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With a wildness she did not want to contain, Constance returned his kiss, trembling at the heat that coiled deep between her thighs. Their tongues tangled wildly, and she met him stroke for stroke, nip for nip. His kiss consumed her, need for him overwhelmed, and desire roared inside, beating in her veins like a fever. Her hands clasped and kneaded the muscled strength of his shoulders, then traveled to the dark luxuriance of his hair. She pulled the tie that held his hair in place, and thrust her fingers through his silky strands. She felt feverish and desperate.
His lips pulled from hers, and he trailed scalding kisses along her throat to the top of her exposed breasts. He tugged at laces of her dress, untying her corset with trembling fingers, revealing a thin chemisette. As he stared, her breasts got heavier and her nipples stabbed through the thin layers of her now soaked chemisette.
“Exquisite,” he murmured softly, then dipped his head and sucked her through her clothes. Constance cried out, bucking sharply into his arms. Enflamed by his raw hunger, her body surged wantonly against him. His hands drew up the wet folds of her gown and his fingers unerringly found the slit in her drawers. He thrust two fingers deep inside of her and a moan broke low in her throat.
“You are so wet for me,” he murmured around the nipple that he teased between his teeth.
She quaked, caught in a storm of passion. She was sinfully wet and she cared not if she was behaving scandalously.
He lifted his head. “Do you want me?”
A quiver of anticipation sliced through her. “Always,” she promised.
“Night after night, you’ve haunted my dreams.” He pressed a series of sensual little nips against her lips while they caught their breath. “I want to give you everything,” he said, then he found her mouth again in a sweet, gentle kiss.
He withdrew from her and swung her fully into his arms and walked with her to the conservatory. She buried her face into his neck, hiding from the stinging rain until he slipped inside. Her heart clamored and deep excitement hummed inside of her. From the need thrumming from him she knew what would happen when they reached inside. She wanted it. She wanted him. The rain fell in earnest, but Constance was not cold. She burned, more from the desire coursing through her, than from the roaring fire in the hearth. Without speaking, she removed her soaked dress with his aid, petticoats and drawers, the silence drowning her with anticipation. When she stood before him naked, his gaze was a slow heated caress as it ran over her with possessive hunger.
He stepped back, stripped of his clothing, and she watched him with shameless desire. She had never seen an undressed man in all her years, and he was splendid. Powerful shoulders and chest adorned with black curls of hair formed a thin line from his sculptured chest, then arrowed down in a silken line over his hard, taut stomach. All that she had ever been curious about was bared to her gaze. Her mouth went dry at the large part of him that jutted toward her so boldly. She was enthralled with the sheer beauty of his body, its hardness and obvious strength. “You are beautiful, Lucan,” she said on a gasp.
A pleased sensual smile curved his lips. “Do you know what I am going to do to you?”
“No.” Though she had a fairly good idea from where he had touched and kissed her before.
“I am going to lay you on the chaise, and the first place I am going to kiss is between those thighs of yours. I have missed your sweet taste.” His gaze moved possessively over her body. “I am going to splay your legs over my shoulders and unravel you as you ride my tongue.”
Heat twisted her stomach in painful but exquisite knots. Ride his tongue? The imagery was enough to have dampness gathering between her thighs. A gentle breeze blew through the room, cooling the fire in her veins.
“And when you are ready for me,” he gripped the hard, thick part of him that jutted out to her so proudly. “I am going to join us together.”
Constance wasn’t sure if she should be alarmed or intrigued. But before she could debate, he was there gathering her in his arms and laying her on the chaise and covering her like a warm sensual blanket. He then did exactly as he promised. He splayed her legs over his shoulders and kissed her there. His tongue dipped, licked, and caressed, both sensually teasing and passionately ravishing. He alternately sucked on her nub of pleasure until she thought she would expire from the exquisite torment, then flicked his tongue lower, devastating her with slow licks. She moaned helpless with pleasure, her body sensitized, shivering and trembling under the breath-taking assault of his erotic kiss against her core.
As if impatient for her, Lucan rose over her, lowering her legs to anchor at his hips. Acting on sheer instinct, she wrapped her legs high around the middle of his back and arched her hips. A blunt pressure pressed at her entrance, and he started to enter her. He sank deep and a startled moan of discomfort was wrenched from her. She stiffened at the bite of pain. Before she could question it he took her lips with tender ferocity. “Forgive me for the pain this will cause. It will be this one time, I promise.” His lips claimed hers in a deeper kiss, and at the same time his hips flexed in a powerful move and he thrust into her fully.
The burning pain that jolted her, Constance had not expected. She bit into his lips deeply, until she tasted the coppery tang of blood. She pulled her lips from his and buried her face in his throat, shaking, trying to process the sensations racing through her. Pain blended with pleasure, and she did not know if she wanted him in her or away from her. Lucan held himself still, peppering kisses along her shoulder, murmuring crooning words. He lifted her face from the crook of his neck with a finger. His eyes searched her face intently and then a dark sensual smile curved his lips.
