Confessions of an Improper Bride, page 24
His hand moved down, and her legs opened for his touch before she realized what they were doing. But when his fingers pressed against her intimate flesh, she gasped, her whole body jerking in reaction.
“Oh! That tickles!”
He smiled and touched her again, the callus on his fingertip rubbing over her most sensitive spot. This time, she managed to stay quiet and still, but the touch resonated through her, a shock of sweet sensation.
“No,” she breathed. “I was wrong.”
“It doesn’t tickle?”
“Not… exactly.”
His lips brushed over hers as he stroked her again. His shaft grew larger and harder against her thigh as he used his fingers to ramp up the pleasure and the sensation.
“Jonathan,” she whispered. “Jonathan.”
She clutched his arms, her fingers molding over his strong biceps.
“Beautiful Serena. God, you’re so damn beautiful.”
She wanted nothing but to be here at this moment, with Jonathan touching her so intimately, watching her closely, learning how best to pleasure her. This was heaven.
“Oh… I…”
“Come for me, Serena,” he urged gently. “I can feel that you’re close.”
His fingers slipped inside and pumped, stroking her inside while his thumb pressed gently over the spot on her body that made her feel more brazen and wild than she’d ever imagined she could be. Her legs began to tremble, and she pressed herself more firmly against his hand.
Suddenly, the wave crested and broke in a warm wash that encompassed her entire body. She lost awareness of everything but the exquisite feel of the motion, taking her up and tumbling her deep within a foamy bliss.
She didn’t know how long it was before he gently pulled his hand away from her. She opened her eyes to see him staring down at her, the tenderness of earlier now replaced by stark need.
“I can’t wait,” he said simply.
His leg moved between hers, his knee sliding up the inside of her thigh, pressing it outward. She could feel him move over her, through her highly sensitized flesh until he found the notch of her womanhood. His eyes met hers again, and he hesitated.
They stared at each other, each taking short, panting breaths. She could feel her heartbeat—or was it his?—pounding between them.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes, Jonathan.” She pulled his face down toward hers, giving him a deep kiss of gratitude, of love. She was ready for him. She wanted nothing more than for him to take her, to reestablish that she was his—had never been and never would be anyone else’s.
Slowly, he pushed inside her. She arched up with a gasp, forcing him in quicker and deeper than he’d intended, but he didn’t complain. Instead, he pressed deeper in with a low groan. “God, you’re tight. I’m not hurting you?”
“No… on the… contrary… the opposite.”
“Good,” he gasped. “Thank God.”
“Don’t… stop…”
With a low groan, he pulled partway out before thrusting inside her once again. She arched up to meet him even as the strength of his thrust forced the air from her lungs.
And then he began a steady, solid velvety deep rhythm of pleasure, his hands cupping her head as he kissed her. She wrapped her arms around him, savoring the flex of his muscles beneath her hands.
His tempo increased and so did the sensation. She met his every thrust with one of her own, straining once again toward that sweet release. He seemed to understand this, and he ground against her, rubbing over that spot once more. When she came, it was sudden and surprising. Like an explosion in the night sky, booming into bright flares of heat and color and light.
He expanded within her, tightening all over in response to her orgasm. And then he stiffened and shuddered in her arms, and she felt the pulse of his release deep inside her.
Fearing that he might collapse and crush her delicate body beneath him, Jonathan forced his body to slump beside her. He drew her into his arms and buried his face into her sweet-smelling hair as the tendrils of pleasure still detonated through him.
She nuzzled his neck, his jaw, and finally, his mouth. He kissed her fiercely, straining to show the extent of his feeling, his gratitude.
She broke the kiss and pulled back, the smooth curve of her waist utterly feminine, utterly lovely under his palm. She clasped her arm over her chest, but the pale curve of her breasts rounded above her forearm. Dark blond curls cascaded over her shoulders.
Six years had formed her into a woman. He remembered her as a beautiful girl—lightly freckled, pink cheeked and smiling—a splash of sunlight but with so much depth inside. The years had turned her gray eyes thoughtful and softened her ruddy complexion to peaches and cream.
