She was his home.
Her nails raked his shoulders in white-hot streaks of need; they plunged into his hair and bit his scalp as she yanked his head down for an open-mouthed kiss. He gladly obliged her, and they traded sighs and cries and groans.
Undulating against her, their sweat-slicked bodies meeting at an increasingly frantic pace, Sterling felt the beginnings of a powerful climax building again at the base of his spine. He needed her to come; he needed to feel her orgasm pulse around him. He needed confirmation that it, too, was more than he ever could have imagined.
Sterling leaned back and adjusted the angle to stroke a new place inside of her. In response, Alaina’s head tossed from side to side, and she muttered incoherently as if she were overcome with fever. Her body fluttered and clenched him most deliciously.
“That’s it,” he ground out. “Let go,” he commanded. Alaina’s body tensed and then trembled as she shattered. She dug her heels into his arching back and released a gasping cry which culminated in his name being torn from her lips in a delighted sob. Her sheath milked every last shred of control from his body and Sterling was lost. A series of deep, jerking thrusts signaled his climax, a guttural roar underscoring his utter and complete surrender. She may have been limp and sated beneath him, but Sterling knew, in that moment, Alaina owned him, everything he was, and everything he would ever be.
Alaina awoke tothe caress of large, calloused hands massaging her back in languid strokes. The slow, warm movements seemed to find and lavish just the right amount of attention to each sore muscle. From the base of her skull to the indentation of her lower back, everything was given its due consideration until she was practically molten from it.
She released a little involuntary moan of delight, relishing in the unfamiliar—yet far from unwelcome—treatment. She didn’t open her eyes, instead, savoring the strong fingers and broad palms and the pleasure they wrought. She stretched out on her stomach and allowed herself to be engulfed in Sterling’s scent left there both from sleep and their earlier sweat-slicked lovemaking.
“Do you like that?” her husband asked in a low whisper.
“Mmm…” was the only reply she could manage.
She buried her face in his pillows, inhaling deeply as his hands worked lower to stroke her buttocks and the muscles of the backs of her thighs.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” Sterling asked though it was clear he didn’t expect a response. “I could simply stare at you for endless hours and never grow bored. I ache to learn every freckle and hollow, every curve and place that makes you sigh.” She felt him trace a triangle on the very center of her back. “Did you know you have a trio of flecks here?” There was a light rasp of midnight beard and the warm press of kisses along her spine. “And do you realize how much I love knowing that I’m the only man who has seen them?” Despite her better sense, the possessive heat in his tone was intoxicating…because she liked the same things about him. It was heady to know that he’d waited for her all this time; that Sterling had wanted only her for all this time. This, coupled with the earth-shattering joy to which he’d introduced her, could be enough to make her lose her mind and her heart.
The last thing she’d expected that evening had been winding up in Sterling’s arms and his bed, but she couldn’t say she was sorry about it in the least. They’d learned together, found the right rhythm, and discovered bliss in one another’s arms. She could hardly believe that it could only get better from there when she was utterly boneless when she was in his arms.
Eventually, Sterling’s caresses became less and less innocent; the circles he drew with his hands grew wider and wider to encompass the curve of her waist, the sides of her breasts, the cleft of her bottom. He nudged her thighs apart and she obliged as his fingers moved slowly, teasingly closer to where she already throbbed and ached for him all over again, but never quite touching her there. She was slick in anticipation; her body preparing for him to fill and overwhelm her. Just the thought of having his thick, hot flesh between her legs once more made her moan.
Still, Sterling continued his patient ministrations for what felt like an eternity until Alaina finally arched her back with a whimper, wordlessly begging him for more.
More of everything.
He paused in his kisses and she felt his wicked smile against her shoulder just before his fingers delved between her thighs, parting her dewy folds to find that pearl of pleasure he’d discovered some hours earlier. He continued to stroke her, the broad head of his sex twitching against her thigh, insisting upon its own desires and exciting her beyond reason. He rubbed her from her clitoris to her entrance again and again, teasing the swollen flesh and spreading her slickness until she rocked back against him. Her nipples grew taut and hard against the mattress, and her entire body overflowed with anticipation, humming with it like a harp string. Each pass of Sterling’s fingers thrummed against that cord, sending tingling vibrations to her fingers and toes, and back again. Fisting the bedclothes, she felt herself climbing dangerously high to where the air thinned, and she had to gasp to pull enough air into her lungs.
