyes.
Another silence fell, and though several minutes passed she could tell from his heartbeat that he was nowhere close to slumber. Unable to bear being so close, she untangled from him and repositioned on her side, facing away from him.
“Why do you hesitate with your desires?”
Her heart gave a fierce leap at his low murmur and how it stroked along the sensitive nerve endings in her body. “I cannot,” she said, her voice embarrassingly husky with need.
“Why not?”
She had gained enough knowledge to know how children were brought into existence. And she had enough self-possession to realize once he touched her, her resistance would crumble alarmingly. Her vow to give their marriage a chance for eight weeks did not mean that she had given up on the future she wanted to carve for herself. She tried desperately not to think about the future. Not now…at least not for another several weeks. She wanted to bask in this rare moment of being tempted, of knowing it would take so little to yield, and anticipating the pleasure that would await her. “I do not want to fall with child.”
Her earl stilled, then his body relaxed. She felt the weight of her hair shift and a kiss was pressed against the nape of her neck, the caress the softest brush of satin.
The devil was so gentle…the fleeting touch so persuasive.
“There are ways to prevent that.”
Before she could formulate a reply, he said, “In fact, tonight, I only want to please you. I will not take more than you are willing to give.”
Wasn’t that the problem? With a simple touch, she wanted to surrender everything to him. “It would be terribly selfish of me.”
For she had no intention of yielding to the pulse of desire between them, and he seemed to understand her unspoken denial.
“Be selfish.”
She swallowed, tempted beyond anything she had ever endured.
“Take your pleasure with me, wife.”
He snaked his hand around to her hips and curved his body behind hers. His erection jutted into her buttocks, and she boldly reached around and between them to lightly skim her hand over his straining hardness.
His groan was tortured and pleased in equal measure.
“I cannot risk it.” It would be quite different if he loved her. Then she would risk everything.
Her earl dragged her nightgown up and bunched it at her waist. Then he eased one of his legs between hers and parted her slightly. Daphne jerked as he cupped between her legs.
“You’re wet.”
Mortifyingly so. He caressed her slick folds, and she shivered at the astonishing pleasure that tightened low in her stomach.
“No matter how tempted I am, I won’t take you with my cock. That way, we’ll not risk you becoming pregnant.”
Her breath faltered entirely. “That goes against your desire for an heir.”
“I’m a patient man,” he said mildly. “And I want…no, I need you to be selfish and do whatever you want tonight. I’m yours to command, my wife.”
How utterly remarkable and delightful. Who better to explore all the desires that had been buried in her heart for so long with?
“I’ll use my fingers and tongue to pleasure you. I’ve spent many nights imagining your sweet plump folds on my lips, and my tongue flicking along your pearl.”
Dear God.
“How strange it is that I never knew,” she said.
His hand slid along the outer curve of her thigh, pulling her night rail up to her waist. Allowing him to touch her was fast becoming a matter of self-preservation. Surely she would expire if the need twisting through her veins was not assuaged.
“Knew what?”
She arched her head into his chest and stared up at him. “That you were so wicked,” she whispered and leaned forward to brush her mouth lightly across his. “And that I would like it so very much.”
He caught her lower lip between his teeth and tugged with soft nips. Sylvester shifted, barely, and she was suddenly flat on her back, her earl’s powerful frame looming over her. His head dipped, and his lips caressed fleetingly along her jaw to her ear, where they lingered. “I’ve envisioned you riding my tongue and fingers, sweat slicking your skin, your lips parted on a scream, your eyes wild with need.”
She heard the arousal in his voice and felt the answering ache between her legs. She savored the sensual gleam in his eyes. His mouth came down on hers, hard and fierce and urgent. It was much too late to protest, even had she wanted to do so. Firm hands gathered her nightgown at the front and ripped, parting the silk in the middle and exposing her naked form to his gaze. The ravenous kiss eased, and once again, he placed the lightest of kisses across her lips, down to her collarbone and around the edges of the frayed nightgown. He worshiped at the underside of her breast, never touching her nipples, never assuaging the ravenous attention they demanded.
She swallowed a heavy sob of frustration, gripped his hair, and tugged him up, slanting her mouth over his. How quickly their kiss became desperate. His tongue stroked overs hers in a sensual exploration that was tender and arousing and wildly exciting. With a deep groan, he tore his mouth away from hers and bent to take a throbbing nipple between his teeth. A wild cry tore from her throat. Her skin felt engulfed in flames, and she wanted the empty ache that had lingered inside for six tormenting years to be filled.