“God,” was all he could utter. He stared wordlessly at the red, glistening bow of her lips.
Her brow furrowed. “Was it that bad?”
“Oh, God, no, Serena. It was better… better than I ever dreamed.”
She smiled, the creases in her forehead smoothing. “You dreamed about this?”
“Oh, yes. All the time.”
“So did I,” she whispered, and tilted her head, studying him. Then she raised her hand and traced his eyebrow with her fingertip. “I have so many memories of your eyes. I dreamed of them so many times. They’re exactly the same.”
“Are they?” He frowned. The last he’d closely observed himself in the looking glass, he had seen the beginnings of a series of most unflattering crow’s feet at their outside edges. His vanity had been wounded and he’d gone out and… done something he now regretted.
“Yes, exactly the same,” she said. “They are such a dark blue, they appear black in this light. Your lashes are… impossibly thick and dark. Just like they were back then.”
She leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips. Her breast brushed against his chest, and desire stirred his cock back to life.
Curling her soft, warm body against him, she drew the blankets over them. Wrapping his arms around her, he watched her, unable to drag his gaze away. He wanted to stare at her all night long.
Soon, her long, deep breaths told him she was asleep. Jonathan couldn’t remember the last time a woman had slept in his arms, pressed against his body, in the same bed as him.
One of her soft curls tickled his chest.
It was over. As much as he hated what they must do to Langley, Jonathan wouldn’t let this woman walk away from him again.
Chapter Eighteen
Serena woke from a dream sometime in the early hours of morning. Muted light leached through the curtains, but she could not see the details of the chamber, only faint outlines.
She had dreamed of straddling Jonathan, of red velvet curtains, of the sounds of the quadrille, of his seed pumping into her.
She couldn’t believe she had fallen asleep so soon after they had joined. But when she had tucked herself into his body and rested her head on his shoulder, nothing had seemed more natural than closing her eyes and sinking into peaceful oblivion.
Jonathan’s hard length pressed against her skin from head to toe. A flush of warmth infused her body. She stroked down his chest and slipped her hand between his legs. He was hard. Ready.
Drunk with sleep and lust, she wondered idly if he was even awake. No matter. He would be soon.
She rose to her knees and straddled his body. She took him in her hand and positioned him so the tip of his shaft touched the cleft between her legs. Then, inch by inch, she lowered herself.
He moaned, then opened his eyes.
Her passage was taut, but smooth and slick. She slowly rocked herself down over him, gasping as her body stretched and filled with the intoxicating combined sensations of pleasure and pain.
She splayed her hands over his chest and began to ride him slowly, grinding herself against him.
“Yes,” she whispered, vibrating with pleasure.
This was what she needed. What she had needed for so long. Just this.
“Serena…”
He moved beneath her, thrust upward into her, speared her. His eyes glittered, sparkled in the growing light.
Her pace increased. She knelt forward, bracing her hands on either side of his head. Her nipples brushed against his chest, but all she could feel was Jonathan inside her, gliding against her sensitive inner walls. The sensations rushed through her, connecting her mind and her loins and her limbs. He flowed through her entire body and they were truly one—she a part of him as much as he was a part of her. Their harsh breaths came in unison, sweat smoothed the contact between their bodies, and every one of their muscles quavered and tensed.
It happened more quickly than she anticipated. She floated high above herself, high above the room, and then spiraled downward in a flush, a waterfall, a slick dive into a warm pool. All her nerves tightened and froze, and then they released in a sweet sensation that poured through her body. She could no longer support her own weight. She slumped down over him, burying her face into his neck, shuddering.
He kissed her ear, her temple. “I love you. I love you.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. He had said he loved her before.
He rotated his hips, moving gently, and she responded to meet him. She couldn’t stop herself. It was as natural as breathing.