Just before she tumbled over that precipice, Sterling removed his hand. Ignoring her whimpering complaint, he grabbed her hips and hauled her back against his front so they both lay on their sides. Curling one large hand around her thigh, he brought her leg over his hip and, with one swift, decisive thrust, he slid home to the hilt. They groaned in unison.
Alaina’s body was sensitive and slightly sore from their earlier exertions, but, when Sterling began to move, it all melted away on a tide of pleasure. She loved the sounds he made, the uncontrolled desirous grunts and moans, the erotic words he whispered into the shell of her ear—how he reveled in her body, how her sharp tongue drove him wild, how much he loved being inside of her. Even the collision and pull of their wet flesh gliding together drove her higher. He wrapped a strong corded arm around her waist to hold her in place and ground against her, pressing his teeth into the curve where her neck met her shoulder with just enough pressure to mix pain and eroticism.
It wasn’t long before Alaina’s climax was upon her. She tensed and trembled, arching back into his thrusts, crying out Sterling’s name as he increased his speed and ferocity. He pounded into her from behind, claiming her, and followed her shortly, filling her with more and more of his hot seed with every pulse of his orgasm.
They lay like that for many minutes, savoring the throbbing aftermath of their lovemaking, the air filled with their heavy breaths and pounding hearts, until Sterling slid from her body and tugged her flush to him. He enveloped her with his limbs and buried his face in her unbound hair. There, cradled safe and close in the arms of her husband, Alaina drifted off to sleep once more.
*
Sterling rose soundlesslyand stealthily from the bed early the following morning. The sight of a sated woman—his wife—still lying there sound asleep, buried in a nest of pillows and a rumpled cobalt coverlet was one of the most satisfying sights of his existence.
Waking there with her beside him, curled against his side like a deceptively peaceful cat…he hadn’t felt so warm and content in Lord only knew how long. He committed the curve of her cheek, the fan of her long, tawny lashes to his memory, and went to summon his valet to his dressing room so as not to disturb Alaina’s slumber. He planned on enjoying breakfast while fully savoring the knowledge that she was content and in his bed at last. He made a mental note to ask for a tray to be prepared for her later so she could rest as long as she liked. Nothing was quite so gratifying as having one’s wife as safe and secure as Alaina was in his bed.
His life was finally falling into place, and it was better than he’d ever dared dream.
Chapter Seventeen
The marriage ofthe Duke and Duchess of Morton progressed quite quickly after that first evening. This was, of course, not to say the two did not have their disagreements—the intercourse was astonishingly wonderful, but it was not magic. Alaina remained her feisty, strong-willed self and Sterling continued to learn patience; still, they wound up panting in each other’s arms every night and then curled together in sleep.
Perhaps Sterling’s greatest character reference was his ongoing determination to continue wooing his wife even though they’d finally shared a bed—he was convinced nothing would ever be enough for him where she was concerned. The letters Alaina had written to him continued to prove useful in that regard.
He scoured them like a man possessed, filtering through the words for hidden tidbits that might further endear him to his wife. Of course, he’d read them all time and time again but viewing them through a new lens was proving highly informative.
He’d already been reminded of the peonies and continued to ply her with a steady supply of them with a standing order that Morton House be filled with them no less than twice a week. He discovered the name of her preferred bookseller and—after making a trip there and meeting with the manager—he was able to discern which books were her favorites, which she already owned, and which new ones she might enjoy. Those he left waiting for her in her favorite sun-drenched spot in the library and on the cushion of her bedchamber window seat. He snuck to the kitchens and asked Cook to surprise Alaina with her favorite chocolate tart for dessert one evening; the reception that gesture had received was warm, indeed. His favorite had been the trip to the theater.
There was a production ofHamletbeing put on by the renowned troupe at The Mask & Lyre. He’d simply requested Alaina dress for the theater and be ready at the appointed time. She’d been utterly breathtaking in her emerald green gown with gold embroidered flowers and vines. She glittered, his wife. And when she allowed him to hold her hand in his during the carriage ride from Mayfair to the East End, he could have crowed with pride from the rooftops.
