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Because the bed was the only thing in my bedchamber that she’d never been in. Everything else, she’d touched—the desk, the chairs, even the wardrobe, on those days when our adventures would leave her in desperate need of a clean shirt to borrow.
She does not wait for my answer but studies the painting again. “Have you watched me sleep?”
I have. But—“This was painted before you came.”
A bitter smile curves her lips. “So that is why you do not show me chained to that bed.”
A growl rises from my chest. “And because the woman in that painting has already given herself to me with love in her heart. So I would have already released her.”
“Then how can you be certain it was love and not desperation that drove her to accept you?”
“Because she stayed,” I tell her. “Would you?”
“You’ll have to release me first to find out. Will you?”
“No.”
Eyes glittering, she turns away from me—away from the painting. She pauses over a portrait of herself, standing in the moonlight, her lips freshly kissed. A new diamond pendant shines from the hollow of her throat. Her blue eyes glittered with tears then, too. But they were joyous, hopeful.
Cora’s breath shudders and she moves quickly on. The silence between us deepens as she continues studying each painting, yet her attention on them seems more and more unfocused as she goes—her gaze straying to me often, the flush never leaving her cheeks.
Because I’ve been aroused since hearing her first step at the bottom of the tower stairs, and I hardly bothered to zip.
“If you want to look at my cock, then only say so,” I tell her. “And I will give you a better view than this.”
Her blush deepening, she freezes in place—her eyes closing.
That won’t do.
I stalk closer. Her eyes fly open again at the short rasp that sounds as I unzip the few inches I’d fastened in haste. She takes a quick step back. Not far. Her shoulders press up against a painting of her garden, a canvas bursting with light and color.
She goes utterly still as I take the aching length of my cock in my right hand, her gaze fixed on my fist. Bracing my left palm against the wall beside her shoulder, I watch her face and slowly stroke my straining shaft, a rumbling groan reverberating in my chest.
“Gideon,” she breathes. I cannot tell if it is supposed to be a protest or shock or encouragement, but the sound of my name upon her tongue is like fire over my skin.
In a voice roughened by need, I tell her, “Did you think I would react in any other way when you are so close? Just as your cunt blossoms for me when I am near.” And she has been near me so long, the scent of her arousal is in full bloom. “Now watch me come for you.”
Breasts lifting as she drags in a ragged breath, she watches me, her tongue darting out to moisten her parted lips, her own hands fisted.
“Do you imagine what I do?” Gritting my teeth, I stroke harder. “That this is not my hand, but instead your wet pussy rides my length. That my cock fills your hot cunt and we are racing together, trying to come.”
Softly she moans, her back arching against the canvas, her hips canting toward me. Her fingers flex.
“Come with me, Cora. Rub your sweet clit, as I know you do in your bed.”
Her gaze flies up to mine, but instead of the outrage I expect, there’s only hot temptation in the blue flame of her eyes.
Arm rigidly braced beside her shoulder, I bend my head closer to hers, my chest heaving with deep breaths that match the long stroke of my hand. “The first time I ever did this, I thought of you. The last time I did this, I thought of you. I have only thought of you, Cora. Never another woman.”
Her breath catches. “Never?”
It shouldn’t even be a question. “I vowed to marry you. What kind of man would ever look at another?”
Even the beast within me would not.
Her gaze falls to my cock again. “No one else has ever touched you?”
“Never.”
She bites her lip. “May I?”
Ah fuck. At that shyly spoken request, my cock pulses hard in my grip. Quickly letting go, I grit my teeth and fight the need to come before she even touches me. “You need not ask permission,” I growl softly. “I am yours to use for your pleasure.”
Hesitantly she reaches for me. A tortured groan rips from my throat at the first soft touch—her fingertips gliding up the underside of my straining shaft.
My head bows, exquisite agony drawing every muscle tight as she takes a firmer grip, stepping closer to wrap both hands around the base of my throbbing length.
“Like this?” she asks breathlessly, stroking from root to tip.
