Lord Garson’s Bride (Dashing Widows 7)

He didn’t let her go. That muscle flickered in his cheek, although his voice remained steady. “Until next month, when we have to go through all this again. Give it up, Jane. Come back to me. You haven’t stopped wanting me. I’d wager on it.”

Yes, she wanted him. She loved him. He wasn’t the only one with a loyal heart, damn him. “Wanting isn’t enough, Hugh.”

“Make it enough.”

“No.”

His lips tightened, and the lines on his face deepened into furrows. “Then let’s get this over with.”

It was what she’d asked for, so his terse response shouldn’t make her flinch. She didn’t realize he meant to kiss her, until it was almost too late. She jerked her head, and his lips slid across her cheek. Even that clumsy kiss made every hair on her body stand up in charged response.

“No kissing,” she said indistinctly.

She waited for a protest, but he curved one hand around her neck and tilted her chin so he could nibble a trail down her throat. Despite everything, Jane couldn’t contain a whimper of pleasure.

“This…this isn’t necessary,” she forced out. “I’ll lie on the bed, and you can do what you have to.”

“Oh, no, my lovely wife,” he murmured against her skin. “That’s not how this plays out. If you’re so determined to put me to stud like a ram to a ewe, this is how it’s going to be.”

Fear rose to choke her, fear as crippling as the terror that had turned her to ice on their wedding night. Except as his lips and teeth teased her neck and ears, ice was the last thing she felt like. Already that throbbing weight set up in her belly, and her body softened in readiness.

She pulled away to see his face. “Hugh, you’re frightening me.”

Jane waited for the reliable consideration to kick in. Instead, ruthlessness hardened his features. “You’ll live.”

He caught her by the waist and whirled her around, until she stood behind the chair and he stood behind her. “What are you doing?”

“It’s my turn to give the orders.” With hard hands, he bent her over the back of the chair. He set one hand over the small of her back, pinning her in position. “Of late, you’ve got your own way. Put your hands flat on the seat.”

She obeyed. God forgive her, despite everything, a surge of wild excitement swept through her. “This is…odd,” she said, largely for the sake of her pride.

“This way you don’t have to see my face,” he said in a voice like needles. “That should suit you down to the ground.”

She swallowed a sob. He sounded like he hated her.

It wasn’t entirely comfortable bending over the padded chair. She leaned her weight forward onto the brocade seat. He must have guessed that she wouldn’t try to escape, because he stopped holding her down. She heard the rustle of his clothes, then he bundled her skirts up her legs. He’d often seen her naked, but she’d never felt as exposed as she did now, with her bare rump pointing at the ceiling.

He moved closer, and suddenly in spite of the strange position, so much that was familiar washed over her. The rich scent of his arousal. The unsteady rhythm of his breathing. His hard rod pressing between her legs in male demand.

When he leaned in and cupped her breasts, teasing the nipples through her muslin gown, she bit back a protest. In this position, her breasts tumbled into his hands as if designed for his touch.

She shivered under his bold caresses. “Hugh, this isn’t…”

“Shut up, Jane.” The hard, sucking kiss he placed on her neck would leave a mark. “And spread your legs.”

How could she deny him? He stroked her. Now both of them knew that for all her defiance, she was hot and ready. Unforgiving hands seized her hips, and his body went taut against her back.

She couldn’t restrain a yearning sob at the delay. Then a cry of satisfaction as he plunged deep inside her. With one powerful thrust, he filled her aching emptiness, and she clenched around him in helpless welcome.

He groaned against her ear, and his kiss on her neck this time expressed a longing to match hers. Even knowing that was only wishful thinking, she released another choked sob and bumped backward. Her wordless consent drew a low growl of satisfaction from him.

He began to move in and out, each time claiming more of what she’d tried to deny him. Soon, astonishingly soon, she began to quake with a climax that had her moaning in pleasure.

She closed her eyes and bit her lip and battled to keep some distance from him, even as every muscle quivered and tightened with rapture. She felt a great liquid surge from her womb, then Hugh thrust one last time and flooded her with every drop of his passionate heat.

*

Garson collapsed exhausted on Jane’s back. He’d found his release, and he’d brought her to climax. He should feel triumphant, relieved, purged.