How I Married a Marquess (21 page)

“Yes, I want that.” She took a deep breath, fighting for any control or sanity that hadn't been robbed from her by his caressing hands or the moist heat of his lips slowly moving toward her own moist heat between her legs. Surely he didn't mean to kiss her
there
. “Thomas, I think—”

He licked her.

She gasped, the erotic sensation tearing the words from her throat. His hands grasped her hips and kept her pushed down against the cushion, to hold her open wide beneath the onslaught of his mouth against her sex. He slid his tongue along the length of her cleft, swirling against her wet folds and delving deep into the hollow at her aching core. Oh, sweet heavens, she'd never imagined that his mouth could be this pleasurable, or that a kiss could ever be this exquisitely wicked. Her fingernails dug into his bared shoulders, and she moaned into the darkness, her thighs quivering around him.

“Tell me, Josephine,” he murmured hotly against her, his breath tickling her intimately and sending a delicious tingle pulsing deep into her belly.

His wicked mouth stole away her breath. In the darkness she heard the soft, wet sounds as his lips sucked gently at her, the most erotic sounds she'd ever heard. She writhed beneath him, and her hands sought out his head as he lay between her thighs, to grasp his hair in her fingers and hold him tightly against her even as she lifted her hips from the sofa to grind herself harder against him.

“Yes,” she cried, “I want you!”

“You want me to do what to you?” With one hand on her thigh, he gently pressed her back down onto the sofa and lowered his lips against her. “This?”

She groaned and rolled back her head. Oh, wicked, wicked man! He was teasing her on purpose, intentionally torturing her as he licked harder against her now, making her breath come in fast pants. She trembled helplessly beneath him.

“Or this?” The tip of his tongue flicked against the pulsing nub buried in her feminine folds.

Her hips bucked beneath him. “Thomas!”

But he only chuckled and continued the delicious torture. Burning her up from the inside out, the aching heat between her legs threatened to consume her. She whimpered and wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders. She wanted him inside her skin, filling her, dominating her, possessing her.

“I want—I want…
you
,” she panted out. “Right there, right where you're kissing.” A low moan of frustrated arousal escaped her. “Oh, Thomas, please!”

“Gladly.” He whispered the single word into the darkness and settled himself in the cradle of her spread thighs.

He rose up on his left forearm to poise himself in the darkness over her while he reached down to gently caress between her legs. His fingers parted her intimate folds, already wet and ready for him, and as he lowered himself, the tip of his erection pressed gently but firmly against her as he held her body open to his. Then he slowly pushed inside.

As she held her breath, he slipped deeper into her. Her body yielded to his hardness and expanded to accommodate him, and he filled her, so warm and tingling…
so good
. And she wanted more, craving him even deeper.

She squirmed beneath him and whined with frustration because he was holding back, keeping his hard body in reserve when she wanted him to keep nothing from her, surrendering all of himself, pouring all his strength and courage into her.

“Slower now,” he cautioned as he sank another inch inside her, then retreated.

Frustratingly, maddeningly, each carefully controlled stroke took him only slightly farther and not nearly deep enough to satisfy the craving her body held for his, not nearly deep enough to touch the throbbing desire at her core. “I don't want to go slowly. I want you,
all
of you. Now.”

He shook with restraint as he held himself over her on his forearms. “It will hurt—”

With a fierce groan of exertion, she thrust her hips up against his, pushing him fully inside her and ripping through the thin barrier of resistance. A gasp tore from her throat at the sharp pinch of pain, her body stiffening around his.

He grasped her hips to keep her from moving away and held her pressed tightly against him. “Stay still,” he ordered gently. “Just for a moment. Trust me, Jo.”

Breathing deeply, her eyes closed and her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, she did as he told her. The pain ebbed away quickly, replaced by something warm and deep, something…
wonderful
. He filled her completely now, the delicious heat and strength of him radiating out from her middle and cascading all the way down to the tips of her toes and fingers.

Then he began to move the way she'd longed for him to do, gently stroking inside her with each rise and plunge of his hips.

“Dear God, Jo.” His voice shook. “I can't believe how hot you are…how tight.” He gave a testing swirl of his hips, and in response she shuddered, her body clenching impossibly tighter around his. He groaned. “You feel incredible.” He swirled his hips again, this time withdrawing from her until just the tip of him remained inside her before plunging deep inside. “So delicious.”

