Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(25)

And then the plea did come out. “Please. I can’t take it anymore.”

“I think you can—and you will thank me later.” His tongue moved up the curve of one breast, tracing the edge of her nipple, but not touching the center.

Her whole world began to focus on that one small inch of flesh. In this moment, without her sight, that was all she knew.

She could smell him: musk, amber, and still the lingering scent of apples. She could feel him, his weight on her hips and fingers and mouth, playing, teasing—persecuting.

And then just when she could take it no more, his lips locked about her nipple, sucking it deep. Heaven.

Rapture.

Euphoria.

And then it all began again—the need growing and growing, never ending.

His teeth scraped her.

He nipped and laved.

Moved to the other breast.

A cry escaped her, sharp and needful.

His lips left her. “Aah, my sweet, are you trying to tell me that you’re ready? That you need me? Need me now?”

“Yes. Yes, please. Please.”

“Let me see.” One hand slid down between her legs. “You do feel ready.”

“Please.”

“Stay still then.” She felt his weight leave her, the bed sinking between her spread legs as he settled.

His breathing was loud and steady. She strove for some other sign of what he was about to do.

She could not feel him, could not hear him—except for those breaths. Only the shift in the mattress told her where he was.

“I want you to close your eyes.” His voice was that of a snake charmer. “I know you cannot see, but I want you to picture yourself. You, lying on the bed, spread out for my delight—white skin, full breasts swollen from my kisses, dark curls damp with moisture, with desire for me, and only for me. Imagine those sweet nether lips crying out for satisfaction, crying out with need.

“Now picture me between those legs. Remember my body, remember how it grew for you, surged for you. I am on my knees, my thighs spread just a bit to steady myself—and all I can see is you, the beauty of you, the need of you.”

Her body grew tighter with each word, her mind filled with his images. She could see him: the broad shoulders, the muscled chest sprinkled with dark hair, the hard muscled thighs and lean hips—and his cock, long and thick, the tip darker and wider, that single drop of moisture at the end.

Her body clenched with need, her inner muscles drawing tight.

“Need” was right. Her body was crying for him.

If only she knew his face, his eyes—knew the look of his want, his desire.

She’d thought to put her husband’s face there, but she could not.

Charles was Charles. There could be no other.

“I am stroking myself now.” His voice pulled her back to the moment and out of her imagination.

“I wish I could actually see.”

“Strangely, I do, too,” he said softly.

She wanted to ask him why he’d said “strangely,” but before she could form the words she felt him shift, his weight lowering over her.

“I am poised just above you now. Are you ready? In another moment you will no longer be a virgin.”

“Yes. I am ready.” And she was—but still her body stiffened with nerves.

“Relax. I know it’s hard, but try to make your body soft, welcoming. It will go easier if you do.”

How could he ask that of her now? Did he have any idea how she felt? The combination of nerves and excitement made any thought of relaxing her body impossible.

A finger stroked her, parted her, and then she felt him there, just in that spot.

“Breathe in—then out.”

She obeyed. His voice left her no choice.

And then in a single thrust he filled her, a second of sharp, biting pain—and then it was over and she was full, stretched. It did ache, but she wasn’t sure it was in an altogether bad way.

Her hips shifted slightly as she tried to decide if she liked this feeling.

“How are you?” he breathed in her ear.

“I believe I am fine. Is it over?”

“You never cease to amaze me. I am going to move now. I will do my best to stop if you ask, but at some point that may prove impossible.”

He waited a moment and then eased forward, filling her further.

That did feel good.

He pulled back in a single smooth movement. She felt the loss of him inside her and her hips lifted of their own accord.

He pushed back in, deep and hard.

That felt even better.

Again.

And again.

Each time he thrust forward she felt the ache begin to grow, and each time he pulled back she felt the longing.

And then she found the rhythm, began to match him thrust for thrust. Her hips rose and fell, her inner muscles clenched and loosened.

His arms grabbed her wrists, holding her to the bed.

His mouth captured hers, devouring her.

And still she needed more. “Please.”

He thrust in harder, and her body clenched about him, holding him, tightening around him. The ache within her grew, her whole being focused and waiting.

She could feel him above her, hot, wet—the smell of man filling her nose.

He pushed in again, his bollocks slapping against her flesh.

And she felt it begin, tighter, tighter, every muscle growing taut. Her head arched back with the strain.