once. Mark me, claim me. Inside.”
His face sharpened and he withdrew. “Roll over.”
She rolled over, pulled herself up on her knees. He slapped her buttock once, and again, harder, the sound cracking in the chamber. Then he thrust inside her and she arched backwards to take him in, pushing against him until his cock touched the mouth of her womb. He groaned. Her hair brushed her back as he swept it aside. His hand encircled her throat, his breath tickling her nape.
“Beth, oh, Beth—I am going to fill you full of myself.” He nipped lightly at her neck. “I’ve come inside no other woman in eighteen years.”
The possessive timbre of his voice made her catch her breath.
He gave a harsh shout and his whole body shook against hers. His cock jerked within her…and he had not withdrawn. He was claiming her, filling her full of himself. Just as he had promised. Her internal muscles clamped down and she bent her head all the way down, stuffed her face into the pillow and screamed.
Her legs collapsed a moment before he fell against her back. Cold air hit her neck as he lifted her damp hair away. His lips touched her neck. “Damn, Beth, damn.” He lightly nipped her flesh. “Oh, damn.”
* * * *
At the washstand mirror, Beth ran a final, smoothing hand over the coiled braid at the back of her neck. She felt weak with shock at her own actions. She’d never before allowed a man to come inside her. She had always demanded they pull out. She’d certainly never begged a man to do otherwise. But, in her heart, she couldn’t be sorry. She felt marked, claimed as his in a way far more primitive than mere money could claim her.
But, all right, this had been the last time. And her courses were due to come within the next day or two. Chances were on her side that she wouldn’t conceive his child. The thought made her sad.
Dear God. A little wave of nausea swept through her. She actually felt sad that she wouldn’t bear some wealthy New York merchant’s bastard? What had she sunk to? Her desire for Grey was making her lose control over her wits.
The clock on the mantelpiece chimed eight in the evening.
“I’ll send for my carriage,” Grey said, as if the matter required no consent from her.
She turned to where he lounged on the bed, his head propped against the headboard.
“Thank you, but I can’t be seen coming home in a carriage.” She pulled on a glove.
“Couldn’t Mrs Bickle have sent you home in one?”
“She never has.”
“Well, let’s say she did today.”
“I told you, I cannot be seen leaving a carriage in my neighbourhood. Too many watchful eyes, waiting for someone to make a misstep.” She tugged the other glove on.
“You are a beautiful girl, you can’t walk home at dusk.”
“I am twenty-three—hardly a girl—and I have always walked where I wanted to go.”
“Well, you’ve never been under my protection before.”
“I am not—” Anger at his arrogant presumption bristled through her and forced her to take a deep breath. “I am not under your protection.”
His eyes darkened to the colour of gunmetal and he jerked upright. “When you’re with me, you damn well are.”
With a frisson of alarm in her belly, she took several steps backwards. “Understand me, sir—we are lovers when and only when and for how long I choose. You have no rights of protection over me.”
His dark brows drew together. “I am going to walk you downstairs and see you put into a carriage.”
“I won’t take a carriage.”
“You will if I bodily carry you to it and put you inside.” He came to his feet.
Heart fluttering wildly, she backed away. “You can’t be serious. You don’t have your breeches on.”
He glanced down at the dark blue banyan he wore, as if he’d forgotten he was not dressed. His jaw tightened and she ran for the sideboard. As she grasped her reticule, his arm latched around her waist like a band of steel.
She twisted in his arms to glare at him.
His face sharpened and he withdrew. “Roll over.”
She rolled over, pulled herself up on her knees. He slapped her buttock once, and again, harder, the sound cracking in the chamber. Then he thrust inside her and she arched backwards to take him in, pushing against him until his cock touched the mouth of her womb. He groaned. Her hair brushed her back as he swept it aside. His hand encircled her throat, his breath tickling her nape.
“Beth, oh, Beth—I am going to fill you full of myself.” He nipped lightly at her neck. “I’ve come inside no other woman in eighteen years.”
The possessive timbre of his voice made her catch her breath.
He gave a harsh shout and his whole body shook against hers. His cock jerked within her…and he had not withdrawn. He was claiming her, filling her full of himself. Just as he had promised. Her internal muscles clamped down and she bent her head all the way down, stuffed her face into the pillow and screamed.
Her legs collapsed a moment before he fell against her back. Cold air hit her neck as he lifted her damp hair away. His lips touched her neck. “Damn, Beth, damn.” He lightly nipped her flesh. “Oh, damn.”
* * * *
At the washstand mirror, Beth ran a final, smoothing hand over the coiled braid at the back of her neck. She felt weak with shock at her own actions. She’d never before allowed a man to come inside her. She had always demanded they pull out. She’d certainly never begged a man to do otherwise. But, in her heart, she couldn’t be sorry. She felt marked, claimed as his in a way far more primitive than mere money could claim her.
But, all right, this had been the last time. And her courses were due to come within the next day or two. Chances were on her side that she wouldn’t conceive his child. The thought made her sad.
Dear God. A little wave of nausea swept through her. She actually felt sad that she wouldn’t bear some wealthy New York merchant’s bastard? What had she sunk to? Her desire for Grey was making her lose control over her wits.
The clock on the mantelpiece chimed eight in the evening.
“I’ll send for my carriage,” Grey said, as if the matter required no consent from her.
She turned to where he lounged on the bed, his head propped against the headboard.
“Thank you, but I can’t be seen coming home in a carriage.” She pulled on a glove.
“Couldn’t Mrs Bickle have sent you home in one?”
“She never has.”
“Well, let’s say she did today.”
“I told you, I cannot be seen leaving a carriage in my neighbourhood. Too many watchful eyes, waiting for someone to make a misstep.” She tugged the other glove on.
“You are a beautiful girl, you can’t walk home at dusk.”
“I am twenty-three—hardly a girl—and I have always walked where I wanted to go.”
“Well, you’ve never been under my protection before.”
“I am not—” Anger at his arrogant presumption bristled through her and forced her to take a deep breath. “I am not under your protection.”
His eyes darkened to the colour of gunmetal and he jerked upright. “When you’re with me, you damn well are.”
With a frisson of alarm in her belly, she took several steps backwards. “Understand me, sir—we are lovers when and only when and for how long I choose. You have no rights of protection over me.”
His dark brows drew together. “I am going to walk you downstairs and see you put into a carriage.”
“I won’t take a carriage.”
“You will if I bodily carry you to it and put you inside.” He came to his feet.
Heart fluttering wildly, she backed away. “You can’t be serious. You don’t have your breeches on.”
He glanced down at the dark blue banyan he wore, as if he’d forgotten he was not dressed. His jaw tightened and she ran for the sideboard. As she grasped her reticule, his arm latched around her waist like a band of steel.
She twisted in his arms to glare at him.
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