Delicious
.
She moaned her response, unable to put into words the exquisite pleasure he gave her. How special he made her feel. As if she truly was the woman he wanted most in the world.

Her fingers dug into the hard muscles of his bare back in an attempt to bring him even closer, and her heart raced. How could being with a man be so breathtaking, so thrilling? Because
this
man and only this special man made this first intimacy so wonderful. He was her hero who knew her deepest secrets and greatest vulnerabilities, yet who was still so careful with her heart, still so tender with her body as he continued to rock into her.

Each retreat of his hips brought a whimper of loss to her lips, each return thrust an answering moan. The heat drew deeper and hotter and tighter inside her until it pulled up from the very bottom of her being and gathered into an ever-tightening knot of fire between her thighs. Right where the base of his manhood ground against her as he slipped in and out of her sex.

“Thomas,” she whimpered, burying her face in his neck. She tasted the salt of his sweat on her lips from equal amounts of restraint and exertion, and the pounding of his pulse was a fierce tattoo beneath her lips.

Leaning onto one arm, he wiggled his hand between their bellies and down to work his fingers against her aching nub, flicking rapidly against her even as he continued to stroke into her. A spasm gripped her and she gasped, panting hard beneath him. She was running straight for a cliff, helpless to stop and wanting to plunge over the edge, wrapping her arms as tightly around him as possible to take him with her—

She broke around him and splintered into a thousand pieces in his arms. His name sounded her cry of pleasure in the darkness, and she collapsed beneath him, every inch of her body pulsating with exquisite pleasure.

He shifted her hips beneath him, hitching himself up higher against her, then groaned as he dropped into her, grinding his pelvis against hers before retreating and doing it again, to satisfy a ferocious need inside him she'd never imagined a man could possess. A need for
her
. There was no gentleness now, just a driving desperation punctuated by low, throaty groans at each deep thrust.

Without warning he suddenly pulled out of her and pressed himself tightly against her stomach. As he shuddered against her, a warm, wet tickle spread across her belly, then he collapsed against her, spent and satiated, his forehead resting against her bare shoulder.

Neither moved. Gradually their shared breaths slowed. His racing heartbeat calmed, and the shaking that had gripped his body when he climaxed slowly ebbed away. Goose bumps still dotted his arms and legs, but those weren't from the cool air but from the heat they'd created between them, the same fire that had flamed out and consumed her.

Exhaling a long, trembling sigh, she tightened her hold around him. Her life would be completely different now, and she would never be the same again. Because of him. And she did not regret a moment.

“You were right,” she whispered into the darkness, finally breaking the spell cocooning them.

He tenderly touched his lips to her temple. “About what?”

“That I would know when you're satisfied.”

A soft laugh rumbled from his chest, and she tingled as the sound passed into her. His arms were still wound tightly around her as if he was afraid she would leave. But leaving was the last thing she wanted to do. With her body still entangled with his, the delicious weight of him still pressing down upon her, she wanted to stay like this forever.

“You are so beautiful, Josephine Carlisle,” he murmured.

Tears gathered in her eyes. “But you can't see me in the darkness.”

“I don't need to. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever met,” he whispered against her lips. “And I don't mean the way you look.”

Then he kissed her, and the first tear of utter happiness slid down her cheek.

T
homas traced his finger lazily across Josie's bare back as she lay next to him on her stomach, the sheet still tangled around her legs on the bed where he'd carried her after they'd had sex on the sofa. Her skin glowed golden in the flickering light of the single candle, all warm and silky smooth, and he couldn't keep himself from touching her.

His lips pulled into a satisfied smile.
Sweet Lucifer
, she was exquisite. If he hadn't taken her virginity, he'd never have suspected an innocent could be so passionate, so responsive to his touch. But she was all that. And more.

For the first night since the shooting, he felt completely at ease. His heart didn't pound with anxiety, and he didn't taste the familiar metallic tang of fear on his tongue. And for once he didn't dread the darkness or wish for the dawn. If she was in his arms, he was certain he would even be able to sleep without having nightmares or waking in the darkness, shaking and panicked. Except that the last thing he wanted to do tonight was sleep.

Her long hair spilled around her slender shoulders, and he tucked a strand of the silky softness behind her ear.

She smiled lazily over her shoulder at him. “I can't believe you're real,” she whispered, her voice filled with wonder, “or that tonight actually happened.”

“Oh, it happened.” He placed a kiss on her bare shoulder, then gave an animal-like growl. “But I can prove it to you again if you'd like.”

