The Royal Conquest(69)

“I love you.”

He went to his knees, gripped her thighs, and pulled her to the edge of the sofa. She tilted her hips, drawing her feet up until they rested on the sofa’s edge, opening her core to his thrusts. He lost himself in her, in her cries, in her wet heat, and the peace he felt being inside of her almost scared him. The smacking and sounds of their loving drowned him in sensuality, and his cravings deepened. Never had a woman made him this damned hungry. She begged for more, and he obliged. He gripped her hips as he began to hammer into her with quick deep strokes that sent pleasure rippling from his spine to his brain and back down to his balls. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t praise her or encourage her to milk his cock.

He could only feel.

Never had he immersed himself so completely into making love, never had he felt such primitive need, shattering all barriers of caution he’d normally possessed.

She burned him alive.

He speared his fingers through her hair, anchoring her gaze to his. “I love you, Payton.”

She clamped down on his length and bit into his shoulder as she convulsed, hoarse moans ripping from her. She hugged him and wrapped her legs high around the middle of his back, and he cradled her buttocks in his palms as he tilted her hips, shafting deeper and deeper with each stroke. He felt consumed, overwhelmed, and shockingly hungry for more.

She dug her fingernails into his shoulders. “I ache…I burn, but please do not stop,” she gasped, trembling as ecstasy seized her, and she rippled over his cock, bathing him in her pleasure.

Fire raced along his nerve endings as he emptied deep inside her.

And he tumbled into a peace and contentment he had never felt in his life.

He rolled with her, placing her still-quaking body on top of his. Her tremors subsided, and he tightened his arms around her, stroking her hair.

“Will you marry me?”

A sweet chuckle spilled from her. “Oh yes.”

And he was completed.





Epilogue

Four weeks later.

Payton cut the corner at breakneck speed. Her love thundered behind her on his horse, but the power of Aeton made it possible for her to stave off Sage. A few seconds later they slowed the horses to a canter, and she giggled at the disgruntled look on Mikhail’s face.

His lips curved in a smile. “You minx, you cheated.”

She tossed back her head. “Absolutely not. I simply said I cannot wait for you to bind me to the bed later tonight and have your delightfully wicked way with me. You were distracted, and I simply rode away.”

He nudged his horse closer, and she reached out and clasped his hand. Though he welcomed more and more of her touch since marrying two weeks ago, Payton insisted they indulge in bed play where he was in complete control and she was at his wonderful mercy. She’d suspected they would forever have that aspect of absolute restraint when making love in their life, but she did not mind it. In fact, she hungered for the eroticism of the more unusual part of being with him and trusted him wholly with her pleasure.

If society was shocked they had married so quickly and in a small ceremony at Sherring Cross’s chapel, Payton did not know. They had buried themselves in the country, basking in each other and refusing all invitations to balls, houses parties, and soirees. They had only journeyed to London two days past to assist her sister Phoebe in preparing for the upcoming season in a few weeks’ time. Payton would help sponsor Phoebe into society, and be there to guide her through the murky waters. Parliament would also open, and Mikhail would take his seat.

Their presence had been met with speculation and something akin to awe, and a bevy of callers had already descended on their town house. Much to the dismay of the haute monde, they were not yet available to callers.

“It’s Prince Alexander and Princess Payton.”

At their names, she glanced in the direction of the other riders on Rotten Row in Hyde Park.

“She is wearing trousers!”

“Outrageous.”

Mikhail winked, and she chortled.

Life was wonderful.