Firm hands gripped her hips and pushed her up until the cabin walls prevented her movements, while he inched down, his hot breath whispering over her exposed mound. His eyes met hers for a moment. Sweet mercy, from the inside out, she needed his touch. The slow smile he gave her was impossibly wicked and carnal, then he dipped his head, and his tongue glided through her wet folds.
Daphne screamed his name, even though she’d sworn she wouldn’t, determined to hold back a part of herself. He chuckled, the sound one of low masculine arrogance and appreciation. He repeated his slow lick, and her entire body shivered under the lash of delight. Her fingers clenched tighter on the sheets beneath her as he licked and nibbled with decadent greed.
The yacht dipped and rolled, shifting the bed, and Daphne could not rouse herself from the wanton spell her husband wrapped her in to care if rain and winds raged outside of their sensual heaven. And she was helpless beneath it.
He captured her aching knot of pleasure between his lips and sucked, alternately rough and gentle. A whimper escaped her lips, while her hands released the sheets and rose to tangle in his hair. Her thighs fell open even wider, inviting him to be naughtier…and he complied, raking his teeth over her nub. The sensual little pain had weakness shuddering through her body. Two of his fingers stroked deep, sending her senses careening.
She shook her head, fighting him, fighting the pleasure as his mouth continued to torture and torment. He pressed her even tighter to his mouth, licked her deeper.
It was too much. Too much pleasure. Too many sensations.
The excruciating pleasure peaked and broke, cascading ecstasy through her.
Her whole body felt gloriously weak. He withdrew from her, and even after taking several shuddering breaths, tremors of pleasures still coursed through her veins. A sense of lack of fulfillment lingered, but she would not be reckless and demand more.
Sylvester rolled from her, and she scooted over so he could fit his large frame beside hers. Daphne expected to feel some guilt for using him without giving in return, but all she felt was the echoes of delight.
Her earl groaned, and she slanted a glance at him, flushing as he fisted his manhood through his breeches, his expression a tight grimace of lust and pain. Yet he did not reach for her or attempt to seduce her to slake his evident need.
“What can I do?” she murmured.
His eyes snapped open, and she almost drowned in the brilliant glitter of raw desire. He made no reply. Instead, Sylvester freed the flap of his breeches, and his length sprang free. She gasped at the magnificent beauty of him. His manhood was long and thick. Daphne tentatively reached out and barely touched the flared mushroomed head.
“Kiss me.”
Their gazes collided, and a surge of sensual awareness went through her. He did not mean on the mouth. She became flushed and breathless and filled with a strange sense of anticipation. He fisted his thick length and stroked up, the motion carnal and inviting her to take him. She leaned forward, lowering herself to her elbows, and gently pried his fingers away. Every line in her husband’s beautiful body went taut with anticipation.
She licked him.
He shouted. And she smiled.
She enveloped the tip in her mouth. His taste exploded on her tongue, rich and earthy.
Sylvester gathered her mass of hair and fisted the strands, holding her gaze. His touch was sensual, dominant, and she responded to the gentle flex of his hips, taking him deeper into her mouth. His hands tightened in her hair, his fingers flexing against her scalp.
“You’re so damned beautiful.” His voice was strangled. “So damned beautiful you steal my breath.”
She slid her tongue delicately over the throbbing head before taking more than half of him in her mouth. At times her teeth scraped him, but her earl did not seem to mind.
“God, that’s good,” he groaned, pulling back, then thrusting easily between her lips again.
Using his groans and curses and tense muscles to guide her, she licked and sucked him until he was shaking beneath her, until he pulled from her lips with a harsh groan and emptied his release in the tattered remains of her nightgown.
Daphne didn’t object when he pulled her atop him, and she wrapped around him like a vine. Their ragged breathing eventually calmed, and finally, she could feel the drag of sleep.
I’m falling in love with my husband.
How distressing the awareness wasn’t a cause for joy, but instead doubt and trepidation. There were advantages to be found in a good marriage, even if they did not burn with the wildest of love and passion. Daphne swallowed. Her heart was not eased with that admission, and her eyes smarted. She wanted it all… Friendship with her husband, wonderful children, and the soul-aching love she knew existed. The possibility of what they could be had hope and a heavy dash of fear tightening her throat. It made no sense to wish, for her earl did not seem like a man who was inclined to love. But as she drifted off, for the first time in years, she allowed herself to dream of another ending.