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He had the strangest urge then, to lean closer and run his teeth down the line of her neck because he knew it made her flush. And then whisper in her ear that he would keep her this way, always. Round with his child, one after the next, ripe and hot and his very own goddess.
And she did not speak Italian fluently, so when he did these things, when he said those words, she only shuddered at the sensation of his teeth, flushed as prettily as he could have hoped, and did not argue.
It made the things he whispered seem like a vow.
Ago hardly understood these urges in him, when he had always considered the inevitable creation of his heir but one more duty to be checked off a list.
But that was before Victoria.
And now he needed to ask himself if he really wanted to lock her up, away from the world, because he was concerned about a scandal...or if he was more like his medieval forebears than he cared to admit.
But he shoved all his dark and unwieldy thoughts aside. Because she was flushed and warm, and he was ready again, and this was the wedding night he should have claimed two weeks ago.
He would not fail to claim it—and her—now. And so, once again, he set himself to the delectable task of discovering her.
Ago did not spare an inch of her body this time. That initial, clamoring need had been met, and so this time, he slowed himself down. He stripped all her clothes from her body. And removed his own.
Then he stretched himself out beside her and dedicated himself to using every trick he knew, the better to make her his in every conceivable way.
And finally, when he had her sobbing anew, he helped her turn on her hands and knees, so he could find his way inside her once again.
A position that did not make him feel less primitive.
Victoria braced herself before rocking back to take the full force of his thrusts. And then moaning each and every time he sunk himself deep.
He had never heard a sweeter music in his life.
Ago wrapped her hair in a coil around one hand. He held her head up, then leaned over the length of her back so he could turn her head and find her mouth. So he could be inside her in two ways.
When she came apart, he went with her.
And Ago had the distinct sensation that though the both of them were lost, they were both found, too. Together.
That was the part that kept him awake.
But that was later. After she’d called down for food and they both ate as if they’d never tasted anything so good before, sitting there before the fire, draped in blankets and quilts to ward off the cold outside. He took her there, too, glutting himself on her when their appetites could no longer be satisfied by.
He’d bathed her, carrying her into the bathroom and using the damp cloth all over her skin with a certain reverence that made his very bones feel loose within his skin.
And then, once more, they’d laid beside each other in the bed, and fanned the flames of that ever-burning fire between them higher. Then higher still.
It was Victoria who crawled over him, testing his sex between her lips the way she had played with his thumb earlier. She kept on until he pulled her away and helped her settle astride him. And then he lay back and let her ride.
At a steady pace until they both came apart.
And now he lay beside her, feeling as if, against his will, not only had all the walls he’d ever built come tumbling down but every veil he’d ever drawn over the darker parts of himself had been ripped aside.
He felt exposed and he did not like it.
Because Ago had learned the lessons his harsh grandfather and bitter father had taught him. And he knew, too well, that there were only two possible roads to take here. And he had already married Victoria, so allowing himself a passionate fling before settling down to his duty was not an option available to him.
Men marry for love when they don’t have a legacy, his grandfather had told him once.Because a legacy requires the kind of love a man might normally bestow upon his wife. Only ask your father what becomes of a man who thinks he can do both.
They had told him the story a thousand times or more while he was a youth. But he remembered that specific day too well. Because his father had looked at him and for once, had made no attempt to hide the bleakness in his gaze.
I love your mother with all my heart, he had told his son,and only look what that did to her.
Ago had been thirteen and well aware of what was expected of him. He had listened to the quiet conversations that went on around him, that had not been for his ears, for years by then.
