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Marcus lifted her under her arms and tossed her gently onto her back. “Not fair,” she complained, as he lay between her thighs and entered in one solid thrust, driving himself all the way into her, as far as he could go.
Only once he was seated within her, his thighs firm against her bottom, did he stop. “Goodness,” she breathed.
“Goodness,” he repeated. He pulled back and pushed into her, filling her full. She was warm and tight around him, like a silken glove fisting his manhood.
“Deeper,” she urged.
Good God, he loved this woman. The last time they’d done this, they’d both been terrified. But now it was like coming home. He pushed her legs forward toward her chest and pushed inside of her, his thrusts quick and deep.
“Oh, Marcus!” she cried.
Her breaths hit his cheek, her moans and sighs and whispers of pleasure jarring him with every thrust, wringing his own sounds of pleasure from him as he pushed in and out, in and out, in and out. She reached for him, drawing him closer to her, her legs still between them, and he went even deeper. The tilt of her bottom made it so that he could take every sweet inch of her.
Marcus kissed the inside of her calf, closing his eyes to the sensation. Her head thrashed on the counterpane. “Marcus, Marcus, Marcus,” she chanted. “Please, Marcus!” she cried.
With a great keening cry, she squeezed him in her tight grip, milking him with her pleasure. “Yes!” he cried, as he thrust through her climax, taking her higher and higher as she broke around him. And it wasn’t until she pleaded for him to take mercy on her that he finished. He erupted inside her, soaking her walls, pressing hard inside her as he let her legs fall to his sides. Her thighs wrapped around his hips as she squeezed him tightly.
“Goodness, Marcus,” she breathed.
Marcus couldn’t move. He just collapsed on top of her, and she ran her hands up and down his back.
“Nothing could ever feel as good as you do when I’m inside you,” he breathed, kissing the side of her breast in a quick, affectionate move. He rolled from on top of her and drew her to lie on his shoulder.
She looked around. “I keep feeling like someone is going to walk up and see us,” she said.
“I doubt that many people can walk into paintings, Cece,” he said with a laugh. “But I’m willing to take the risk.”
She settled on top of him, throwing one leg across his thighs. “What
are you thinking about?” he asked as his breathing returned to normal.
“I’m thinking about children we might have. The household we’ll keep. I’m thinking about our grandchildren. I’m thinking about all the missions we’ll go on together. I’m thinking about the good we can do.”
“Hmm,” he hummed.
“I’m thinking about what it’ll be like loving you for the rest of my life.”
“Well, stop thinking about it,” he warned. “Because you couldn’t get rid of me now if you tried.”
Twenty-One
Marcus looked at the painting on the wall as he dressed and he grew hard all over again. It had been almost a sennight since their trip into the painting, and Marcus hadn’t been alone with Cecelia even once since then. Her father had hovered over her like a bee on a flower, keeping her from Marcus’s evil clutches. Or his wayward clutches. Or his lusty clutches.
Either way, her father had kept her from Marcus’s clutches. The type made no matter, Marcus supposed. Even if his clutches had been honorable, which they weren’t, her father would have kept her from them. He supposed when he and Cecelia had their own children, he would feel much the same. And it was better for Cecelia to have a father who doted on her than the father she’d lived with for the previous six months.
Claire had forced him to take the painting, claiming it wasn’t fit for her to look at anymore. He wanted it because he wanted to remember every minute he and Cecelia had spent wrapped up in one another. He wanted to relive every moment he was inside her. And he wanted to hear her whisper, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” again and again and again. He wanted to hear it every day for the rest of his life.
A knock sounded on his door, and his heart leaped. Cecelia? No, she wouldn’t be so brazen as to come to his room. Not the way her father was hovering.
“Enter,” he called.
The door opened, and Allen stepped into the room. His brother brushed his hair from his face and sat down on a high-backed chair. “Something wrong?” Marcus asked.
Allen crossed one ankle over his knee and looked at him. “Can I talk to you about something?”
He smiled. “That depends. What’s it about?”
He and Allen had never been close, and he’d met his brother just before he usurped his position in life, taking his potential title from him. Allen had been discomfited by him, but he’d taken it with grace. And he’d even been friendly from the start. He hadn’t held a grudge, and he had done all he could to help Marcus settle into the life of a darling of the ton.