My response is a hiss of breath through clenched teeth. “Yes.”
“Good.” Her soft pants punctuate the rise and fall of her hands. The fragrance of her arousal deepens, thickens, until I can almost taste her pussy juices with every breath. “Because I haven’t done this before, either.”
Head jerking up, I stare at her flushed face. She’s watching her hands working the ruddy length of my erection as if mesmerized by the sight. “You haven’t what? Wanked a man’s cock?”
I can’t stop the deepening rumble of my voice at the thought of her with someone else. But that was the price of protecting her, sending her away—knowing I would not be her first. Knowing I would not be her only.
And I survived these years by never imagining her with another man.
“Touched anyone else,” she whispers. “Only you.”
Only me. The knowledge burns through my brain like a lightning strike, the beast rising so hard, so fast, his triumphant roar filling my chest and my cock spasming in her grip. The orgasm blazes through me, my teeth gritted as every muscle in my body stiffens, her gasp of surprise joining the hot splash of cum against my rigid abdomen.
“Oh,” Cora whispers, staring. “Oh my—”
She breaks off with a strangled cry as I drop to my knees and shove her skirt high. My claws shred her panties, her luscious scent filling my nostrils. Maddened by lust for this cunt, this cunt that will only be mine, I take my first taste, spreading her labia with my thumbs and licking those glistening pink lips with a roughened tongue.
Body going rigid, Cora makes a thick, guttural noise low in her throat as her sultry flavor explodes through my senses. Her fingers fist in my hair.
Groaning as her delicious juices fill my mouth, I lick deeper, parting those sweet petals, seeking the source of her nectar, thrusting my stiffened tongue past her virgin entrance.
Legs trembling, she whimpers softly, rocking her pussy against my mouth. “My clit. Oh god, my clit.”
I would tease her longer. I would savor this first taste. But the beast is desperate for her release, to give her anything she needs, everything she asks for.
Ravenously I latch onto her slick bud, sucking and licking, her wild moans of pleasure echoing in my ears. With one broad finger I tease at her entrance, until she cries out “Please!” and I breach that untouched channel, her inner muscles clutching tightly as I push deep.
Raggedly moaning my name, she stiffens and rises onto her toes. I fo
llow her up, feasting upon her clit, gently fucking her virgin cunt with long, slow thrusts of my finger.
She comes silently but her body is a riot of pleasure, her muscles shaking and her pussy convulsively grasping my finger, her clit throbbing against my tongue and her nectar flooding my mouth. Growling against her sweet flesh, I devour the juices from the well of her cunt before hungrily returning to her clit.
And demanding more.
Her breath shudders in sobbing gasps when she comes again. Her body sags back against the wall, and she weakly pushes at my head after I lap her up and return to her clit. “No more. I can’t.”
I could, forever. But now there’s more that I want.
Gripping her tight bottom, I rise to my feet and lift her against me. Automatically her long legs wrap around my waist, and I deliberately rub the seed from my stomach against the wet heat of her cunt, until our scents are melded into one.
Marking her as mine. Marking me as hers.
Twisting my fingers in her hair, I bring her passion-spent gaze to mine. “Marry me, Cora.”
On a soft sigh, she wreathes her arms around my neck, burying her fingers in my hair—as if to make certain I can not look away. Her blue eyes slowly clear as she searches my face. “Do you mean, marry you and stay here forever in an empty house, with a husband who hides away all day?”
Her words are like fangs tearing open my throat. “I do not hide. With these paintings, I can hold on to everything that has gone. I can keep alive everyone that has gone.”
“And in the meantime, everything they left behind—and everything they built—falls to ruins, destroyed by your neglect.” She releases her grip on my hair and gently traces the line of my jaw. “Is this what you offer me, then? A husband who remains mired in the past instead of looking toward the future?”
I have not much of a future to look toward. But perhaps it is not my future that matters. With a burning lump lodged in my throat, I ask, “So if this estate were as it was before, would you marry me then?”