She could feel his heart beating against her breast. He brushed a soft kiss across her brow, the most fleeting of caress and her heart clenched. Her eyes widened as he slowly pulled from her and sank back in her heat with shocking strength, encouraging her tender flesh to yield to his possession. The feel of him inside her, stretching her, filling her, was the most glorious sensation Constance had ever felt. He moved with long powerful strokes, and she gasped in sudden delight at the sensation that raced through her.
He lowered his head to capture an achingly sensitive nipple as he thrust deeper and harder. Ripples of pleasure began to build in Constance and broken moans were wrenched from her as exquisite pleasure-pain coiled and build inside.
There was pleasure and pain, sweetness and delight, but Constance yearned for something more. “Lucan,” her cry of his name was needy, desperate.
He released her nipple and claimed her lips in a scorching kiss. It was more than a kiss; he made love to her mouth as he worshipped her body with his. It was sweet, wild, and more intense than anything she had ever felt. “You are so beautiful in your passion,” he groaned. He kissed her hair, whispering praises and love, as if he couldn’t stop.
Her hands slicked over his sweat dampened skin as she held onto him while he rode her with deeper strokes. Delight pulsed in Constance, thrummed and expanded until nothing but heat and need filled her, then exploded into pleasure so hot and destructive she screamed. He brought her to the same pinnacle at least three more times until with a deep groan he fell with her.
…
Lucan was painfully aware Constance had not spoken words of love. Though he knew she had to feel something for him or she would never have gifted him her body, some doubt snaked in. He knew full well passion and love were two separate entities. The words themselves were trapped in his heart, yearning to spill free, but something locked them inside of him. It was as if he needed to hear her declaration. She lay on her stomach, soft, pliant, purring in her throat in completion. He kissed her shoulder blades and peppered soft kisses along her spine with gentle nips down to her buttocks. He had missed her so damn much. Her taste, her scent, her laughter. The fierce love making they had just tumbled in would not be enough to sate the raw need he felt for her. He doubted any amount of loving would satiate him.
The lush curves of her hips and her buttocks enti
ced, and he kept up a soft nibble and lick of her skin down to the curve of her hips. Her soft sighs and shivers had lust coiling in his gut and he wanted her on her knees, on his cock. He restrained the need, struggling to remember that despite her lush sensuality Constance was an innocent. Then she rolled her hips in invitation, and he groaned low in his throat. He had just spent deep inside of her, but he hardened again in a fierce rush of desire.
He came down on his elbow over her, and she turned her head to meet his lips in a kiss that shocked him with its raw carnality. Want slammed into him, hot and hungry and his hand tightened on her hips. She moaned into the kiss, her tongue stroking his in ravenous delight, her hips arching and rolling underneath him, teasing him, tempting him to lose control.
Breaking the kiss, he drew her roughly onto her knees. Instead of keeping her there, he sat back on his haunches and drew her up so that she straddled his thighs, the soft of her back pressing into his chest. Using his thighs, Lucan nudge her wider and notched the head of his cock at her slick entrance.
“Hmmm,” she all but purred, arching into him as he cupped her breasts from behind, rolling her nipples between his fingers. “I like this, Lucan,” she said on a throaty sigh, then a soft chuckle filled with delight echoed from her.
“I live to please you,” he teased, placing a soft kiss on her shoulder. Unable to wait, Lucan slid his hand from her breast to her hip to hold her steady and plunged inside her tight wetness in a deep surge. Her cry and his groan entwined in the conservatory, and though rain fell in earnest outside, sweat slicked both their skins. With another two hard thrusts, he buried himself fully inside her, then held still so she could adjust to the thickness of him. Lucan was aware of how large he must feel to her, because she was so damn snug she strangled his cock.
“Ride me,” he growled, shocking himself with the harsh command. Damn. He struggled to remember her innocence, but before he could take back the order, Constance’s hips rolled, slow, sinuous, stroking him with her tight clasp, sending a cascading wave of shiver down his spine. The latent sensuality in the movement surprised and enthralled him. Her hips arched as she slid up so the tip of his cock was at her entrance, then lowered onto him with exquisite slowness. She sank down on his thick length, biting her lip, her face a study of deep determination and lust. She whimpered and curled her hands behind his neck, the move thrusting her breast further out in a perfect arch, and tilted her face to his. “Like this?” she asked with a soft moan as she glided up his length and down again.
“Yes,” the words hissed from his teeth as she tightened and rippled over his cock, shooting hot prickling sensation to his balls.
The amusement in her green eyes, along with the hunger beguiled him. “I do like to ride,” she drawled her voice husky with laughter and desire. Then she proceeded to take him with a ride that was pure torture. His stomach walls tightened as he fought the need to take control. She was moving so damn slow, so beautifully slow, taking him to the edge of pleasure and keeping him there. What he loved the most about her movements was how natural, sweet and powerful they were. Nothing practiced, only the innate sensuality she had always shimmered with.
