He held his breath to listen to the tone and cadence of her voice as she spoke to her maid. He focused on the sounds of her undressing and then re-dressing for bed, the slight creak of ropes as she settled herself in bed. Watched the death of the slim strip of golden light at the door’s seam when she extinguished the candle for sleep.
Hours of tossing and turning rewarded him with nothing but a crick in his shoulder and an ache in his skull. He was painfully aroused—had been since the moment he heard Alaina enter her bedchamber and knew she was about to undress. What he wouldn’t have given just to watch. The speed with which he vacillated from frustration with her to wanting her so badly that nothing else would suffice was mind-boggling.
And now, his powerful cockstand was creating a tent with the bedding, mocking him for being a coward.
He should have taken what he wanted by now…but he knew he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He wasn’t a man to do something like that to any woman—let alone his wife. And, if he wanted any chance at a future with Alaina, then there could be no further mistakes moving forward. He knew in his soul that she’d cared for him and desired him when they were younger, and he was now convinced that the ticket to their future lay in capitalizing on those feelings. He could taste on her tongue how badly she wished to give in. She’d once welcomed his chaste touches and tame kisses; no matter how she tried to fight it, her responsiveness made it clear to him that she enjoyed this more mature attraction between them. Whatever she threw at him, he’d continue his mission to woo his wife undeterred. He tried not to consider how long that might take.
Instead, Sterling slid his hand down his abdomen, wrapping his fingers around the thick length of his member. His breath hissed through his teeth and his eyes slid closed at the contact. A testing pump made his hips jerk with need. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a release, and the swirling ache in his balls was a painful reminder.
Immediately, his mind conjured an image of Alaina as she’d been when she read her lines before the Reading Society, glorious and brilliant…and all his. He could still feel her fingers clutching at him while he plundered her mouth and now imagined them on his cock instead of his own. Would she be cautious and delicate or confident? Deciding on the latter, his fantasy began to gain speed.
Changing his grip, Sterling ran his palm up and down the sensitive shaft, rubbing his thumb along the slit in the head and dragging down the beads of moisture already accumulating there, wishing it was Alaina’s mouth or her cunny making him slick instead. God, if she would part those plump raspberry-red lips for him, he might just expire right then and there. What wouldn’t he give to have her whip-sharp tongue licking him from root to tip? Nothing. He’d give everything to have it.
Sterling’s strokes increased in speed and strength, chest heaving, his breath catching on gasps and curses.
He wanted to pound into her from every position imaginable and create a few fantasies of their own. He wanted to hear her scream his name and sob from pleasure. He wanted to spill deep inside of her, to fill her womb with his seed. He wanted her. He wanted Alaina.
One. Two. Three more hard pumps and Sterling lost control. The tingling in the base of his spine snapped and his body clenched, releasing his pleasure in wave after wave of ecstasy as he spilled himself in a white-hot orgasm that left him weak and practically blind with relief.
Floating down from his release, Sterling was overcome by a rush of disappointment because, of course, there was no Alaina beside him. She wasn’t smiling up at him in unabashed enjoyment of the pleasure only she could give to him.
He was alone in his oversized bed, his spend growing cold on his stomach.
How long could he go on like this…pining after a woman who washis wifeand slept not fifteen feet away?
Chapter Twelve
Sterling picked athis usual early breakfast in the morning room, lost in his musings over the previous day’s interactions with his wife. Perhaps he’d said too much.
No.
Heknewhe’d said too much. And, yet, he couldn’t relinquish the vision of her face held between his hands, the skin of her cheeks impossibly soft and her golden hair softer than silk against his fingertips. How he could have sunk into her eyes and gotten lost forever.
He didn’t know what he’d expected, but he hadn’t seen her again after he’d escaped from the drawing room, his sanity barely intact. When she didn’t join him for supper, he was informed by a footman that Her Grace had requested a plate be sent to her rooms that evening. No further explanation had been offered.
Following the evening of silence, it had taken every ounce of willpower not to open their adjoining bedchamber door that morning and speak to her. See her. He heard not a sound from the other side of that door as his valet helped him dress. He heard not so much as a sigh as he stood within an inch of the barrier, holding his breath and willing Alaina to hear him and invite him in so they might speak. Every last one of his nerves screamed for him to lift his hand and turn the knob. It was agony to have admitted what he had, to have made such confessions and declarations, and not be at all certain how she felt about it. Still, Sterling was determined to stay true to his word and give her time. He refused to believe the Alaina he’d married wasn’t buried somewhere within this woman, and that his diligent efforts wouldn’t pay off. He’d seen the spark in her eyes, heard the catch in her breath. His nearness had moved her, and he dared to hope that maybe some of his words had seeped through her defenses.
He was lost in such thoughts and pouring himself another cup of strong, dark coffee when his ears caught an almost inaudible sound from the doorway near his left shoulder. The whisper-light scuff of a shoe on the marble floor.
Slowly, he wrapped his fingers around the handle of the heavy silver knife beside his plate, careful to keep the rest of his body immobile to mask any hint that he’d heard something.
He tensed from his neck to his feet, each of his muscles acting solely on memory.
And Alaina slid into the room, garbed in a cerulean morning gown cut to accentuate her trim frame and bosom to perfection. She wore her golden hair pulled back into a neat, simple chignon and tied with a matching ribbon. Sweet. Enticingly, deceptively demure.
The sight made his breeches far too tight for comfort.
Sterling’s throat went dry.
When his mind worked again, he wondered how lost he must have gotten within his own mind. It was rare that he was still at the table by the time Alaina rose and descended the stairs to break her fast.
He quickly rose and smoothly replaced the knife beside his plate, hoping she wouldn’t notice.
A footman pulled out her chair and she joined him at the table.
Her plate was filled, and her tea was poured while Sterling tried to gauge which approach would be best. She had yet to meet his eyes, so it was difficult for him to read any of her thoughts or emotions. Then, she saved him from having to guess when she spoke without looking up from stirring her tea.
“I have accepted an invitation to the Finchley ball this coming Friday.”