Once again, she gave in to the sensations, the exquisite friction between their bodies. Even their moans seemed synchronous. She leaned forward, her lips caressing his neck, his ear, his shoulder as they moved together.
She slowly lifted herself until they were connected by a mere sliver of flesh and then pushed herself down. Hard.
And then she came apart once more, the white heat at her core exploded, and she shattered, closed around him, and arched her back as spasms overtook her. He thrust up into her, and she could feel every movement, every pulse, every tremor. Every part of his body that touched her so deeply. With a shout that seemed to emerge from the very depths of his soul, he surrendered, pulsing deep inside her.
She sank onto his shoulder, breathing heavily, feeling his heartbeat beneath her breast. She turned her head to watch him in the increasing daylight. He gazed at her with midnight-blue eyes, a soft smile tilting his lips.
She stared back at him until a shaft of sunlight pierced through the crack in the curtains and slashed a golden line across his face.
There would be hell to pay when they returned to London.
Gathering every bit of strength she possessed, she forced herself to climb off him and swing her legs over the side of the bed. Clenching her teeth, she leaned over to retrieve her chemise, which had landed on the bed stairs when he’d tossed it away last night.
She tugged it over her head, trying not to think of what she’d done, what her future would hold, all that she must face.
“Lie with me for a while,” he said softly. She kept her back to him, but she felt him watching her, studying her. He probably saw the tremor in her hands.
“I cannot.” Her voice sounded brusque, even though she didn’t mean for it to. “You should return to your room. We’re leaving in a few hours.”
She knew they must talk about what had happened, about what must be done. But not now. She couldn’t bear to—not yet.
He rose and dressed in silence as she watched. As he tied the string of his shirt, he turned to face her. “I want to be with you, Serena.”
She flinched at his words.
“We’ll speak to Langley. Tell him—”
She raised her hand, stopping his speech. “No. I must speak to him. That responsibility is mine to bear.” She licked her lips. “I’m… sorry. I’m still so afraid. Everything has changed. I’m trying, but I’m not sure if I can continue with…” Her arm flailed out helplessly. Common sense warred with emotion, hope warred with experience. If she set herself free with Jonathan, if she gave him everything he asked for, the past just might repeat itself. She was older now, and stronger, but even so, she didn’t know if she could bear it all happening again.
“Even after last night? This morning?”
It hurt to say the words. “Even then.” She stared down at her hands, twisting together in front of her. “You’ve a history of lying to women, Jonathan. Even though I want to trust you, even though you say I must trust you, in the end, how can I?”
His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t lie to you. I never have.”
It was possible that he’d set a velvet trap for her, just as he had six years ago. Soft, comfortable, and so alluring. And once he had ensnared her, he would grind her beneath his heel. He would turn away from her. Again.
“I won’t relinquish you easily. I’ll fight for you. With everything I possess.”
“Please. Can we speak of this later?” She turned away so he wouldn’t see the pain and fear that must be clearly marked all over her face. “We’ve a long day of travel ahead of us.”
His lips so tight their edges turned white, he nodded. “Very well. I’ll see you downstairs in half an hour.”
He turned his back to her, unlatched the door, and stepped over the threshold. The door closed firmly behind him.
His words resonated within her. I’ll fight for you. With everything I possess.
In the following days of travel, Serena managed to avoid discussion of the night she’d spent with Jonathan. She tucked what had happened deep inside her and focused on her sister. She would be separated from Phoebe soon, and she wanted nothing more than to make the most of these final days with her. Jonathan seemed to understand, for he didn’t press. But he was always there, watching, bathing her with silent understanding.
When they arrived at Sebastian’s small house in Prescot, an ornate carriage bearing the Alcott crest was parked in the drive.
Phoebe met Serena’s eyes. “Oh, dear.”
Jonathan sighed. “The three of you stay here. I’ll speak with your aunt.”
“I think not.” Sebastian straightened, a look of defiance in his eyes. “This is my house, after all, and Phoebe is my wife.”
Serena gave an inward smile. Few dared stand up to Aunt Geraldine, and she respected those who did.
