Always, only Harry just didn’t realize. She’d always wanted him too. Found him brilliant. Dazzling.
A cry left her at the sudden sharp pinch of pain.
Harry groaned. Stopped moving. “Lucy?”
He was buried in her, and…dear lord, this was uncomfortable. Far worse than she’d anticipated. She squeezed her eyes, not wanting Harry to see her weeping like some milksop.
Youaresomething of a milksop, Lucy.
“I’m sorry, my lovely girl.” A soft kiss met her lips. “It won’t be like this again.” Another kiss. “I promise.” He waited until she nodded before he carefully rocked his hips against hers. The sharp ache started to fade. Still…uncomfortable, but bearable.
“Better?”
Lucy gave him a stiff nod, and Harry chuckled softly. “Liar.” He shifted just slightly, changing the angle. “And that?”
“Oh.” That was…actually…Lucy arched beneath him, eyes wide as the next thrust dragged along something deep inside her. There was still a fraction of pain, but there was also a great deal of pleasure, slowly coming to the surface.
His hand moved between them, touching her as he had before. “There,” he whispered. Another stroke.
“Yes,” Lucy moaned, grabbing at his hips. Instinctively, her legs wrapped around Harry’s waist, pulling him closer. “God, yes.”
Surprising how littlehe cared about Marsden when he was buried inside his wife. He should have been crowing that he’d finally had revenge on Waterstone by bedding his daughter, but—he tenderly tucked a bit of her hair behind her ear—Harry didn’t care about any of that.
Nothing compared to the pleasure clouding the blue of her eyes when he took her. Or the way her slender hands grabbed at him with such passion. Harry’s heart tugged and pulled in his chest while his cock had her calling out his name. Her nails dug into his skin, body clenching, before a muffled moan signaled her climax seconds before he found his own pleasure, his nose buried in the lemon scent of her hair.
Now, Harry found he was slightly dazed. Deliriously happy.
He had imagined bedding Lucy Waterstone in at least a dozen ways, but he hadn’t accounted for how it wouldfeel, beyond the physical aspects. How the knowledge that it washerwould affect him. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, before rolling to the side, he stayed buried between her thighs.
Lucy’s hand searched for his across the coverlet, making a small grunt as she laced their fingers together.
Harry sighed in pleasure as he pulled her close. Breathed in her scent. Content.
23
Lucy shifted in the leather seat, trying to ease the discomfort between her thighs.
“Sore?” Harry looked up from the newspaper he was reading.
“Hmm.” She was indeed sore, which he well knew. Muscles Lucy hadn’t even known she possessed ached, no matter her position.
“Use your words, Lucy. I want to hear them. I know you can scream.” His voice lowered. “Pant. Moan?—”
Her cheeks heated. “You would be—sore too,” she interrupted without any hint of her lisp. “If you had a tree trunk placed forcefully…” She waved between her thighs, too embarrassed to say the word she’d used last night in the heat of passion.
“A tree trunk?” A peal of laughter escaped Harry, making his eyes shine. “Goodness, Lucy. What a compliment for my cock,” he whispered. “Naughty girl.”
Her pulse fluttered about. The soreness between her thighs morphed into something entirely inappropriate, given they were traveling. Harry had taken her more than once beforethey’d departed London, and honestly, she barely remembered anything other than the intensity of her pleasure and screaming into a mound of pillows. She’d been horrified Bartle might hear her.
Harry, on the other hand, was entirely pleased with himself. It seemed numbers wasn’t the only thing he excelled at. Lucy might have fainted at some point.
His hand trailed over her knee. “Are you well, Lucy?” Harry drew a circle with one finger. “Should we stop so you can walk a bit? We were on the train for some time.”
She shook her head. “Not necessary. I am well.”
Morethan well. She was away from Father and Dufton. Had experienced the most incredible pleasure of her life—and it had been with Harry. True, he had married her for revenge and a piece of property, not affection but Lucy wouldn’t think of that at present. He’d admitted to having always wanted her, and desire was as good a basis as any for a marriage.
I can’t believe he desires me.
