A Night with the Bride(11)

“Nicholas,” she panted. “God, yes.”

Then he sucked her—hard—where she needed him most. Her thighs fell open wider as the first violent tremor swept over her, stealing her breath. Then it came again, stronger, twisting through her like a gathering tempest. It was pure, undiluted pleasure so intense, she feared she’d perish beneath its powerful, crushing force.

And still he continued, until he’d wrung out every last whimper from her trembling body. She slumped against the backrest, spent, reeling. He didn’t give her time to recover. He yanked her up onto her feet and positioned her to face the large, mahogany desk.

From behind, he slowly inched the hem of her gown higher, until her backside was bare to him. She felt vulnerable, exposed, completely at his mercy. A thrill of excitement rushed through her.

“Bend over the desk.” His voice was thick, rough with desire. She hesitated a moment, unsure. “Trust me,” he said gently.

Licking her lips, she bent over the desk, her palms pressed to the parchments that littered the glistening surface. From behind, she heard the rustle of fabric, then seconds later, his hot shaft was pressed to her backside.

He leaned over, and bit her earlobe gently, the hard length of him digging into her sensitive flesh. “This is what you do to me, Gabriella.” With his hand, he reached between them and nestled the length of his shaft lengthwise against the cleft of her backside. “This is how desperate I am for you.”

Reaching around, he touched the sensitive part of her that ached and throbbed. Swirling gently, slowly adding pressure, until she began that hot, desperate climb toward ecstasy all over again. His hips moved against her, thrusting his shaft up and down her backside in short, clipped bursts. With each thrust, he applied more pressure until she couldn’t hold on anymore.

All at once, her body burst into a thousand pieces, liquid heat rushing through her like a tidal wave. She sagged onto the desk, her legs too unsteady to support her, as he thrust once more, then stilled. A low, guttural groan escaped him, and he fell forward, hands braced on the desk, his body curved over hers.

“Don’t move,” he said, as if she could do such a thing.

Cheek pressed to the parchments, she didn’t have the energy to move. He shifted off her, and she heard him remove his cravat, then felt the material against her backside as he cleaned away his seed. Tossing it aside, he smoothed her skirts back over her legs and pulled her up to stand in front of him, supporting her weight in his strong arms. He smelled like wood smoke and man, a heady, masculine blend that made her feel safe and content.

With the crook of his finger, he titled her chin up and kissed the tip of her nose. “God, Gabriella, what have you done to me?”

“I’ve done nothing, Your Grace.” She spoke his title playfully, unsure precisely what to call him.

For the first time, she felt free of restriction, reckless, and it was Somerset who’d given that to her. He made her feel vibrant and alive. He made her feel desired.

He studied her for a moment, as though enough focus would reveal the answer to his question. When no answer was forthcoming, he set her away from him, at arm’s length.

Clearing his throat, he placed his hands behind his back. Something had shifted. In the span of a heartbeat, he’d become cold, distant, formal. “You should go before you are discovered alone with me.”

Odd, that hadn’t been his concern three minutes ago, when he had her bent over the desk!

She smiled stiffly, though pain sliced her on the inside. Was he turning her away, now that she’d given him what he wanted? “The door is securely locked. I believe you saw quite nicely to that.”

His eyes narrowed at the mention of his ritual. He moved to the door, unlocked it—once—opened it, and glanced out into the hallway. “It’s clear. If you are quick, you can escape detection.”

Snatching her slippers and stockings off the floor angrily, she put the slippers on and stalked toward the door. “Good day, Your Grace.” She smiled sweetly. “May you rot in hell.”

* * *



He deserved that.

As Gabriella walked out the door, the tightness in his chest intensified. What in the devil was the woman doing to him? From the moment he’d clapped eyes on her, he’d been haunted by her wild, whimsical beauty. And her scent…Good God, he wanted to bury himself inside her, their limbs tangled, their tongues entwined. He wanted to possess her in every conceivable and inconceivable way possible.

And it wasn’t just physical. Something about her bold honesty ensnared him. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he didn’t have to hide, not from her, and it was…freeing.