He snaked his hand from her hip and delved between her curls finding her clitoris and caressing her with a slow flick. She jerked and shivered in his embrace, and he placed a wet kiss on her neck. She tightened on his cock further and the guttural groan that she pulled from his throat rumbled in the room. Fisting her mane of hair in his hand, he tilted her head more and took her lips in a wet kiss. Hunger burned away the doubts and the fear, and he sank with her until he lowered her to her elbows, her hips nestled into his. He released her lips and met her aroused gaze. The emotions that glittered in her emerald eyes humbled him.
“Lucan, I love you so much it hurts,” she declared with raw sincerity.
It was as if her words shattered the tenuous control he had, and he withdrew and slammed into her tight core with bruising force. But she took him, rolled her hips back on him, taking his passion, meeting him thrust for thrust. A needy moan hissed from her lips and traveled straight to his balls tightening them, making him more insatiable in his rough demands. Her hips jerked in time to his hard, deep thrust as he sank into her over and over, and her cries of love wrapped around his soul. “I love you, Constance,” he breathed fiercely as pleasure overwhelmed him. His fingers dug into the lush curve of her hips as he plunged and retreated into her convulsing body, riding them both into one orgasm after the other.
…
Constance lay in Lucan’s arms with the aftershocks of pleasure coursing through her. Never could she have imagined this delight in being intimate. She liked it. A soft laugh puffed from her. She more than liked it. She laced her fingers through Lucan’s own and shifted so that she lay more comfortably in the crook of his arms.
“We could marry here in the village or in London if you wish. Lady Calydon would host our engagement announcement at Sherring Cross, and then we could marry a few weeks later. The Archbishop of Canterbury would conduct our wedding. I have instructed a nursery to have two thousand white roses for any day you so desire. The orchestra from the royal academy of music will play for you as you walk down the aisle,” Lucan said.
She tilted her chin to stare at him. Joy bubbled inside of her. “My dream wedding,” she mused softly. “Only Sebastian and Anthony knew exactly what I wanted.”
“Calydon told me,” he admitted gruffly.
“That’s interesting,” she murmured, gliding her fingertips over their laced knuckles. “But I do not want all that.”
“Constance, I—”
She rolled onto him, drawing her knees up to bracket his hips as she sat on him fully. An arrested expression crossed his face. “I do not care for the dreams I had before. I do not wish for a grand ceremony, or even a dress by Worth in Paris anymore. I yearn to be your wife, your duchess, your light, the joy and solace in your life, Lucan. That is what I want.”
A slow breath exhaled from him and a smile of tenderness creased his lips. “I do have a special license in my desk.”
She blinked down at him and then a light laugh pulsed from her, joy suffusing her heart. “Hopeful weren’t you?”
“More than you can ever know,” he said pulling her head down to claim her lips tenderly.
Hours passed in the conservatory as Lucan introduced her to blissful pleasure. They laughed, they talked and they made love some more. Nothing mattered to Constance other than knowing she was in the arms of the man who cherished her more than anything in his world.
Epilogue
ONE WEEK LATER
Early morning sunlight streamed into the bedchamber and splashed across the sheets. Constance lay curved on her side, a wealth of rich golden hair spilled down her shoulders to her back. Her head was pillowed on Lucan’s arm, and she breathed softly and evenly. She was a warm comforting weight on his chest, and he loved her. She is so perfect, he thought, awed. Her passion, her generosity in wedding him, despite the monstrous way he had treated her, her kindness.
They had married only three days after she had visited him at Wynter Park to the chagrin of her mother, Lady Radcliffe. Constance had been firm in her decision, ignoring cajoling from Lady Calydon and Lady Phillipa for a grand wedding. Lucan and Constance had married in a small intimate ceremony with only family members at the chapel at Wynter Park.
After a small wedding breakfast, everyone had departed, and he had swept a giggling Constance off her feet to their chamber. The past few days had been a blur of a sensual feast and unending delight as they learned each other. She exemplified passion, in everything she did, and Lucan’s heart still lurched from time to time when he thought of how he could have lost her.
Wedding gifts and wishes had come pouring in, with an expediency that startled them. They were, after all, in Suffolk. The best one, that had placed a very satisfied smile on his sweet wife’s face, was the package sent by Lord Ainsley. A clipping from The Spectator. It had read:
Lady X has learned the most delightful news and is eager to share with like-minded admirers of the beautiful Lady Constance, the Untouchable One. Much to the dismay of many maters of society, she is now the Duchess of Mondvale, having married yesterday in a quiet ceremony, which has not been announced in any official papers as yet. A close family friend revealed it is indeed a love match, as the gracious and charming Lady Mondvale only consented to marry the Lord of Sin after leading him on a well-deserved merry chase. Congratulations to our most famous newlyweds of the season. May your life be filled with joy, happiness, and scandalous delights. We raise our glasses to Duke and Duchess Mondvale.
