No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(98)

Neil hadn’t asked for conjugal advice from his friends at the Draven Club, but they’d given it anyway. The consensus seemed to be that a woman’s first time was less painful if she was fully aroused. It had been some time since Neil had done much more than kiss Juliana, and now when his fingers slid between the slippery folds of her sex, raw hunger and longing suffused him. He glanced at her face and saw her watching him with those beautiful eyes. Her lips were red and her cheeks pink.

“I want you,” she whispered. “I love you, Neil.”

“I love you,” he said as he bent to taste her. Her climax seemed to ripple through her without warning. He’d barely touched his tongue to her before she writhed on the bed and cried out, shuddering. Neil liked the sound of that cry and immediately decided they needed thicker walls and doors on their bedchamber at the orphanage. He intended to see that she made many more of those lusty cries.

Now he rose and positioned himself between her legs. His cock seemed to know what to do, even if he didn’t, and he was an inch inside her heat before he could stop himself. Juliana didn’t help. She bucked against him, urging him, trying to pull him deeper. Gritting his teeth, Neil moved inside her slowly. She was tight and hot, and he wanted to thrust hard and deep. Instead, he recited the names and numbers of every cavalry unit he could think of. He stroked her with his fingers, pausing when he heard her gasp or when her eyes widened in surprise.

“Am I hurting you?” he managed. Seventh Queen’s Own Hussars. Eighth Light Dragoons. Ninth Light Dragoons.

“A little, but it also feels wonderful,” she admitted. “Very strange.”

“Yes, that was the effect I wanted,” he said through clenched teeth. “Strange and painful.” Tenth Prince of Wales’s Hussars. Eleventh Light Dragoons.

“That’s not what I meant. Neil, I—”

She gasped on a moan as his fingers teased her again, sliding up and down over her sensitive flesh and circling that small, sensitive nub. He felt her contract around him, felt his own control slipping, and then she arched her hips, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. He thrust inside her. She cried out, even as her body continued to climax. Her muscles gripped him several more times, and he was almost undone.

Fifteenth King’s Hussars.

He closed his eyes and remained as still as possible. Finally, what seemed like months later, he felt her fingers stroke his cheek. “Are you hurt?” she asked.

He laughed and opened his eyes. “No. I’m attempting not to hurt you.”

“I feel quite wonderful,” she said, her gaze hazy and unfocused. “A little strange with you…well, there.”

“Could we possibly cease using the word ‘strange’ for the time being?” he said.

“Of course. Should we—Oh!”

He’d moved, and her eyes widened.

“Did that hurt?” he asked, concerned.

“A little, but it felt”—he gave her a warning look—“pleasant.”

He moved again, and she did not cry out in pain. He thrust deeper, and that was when she moaned. “Oh yes. I can see how that will feel lovely next time.”

Next time. He could barely fathom what was happening this time. It was both better and worse than he’d ever imagined. She was wet and tight and impossibly irresistible, but he felt like a schoolboy who had no control.

And perhaps that was as it should be—the two of them learning this dance, this new part of their lives together. As Juliana had said, they had a long night ahead of them. They had a long marriage ahead as well.

Later, after Neil had succumbed to the pleasure of his wife’s body, he held her against him. Her warmth and scent enveloped him just as his arms surrounded her. This was a new beginning, a new world; together, they would explore it. If they were together, their love could conquer anything.

*

Everything had gone as planned. Neil had gathered the surviving members of Draven’s troop and given orders like he had in the old days. It had felt damn good, giving an order that wouldn’t get anyone killed. It had taken finesse, charm, bribes, and royal intervention, but he had finally prevailed.

“Ready, sir?” Mrs. Dunwitty asked from the other side of the coach. The child slept peacefully in her arms after his long journey.

“Yes. Hand him over, will you?”

Mrs. Dunwitty obliged, and Neil took the baby, surprised at how solid he was for only ten months. He had wispy, dark hair with hints of auburn and chubby, pink cheeks. His eyes were brown, much like his aunt’s, and he smiled now in his sleep. Neil wondered what he dreamed of.

The coach’s door opened and Neil climbed out and carried the child into the town house. St. Maur was waiting in the vestibule. Silently, he pointed to the parlor, where Juliana liked to see to her correspondence most mornings. The man who had become his father-in-law only a week or so before knocked on the door and opened it.

“Yes, what is it?” Juliana asked, her head bent over the desk.

“We have a new resident of the orphanage,” Neil said.

She looked up, her brows furrowed. “What do you mean? Neil!” She rose. “Where did this child come from? How will we find room for—” She put a hand to her heart, and for a moment Neil thought she might scream. Then she ran to him and all but ripped the child from his arms. Davy fussed, then snuggled against her as though coming home.