Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(81)

His fingers dove even deeper, lifting her to her toes. God. Her body sucked at him, demanding. Her breath came in sharp pants each time he plunged deep. She tried to push back, to take more, but the angle would not allow it.

“Greedy, aren’t you,” he laughed against her neck.

A hand landed on her upper back, pushing it into the wall, tilting her hips to him. The stone bit against her nipples, cold and rough. She twisted, increasing the feeling, each rub sending sparks along her entire being.

She was nothing but sensation.

And then his fingers were out of her. She cried at the loss, but rejoiced as she felt him grab her cheeks, separating them, felt the head of his cock positioned between her legs.

He thrust in, fully.

She cried out.

It was too much. He was too much. Her being would burst with fullness.

Her toes left the ground as he pushed farther, catching her between himself and the wall.

Her palms pressed back, trying to make room for breath, but it was useless. She was his to do with as he chose.

He held her there, toes dangling, letting her feel his strength and power.

He pulled back, pushed again, and again. Her body scraped against the rock, but it did not matter. Her whole being was centered on the ache that grew and grew.

One of his hands slipped about her to the front, settling between her legs, holding her even more tightly against him, almost but not quite touching that bundle of nerves that centered her need.

“Please,” she moaned against the rock, almost mindless in her desire, almost hopeless in her drive to fulfillment, her body crying with hunger.

He brushed a thumb against her, but held back, refusing to give that which she wanted.

She tried to push forward, to push back, unsure which way lay fulfillment.

His second hand slipped forward, bracing her.

And then he pounded into her, harder than ever before, deeper than ever before. There was nothing gentle, nothing sweet. This was demand—heat and demand.

It felt as if her body would split, as if she could take no more, and yet she did, softening for him, stretching for him—accommodating him. Her hips began their own motion, swaying, reaching. It was as if she no longer controlled her own body. All she knew was him, all she needed was him.

His finger brushed across her again. She cried out.

And again. Harder. Firmer.

She was almost there. She reached for it with all her might, seeking that single moment, that flash of light.

And then his fingers pinched her hard.

“Now,” he demanded

And she came—and came—and came.

Light. Blackness. Kaleidoscopes of color. She had them all, felt them all.

Came apart and was remade.

Still he plundered her, faster, harder, deeper.

The stone bit cruelly into her and she did not care, could not care.

It was all beginning again. The tightening. The aching. The need.

She heard her flesh slapping against the wall, heard the pant of his breath, heard her own cries.

She felt the burn of stretched muscles, the coldness of stone, the ache of unending need.

But mostly she felt him, all of him, felt his wants, his needs, his demands.

And she gave herself over, gave him her all, as she felt his cock stretch and grow, felt it pulse within her.

He ground her hard into the stone as he gave that final thrust, that hardest, deepest thrust of all. He cried her name then, and spilled his seed deep within her.

And as he cried she felt herself give way again, felt the whole world collapse into a single pinprick of light and then explode.

And she flew.



Afterward she could not move, could barely breathe, as he lifted her and carried her to the stone bench, then smoothed her skirts back down along her legs. The stickiness of their joining seeped along her thigh as he positioned her against him. His hand rose to her bodice, hesitated, gave her the gentlest of caresses. He leaned toward her, laid a soft kiss of adoration upon one bruised nipple, and then with utmost care pulled up her gown.

Her eyes had drifted closed and she knew she should open them, should look about. But it was all too much effort. Perhaps if the weather had been cold and brisk she would have found the strength, but it was warm and sultry and sleep was beckoning.

Surely it could not hurt, not just for a second.

Burrowing her face into his shoulder, she let herself drift, let herself continue to float upon that cloud of wonder and satisfaction.

Fulfillment. She’d heard that term a thousand times, but had never understood it. She’d found satisfaction before, but nothing like this. Her whole body was languid, her mind hazy with pleasure.

Nothing could have been better. She cuddled closer and his arm rose about her, sheltering, protecting. His scent surrounded her—leather, smoke, the subtle edge of amber … and the scent of their joining. She’d never thought of the smell of sex as comforting, but as her mind lost focus all she could think of was how peaceful it all was.



She awoke with a start. Had it been minutes—hours? Surely not hours.

Lifting her head, she shook off the heavy folds of Geoffrey’s cloak. The fabric was so soft and warm. It should have been a baby’s blanket, not a man’s cloak. Her head felt heavy, but she lifted it anyway, turning to gaze up at the man who held her with such tenderness.

“How are you? Did I hurt you? I should have acted with more care.” His voice rang with concern.