Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(26)

She could take no more.

The need, the ache, encompassed all.

Deeper. Deeper.

And then a scream left her lips, her body arching high to meet his, breaking and being remade.

If she had thought she’d seen stars before, this was fireworks. Victory fireworks. Celebration.

Bursts of color against the night sky.

And then she heard his cry, “Grace,” echoing through the space. No sound had ever been sweeter. His body slammed into hers and stayed, his thighs tight and bunched against her own.

And then, even as she thought she was coming down, it hit again.

Her body releasing again and again. Waves of pleasure sweeping through her until she knew nothing else.

And then peace.

Her body sank to the bed, movement impossible.

He lay upon her, his weight great and heavy, and yet she could not bear the thought of his leaving her.

His chest pressed hard against her as he pulled in great gulps of air.

And then he rolled away, leaving her cold.

But suddenly she was in his arms, her head cradled against his shoulder. She turned her head and laid a kiss about his damp flesh. This was completion. At no moment in her entire life could she ever remember having felt his way, felt this need for nothing more.

Closing her eyes beneath the blindfold, she let herself drift. She should have wanted words and sweetness, but she was happy as she was.

He drew her closer, and she could only smile.

And then she heard his snore. Not a big one. Not a grating one. But still, a definite snore.

It reassured her as nothing else could have.

This was how it was supposed to be.



He came awake slowly, his body content and relaxed. God, he felt good—more than good. He started to stretch and became aware of the small feminine body pressed against him.

Instantly, his body was much less content.

Grace. Her name filled his mind.

And then came the images, the memories of what they had done.

His toes curled with pleasure.

He had come completely undone. He’d meant to go easy on her, to be as gentle as possible, and instead he’d slammed and thrust into her like a madman—and she’d been with him every inch of the way. When she’d wrapped herself around him, her muscles milking him, he’d been unable to contain himself. He’d virtually exploded, pleasure as he’d never known taking him.

He looked down at her. The blindfold had risen farther up one cheek, revealing the high, elegant curve of bone. He knew she must be unbelievably beautiful.

He could push the mask up now and she would never know. He could see her, study her, know her. It could be his secret. He would never betray her even should he meet her again.

But that would be a betrayal in itself.

He reached down and stroked her cheek. He could not do it.

A soft hum left her lips, and he felt her calves move. Her lips parted.

She stiffened, her body drawing tight. Her hand came up, reaching for the blindfold.

A moment’s temptation, but then he reached up, stopping her. “Don’t. You are safe, but you must keep it on. Do you remember where you are?”

She held quiet for a moment, thinking. “Yes. You are Charles and I am no longer a virgin.”

Aah, that was his girl, his woman. “No, you most certainly are not.”

“It was far better than I expected.”

“I am most pleased to hear that.”

She pressed closer to him, the lines of her body conforming to his. Her breasts moved against him, soft upon his chest.

Again his body stirred.

She felt the movement. Her hand moved down, stroking and then wrapping about him. “You were right. You can do it more than once.”

“But you probably should not. You will find yourself quite sore.”

“I would like to say I am not, but I do fear you are correct—although it is a most wonderful sore.” Her fingers moved upon him, her own little dance.

He reached down and grabbed her hand, stilling it. “You should rest.”

“But I have not yet tasted.”

Damn, she was temptation itself. “Perhaps later. We still have the rest of the night.”

“But …”

“Why don’t I gut the candle and you can sleep a little longer. I should not have woken you. There is no one waiting for you, is there?”

“No. Even my maid thinks I am visiting a friend. I sent a note that I had decided to spend the night.”

“That is good. So rest. Despite what you’re holding in your hand, I also could do with a breather, and, perhaps, a glass of brandy.” There was some truth to that. He could use a respite—only in normal circumstances, he would have taken it later. When did a man turn down a willing mouth—and such a full, lovely one. He ran a finger across her lips.

She caught it with her teeth, sucked it in.

Had he taught her that?

He pulled away, from both her mouth and her hand. “Brandy,” he said, and swung from the bed, away from all that she offered. She truly did need rest and a chance to understand all that had happened between them.

The fire had burned low, and he grabbed the poker and stirred the coals. He almost added another log, but stopped. Instead he poured his brandy and gulped it down fast. A shameful way to treat such a fine vintage, but he needed the burn. He set the glass down and turned back to the bed.