With a soft laugh, she playfully swatted him away.

“Tell me.” He eased back down beside her and continued to let his fingertips explore her tantalizing body. “At your age, someone as beautiful as you”—and completely unlike any other woman he'd ever known—“how did you manage to keep your innocence so long?”

Her green eyes sparkled. “You mean, how did I escape the evil clutches of some sinister man bent on seducing me?”

He chuckled despite the unintended pricking of that teasing barb. He might as well have been that sinister man, what with the way he'd single-mindedly ruined her tonight.

She shrugged. “You've met my brothers.”

“So I'm the only man foolish enough to pursue you with those three hovering about?”

“No.” She smiled sweetly. “You were the only one brave enough.”

His heart thudded. She thought he was brave. His chest tightened, the unexpected compliment curling delightfully through him. “But you said there were other gentlemen visitors to Blackwood who attempted to seduce you.” In other words…
why me
?

She shyly lowered her gaze until she stared at him through half-lowered lashes, unaware of the desire that innocent look stirred inside him. “They were…different from you.” Her naked shoulder gave a small shrug as she admitted, “I like you.”

For a moment all he could do was stare into her eyes. Surprised as hell by her soft words. And not knowing exactly how he should feel about her, not when he didn't know for certain if he could even trust her. Except…

He lowered his head to kiss her shoulder again, this time letting his lips linger against her skin as he mumbled honestly, “I like you, too.”

A soft sigh escaped her. “Thomas, what do we—”

“Brandy?” he offered, interrupting her, then slid off the bed and quickly headed into the darkness of the main room. He knew what she was going to ask, and he didn't think he could bear it right then. Not a discussion about how they had no chance at a future together, not when his skin still smelled of hers and the taste of her still lingered on his lips. Further, at least two hours stood between them and dawn, and he needed sustenance. Because he didn't plan on wasting a minute of time with her tonight.

“It's in the little cabinet—”

“I was asking if you wanted any,” he clarified, calling out from the other room as he grabbed the bottle by its neck and two glasses. “I noticed where you kept it the last time I was here.”

“Is there anything you don't notice?”

He could almost hear her rolling her eyes, and his lips twitched with amusement.

“Very little. Details keep a spy alive,” he commented as he returned to the candlelit bedroom. “Ignore them and you die.”

Sitting up, she raised the sheet to cover herself. “Is that what happened to you?” she asked solemnly. Her gaze drifted to his waist. “Did you ignore the details?”

He paused at the edge of the bed, freezing in his steps as she stared at the scar that extended along his side. He'd much rather she'd been staring lower, distracted by his cock instead of the scar. But oh no, not this woman. Her eyes were on the wound. Ugly. Jagged. Deep. Even with the flesh fully healed, the scar showed conspicuously discolored from the rest of his skin. And even now he had to physically fight back the urge to place his hand over it and hide it from her sight.

“That wasn't the French,” he answered, setting the glasses down on the bedside table and joining her on the mattress, the bottle of brandy still in his hand. “That happened in Mayfair, at half past seven on a Sunday evening.”

Her gaze flicked silently between his eyes and the scar, as if she could somehow read the answers she sought in the marks on his flesh.

“Lie down,” he ordered gently, uncertain how long he would be able to tolerate her stare on him like that.

She hesitated. “The ladies said you were shot, but I—”

“Lie down, and I'll explain.”

Reluctantly, but doing as he ordered, she shifted onto her back.

“Roll over.”

With a wary look—at least not one of pity, which was why he wanted her facedown on the mattress, because he didn't think he could bear that, not from her—she did as he asked, then rested her cheek on her folded arms as she turned her head to gaze at him.

“I was walking home from visiting friends, a route I'd taken dozens of times.” With his finger he peeled the sheet off her body, baring her slender back and round buttocks to the candlelight. “I'd planned on spending the night at home. For once I was going to do nothing more than read a book.”

He opened the bottle of brandy and dribbled the golden liquid slowly down her back, watching it bead and pool against her skin. She flinched at the wet sensation but didn't protest, and despite the macabre memories he stirred up by recounting the events of that evening, he smiled with private pride at her. The woman was fearless. If she wasn't, she wouldn't be there with him tonight. And he wouldn't be sharing this story with her, the first person he'd ever told. Others had found out—London thrived on gossip, after all—and his dearest friends knew within minutes after the attack happened, his family shortly after that. But he'd never
told
anyone before.

