Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(32)

“Don’t—know—up to you—Can’t wait, can’t—”

She clamped her lips back about him as his hips bucked up, pushing him farther into her throat than she’d thought possible. Breathing was hard, if not impossible, but she held on, sensing what her actions were doing to him.

His body jerked, and she felt the spurt deep in her throat, felt it along the vein at the base of his cock, felt wave after wave of power and pleasure shoot through him. He called “Grace” again and again, his voice hoarse and strained.

And then he collapsed, his whole being falling back. His breath slowed as he drew in great gulps of air.

Running her lips over him one last time, she released him, falling back herself, as an understanding of what she had just done filled her.

She was glad he could not see the wide smile that spread across her face.



He had died. There was no other explanation for how he felt than that he was visiting with the angels—albeit angels such as no saint had ever described. His body still screamed with pleasure even as relaxation took him. There was not an inch of him that was not satisfied.

Reaching down, he pulled Grace up, cradled her against his chest. Her face and hair were damp from exertion. He placed a kiss upon her forehead, pushing aside her tangle of curls.

Life could not be better than it was at this moment.

He let the thought fill him, and examined it. Normally this was a time of escape: The moment had passed, the anticipation had been filled, and he was ready to move on, planning how to leave.

With Grace, that was all turned upside down. Feeling her small body pressed against his brought only contentment and wonder.

How had he ever managed to find her? How could he manage to keep her?

Keep her?

Was he really thinking such thoughts?

She sighed slightly, her nose brushing along the hairs of his chest. He could feel sleep begin to take her. Should he wake her? Return the favor she had just granted him? Further her education along other lines?

Perhaps in a moment—or two—or three.

It felt far too good just to lie here. His eyelids drifted down.

In just a bit, he would decide what to do—figure out how to continue their relationship.





Chapter Ten





The slow glow of approaching dawn beat across her eyelids. She didn’t want to wake up, didn’t want to move. It was still early. She could sleep for several more hours.

A heavy weight moved next to her, causing the bed to shift, to sink, to bend, drawing her deeper into the heavy weight of quilts and pillows—and man.

Her eyes sprung open as understanding filled her.

God, what had she done?

God, what hadn’t she done?

Heat rose from toe to cheek as the images and sensations of the previous night came back to her.

That hadn’t been her. That had been some other woman, some other wanton.

Never in her life had she dreamed that such things, such feelings were possible, and now she knew—she didn’t even know quite what she knew, but she knew.

No wonder Madame had thought she needed experience if she was ever going to pretend that her marriage had been a true one in all ways. How could her mother ever have thought that was something to be avoided, to be endured?

Perhaps she truly was a wanton.

Although, if she was, she wasn’t sure she altogether minded. Some things were worth it.

She should have been feeling shame. She had expected to. There might have been a greater purpose to her actions, but she’d long ago accepted that they were sins. She was not married to him, to Charles, and so last night had been wrong.

But never had wrong felt so right.

Stretching, although careful not to brush against Charles, she sat in the large bed and turned to look at him.

He slept on his stomach, arms and legs outstretched, encompassing almost the entirety of the mattress. He surely was not used to sharing his sleep with another. His face was turned to the pillows, buried deep. Soft snores escaped and he mumbled in his sleep.

It sounded like he was murmuring “Grace,” her name for this single night.

Leaning over, she placed a kiss on the muscled curve of his shoulder.

He stirred, mumbled again. Hastily she drew back. She did not want to wake him, not as light began to ease into the chamber through the slight parting of the drapes. Slipping from the bed, she stood, stretched again. Her body ached in many unfamiliar places.

Satisfaction brought a grin to her lips.

She had done it. And it had been wonderful.

Her virginity was no longer.

Twirling slightly, she grabbed her gown from where it lay in a pile on the floor and pulled it over her head. Her toes performed their own little dance.

She should go. She should go.

She didn’t want to.

Turning back to the bed, she slowly approached. Charles snorted in his sleep, his chin pushing from beneath the pillows. It would be a simple action to reach out and carefully remove the pillow. She could look upon him and he would never know. Was he as handsome in reality as in the images her mind had wrought? It was not possible.

And, therefore, was it not better to dream? To let this night forever remain a fantasy?

And it was only honorable.

Charles had granted her a great gift. She would not betray him.

Wrapping her arms about herself, she slipped into the hallway, seeking the small room in which she had left her clothing the previous evening.