The carriage stopped, and the men opened their doors and headed toward the house in long strides.
“Oh, dear,” Phoebe said again, wringing her hands. “Do you think Aunt Geraldine will be very angry with me?”
“Of course she’ll be angry. Surely you considered her reaction before you ran off?” Serena grimaced. “She’d have discovered the truth about your marriage sooner or later. I suppose it’s best that we’re far from London and won’t have to face the ammunition of society directly behind her.”
Phoebe pursed her lips.
“Come along, then. You’re going to have to face her sometime.”
Serena hopped down from the carriage before the coachman had time to place the step, and lifting her skirts, she hurried toward the front door. Just as she reached it, an enraged shout emerged from inside. “How dare you compromise my niece, you black-hearted villain!”
“Oh, heavens.” Serena strode through the door, Phoebe following closely behind.
Sebastian and Aunt Geraldine stood within an arm’s reach of each other. The only thing preventing Aunt Geraldine from charging at Sebastian like a rampaging bull was Jonathan’s arm wrapped solidly around her waist.
Sebastian’s face was flushed red with fury or embarrassment—Serena couldn’t quite say—while her aunt’s fists were tight balls trying to swipe around Jonathan to pummel her target.
“Oh, for goodness’ sakes,” Serena said irritably, hands on her hips. “What’s done is done, Aunt. It’s a little late to fight it.”
Phoebe ran to Sebastian and flung her arms around him.
“How dare you!” Aunt Geraldine growled at the young man. “You insolent swine—”
“Now, now, Lady Alcott,” Jonathan admonished mildly.
Sebastian had already stepped away and was speaking in low, gentle tones to Phoebe. His new wife, evidently, was a soft breeze to his flame.
Husband and wife turned to face Aunt Geraldine, side by side and standing tall. “We’re married, Aunt,” Phoebe announced.
“If that’s so, I shall have it annulled. You’re too young—”
Phoebe raised her hand. “We married in Scotland. Furthermore, ma’am, I am with child.” She glanced up at Sebastian, a light flush infusing her cheeks. “Sebastian’s child. We are together now. Forever.”
Even this didn’t satisfy Aunt Geraldine. She flung Jonathan’s arm away and leaned toward Sebastian, her arms rigid, her fists curling at her sides. “And how do you intend to support my niece?”
Sebastian looked to Jonathan who smiled knowingly. “Are you familiar with that pile of rubble I own out in Sussex, my lady?”
Aunt Geraldine swung her gaze to Jonathan, looking at him as if he were mad. “Stratford House? What of it?”
“Mr. Harper is said to be quite a skilled architect. I’ve hired him to redesign and rebuild it for me. I imagine the project will take several years, at least, but”—he grinned at Sebastian—“we’ve negotiated a fair price. And through the duration, Mr. and Mrs. Harper will have the use of one of the houses on my property. If his work earns him any acclaim—and I’m certain it will—I feel sure that he won’t have to worry in the least about supporting his wife in the future.”
Serena stared at Jonathan, aghast. When had he and Sebastian negotiated all this? Relief poured through her. If this truly came to pass, then Phoebe would be safe. Her future was assured.
Just then, Jonathan’s gaze caught hers, and the corners of his lips tilted in acknowledgment of her silent “thank you.”
Aunt Geraldine was less impressed. She sneered at Jonathan. “You must be mad. This man is a brawling, no good, debauching gambler—”
“Ah, yes,” Jonathan murmured. “Just like me?”
“Indeed,” Aunt Geraldine said haughtily.
“And yet I’d wager you’d allow your niece to marry me.”
“You have a title,” Aunt Geraldine sniffed.
“Yes, of course. The title and the fact that I have more blunt than Harper, to boot. However, those are the only things that separate our two breeds, aren’t they, my lady? I daresay far more goes into the making of men than money and titles. And after closely observing Harper with your niece, I can say without a doubt that he’d lay down his life for her in an instant.”