“I was in Mayfair, two streets from my home.” He set the bottle aside and leaned over her. “I should have been safe,” he murmured, pausing to draw a finger down her spine and through the puddles of brandy. “The streetlamps weren't even lit yet.”

She shivered. “Thomas—”

“And then a footpad stepped out from behind a wall and shot me.”

His mouth plunged down against her, to drink up the brandy pooling at the small of her back, and a gasp tore from her—whether from the story or from his eager lips on her, he would never know. Which was exactly why he'd done it. Because he didn't want to hear the shock in her voice or see the pity on her face. Instead he turned her gasp into a soft moan as his tongue licked across her body, drinking her up, relishing in the delicious mix of brandy and flesh. And the faint flavor of peaches.

“He rifled through my pockets,” he mumbled against her skin as he continued, both with the story and in sucking up the brandy as his tongue licked over her buttocks and down the backs of her legs, “took whatever was valuable, and left me there to bleed out.”

She shivered beneath his lips, her soft inhalation shaking as goose bumps formed on her skin. She fisted the sheet into her hands as she struggled to lie still, as if knowing he'd stop with his story if she moved.

“I was gutshot,” he murmured against her, “and gutshot men always die. But for some reason I didn't.”

As much to distract himself as her, he greedily drank up the brandy, shamelessly taking sweeping licks and bold sucks across her luscious body. Anything to distract himself as he shared this last, most terrible secret. She was heavenly…just as the memory of what he described was pure hell.

“The pain was unbearable,” he whispered. “Each breath I took felt like a knife stabbing into my stomach. Darkness pressed in on me, like a demon sitting on my chest, and the silence—that god-awful silence…”

She didn't move, didn't say a word, but he felt her tremble, and he knew it wasn't from the cold.

“I couldn't open my eyes, couldn't tell if it was day or night, if I was asleep or awake, alive or dead…” He gave up on the brandy and rested his cheek against her bare back, finding comfort there as her heartbeat pulsed faintly against his cheek. “Although I was certain I must have died and gone to hell
because of the pain.” He had to squeeze his eyes shut and inhale a deep, shaky breath to continue. “And all of it was made worse because I couldn't move, not even when I'd wake screaming from the nightmares, because they'd tied me down to keep me from ripping open the sutures and bleeding to death in my own bed. All I could do was lie there and let the demons take me.”

“Thomas,” she whispered, a world of heartache and pain in her voice. “I'm so oh…sorry my darling.”

She turned over and gathered him into her arms, cradling him close as she pressed tender kisses across his forehead and cheeks, whispering his name repeatedly. Her hands moved over him in soothing caresses so soft and gentle that he trembled beneath their tenderness, and everywhere she touched, warmth and calm flowed into him.

When she cupped his face in her hands and tenderly kissed him, he tasted the salt of her tears on his lips.

His arms wrapped around her and held her pressed against him, now comforting her as she wept for him. He had no idea how long they lay there like that, wrapped tightly together in the glow of the candlelight, but it was long enough that she cried out all her sobs for him, and he kissed away the tears on her cheeks.

He'd told her everything about the living nightmare he'd gone through, but instead of the darkness closing back over him and the uncontrollable shaking he'd experienced every other time he thought of that evening and the weeks afterward, there was peace. Quiet. Finally his heart pounded not from terror but with affection and hope. And he knew it was all because of Josie.

“I wish I had been there with you, my darling,” she breathed. “I would have found a way somehow to keep the darkness away.”

She'd spoken so softly that her lips made no sound. But his heart heard.

His eyes burning, he turned his head to nuzzle his cheek against her shoulder, overcome by sudden emotion for her. Dear God, how would he be able to go on without her?

Hours later Thomas opened his eyes. He blinked, trying to clear the sleep from his head as he looked around the room and slowly remembered where he was and how he'd gotten there. It was still dark, not yet dawn. The candle beside the bed had burned out, but a soft glow came faintly from the hearth in the other room. And beside him, lying quiet and still on her side with one arm folded beneath her head as she watched him and her other lying possessively over his chest…

“Josephine,” he whispered, his hand sliding up to cover hers. She was truly there with him; the night hadn't been a dream. “What happened?”

A faint smile teased at her lips. “You fell asleep.”

Asleep?
Impossible
.
He didn't sleep like that, not anymore. Not without nightmares that left him shaking and covered with sweat. Not without his heart racing and his breath coming in gasping pants.