How to Marry a Marble Marquis(21)

“That’s it, darling. Just like that. If you tease your suitor half so well, you’ll be likely to have a proposal before dinner on the second night.”

When she reached the ribbed ridges at the base of his head, she hesitated, sucking in a shuddering breath before letting her nails continue to trace and scrape. His cock was throbbing, his knot fully inflated, and he was overcome with the desire to flip their positions, push it into her, and spend himself, stoppering her cunt like a cork as he pumped her full of his hot seed. He had never knotted a woman before, refusing to be saddled with the responsibility of children who could not even inherit his title, the ill-thought consequences of unguarded lust — but he was desperate to knot Eleanor Eastwick, the desire to do so making him dizzy. When her fingers ran over the apple-sized knot at the base of his shaft, it was his turn to groan, the sound swallowed by the soft pillow of her naked breast.

“Is-is this a-a —“

“A slight difference in our anatomy,” he gritted out, wheezing as she explored the swollen protuberance. “One that’s” — she squeezed, and Silas felt his eyes roll back with a force that nearly blinded him —“extremely sensitive to pressure, as you just applied. It’s to aid in breeding, although I’ve only ever found use for its more pleasurable applications.”

Her hand slowed, nails scraping in a way that made his back arch. “Do you go into a-a breeding heat, my lord?”

Her voice was hushed, and Silas could not immediately tell whether or not she sounded horrified or intrigued at the notion. He was almost disappointed to have to answer in the negative. Eleanor Eastwick’s hand dragged up the length of him, her eyes intent, student outrunning the teacher, and he nearly choked on his grunt of pleasure.

“I do not, but the females of my species do. Fortunately, I’m not terribly interested in placing myself in a position where that would make a difference.”

“And is this such a place, my lord?” Another squeeze to his knot, slow and deliberate. Her finger began to pulse, palpating him until his heartbeat matched the cadence, thudding at the back of his tongue and behind his eyes. The desire to cover her body with his and claim her as his own was making him dizzy. “That is, one of the scenarios you do place yourself within?”

Silas struggled to meet her lips, crashing his mouth to hers, claiming her with lips and teeth and tongue, the same way he wanted to claim her body. He felt her quick intake of breath, her hand squeezing the shape of him as he stroked his tongue against her own, and finally, her soft sigh of acquiescence as she melted into the kiss, surrendering. She was hardly the first woman he’d had in such a position, but Silas couldn’t deny that the weight of her in his arms and the long press of her body to his was singularly delicious.

“This is a far more desirable position than I normally find myself in, my dear. Perhaps you would care for us to adjourn upstairs and continue your lesson in more comfortable surroundings?”

Her hands faltered at his words, releasing him entirely before pulling away slowly. She blinked down at him as she sat up, her chest heaving. “Yes, of course,” she gasped out. “My lesson. It’s good of you to keep reminding me, Lord Stride.”

The sound that came then from the hallway was so calamitous and unexpected that they both jumped, Eleanor crying out in surprise. In the blink of an eye, her dress was righted and smoothed, beautiful creamy breasts tucked away where they belonged, her hair patted back into place, and the look on her face only a tiny bit guilty.

“I-I should go, my lord. It’s getting quite late. Thank you for the valuable instruction.”

Silas wanted to argue, wanted to remind her that these late hours were normal for her, she’d said. That she was nearly like him — a creature of the twilight. She should stay, spend the rest of the night with him, stay with him until dawn and let him pleasure her until his skin was stiff and unyielding . . . It made no difference. She left quickly after the unceremonious interruption — which had been one of the musicians dropping their case — looking away as he kissed her hand, her eyes downcast and her cheeks flushed. And here you are, old boy — cock throbbing and not a soul to care.





“Will you sing for me?”

He was smiling as she turned. They had just finished taking tea in the conservatory again. It was his favorite room in the London house. The closest he could get to being out-of-doors while still safely ensconced, the moonlight shining down upon them.

There was much debate amongst his kind, whether they were creatures of the sun, creatures of the moon. They took their energy from the sun, absorbed heat and life, soaking it in from sunrise to sunset, but beneath the moon’s icy gaze, they came alive. Silas didn’t feel any particular affinity for the sun. He had never seen it, so he didn’t miss it. The moon, though, the moon he loved and could never get enough. Sitting beneath the glass ceiling of the conservatory across from Eleanor Eastwick in the middle of the night, the moon shining down on them, felt unbearably comfortable. Too comfortable.

It was a heavy pressure that clawed at his insides, pulling him down until he didn’t know whether or not he wanted to surrender beneath it or struggle against it. There was that strange shift again in his chest as he watched her daintily sip from her cup – so lovely to behold, well mannered, well bred, pauperized by life’s cruelties, beyond her control, and his arms twitched, aching to take her. If he learned that Eleanor Eastwick was a witch, Silas would not be at all surprised. His arms, his chest, his grasping hands — they all longed to pull her under the sensation with him, and it was only his good sense that kept him upright.