Never Marry a Viscount (Scandal at the House of Russell 3)

She thought of his cock, hard, waiting. “I like babies,” she said.

He was silent a moment. “So do I.”

Everything was still for a moment. Could she risk it all, give him the ability to destroy her, break her heart? Ah, but she already had. This was nothing but admitting the truth she already knew, deep inside. And she suspected he knew it as well. “But we don’t have to have a baby immediately,” she said calmly. And she tried to dive back down.

He hauled her back. “You’re a very wicked girl, aren’t you?”

She considered it. “I think so, yes. Except you’re the wicked one. I don’t feel wicked except when I’m with you, so it must be your fault.”

“It must be,” he agreed, taking a deep breath, and he turned her underneath him. “I don’t want to come in your mouth, not this time. I want to fuck you; I want to come inside you, again and again, until you’re filled up with me. I want to fuck you until neither of us can move, and then when we’re rested I want to do it all over again. You’re mine, and I can do anything I want with you, as long as it pleases you. And it will. I promise.”

His hard body was pressing her into the mattress, and she tried to open her legs for him. She had never felt this way in her life, empty, needing.

“Not that way,” he said and turned her over onto her stomach, pulling her on her hands and knees. She could feel him behind her, the rounded top of his cock pressing against her, rubbing her wetness around them both, and she pushed her hips back, needing him inside her.

He began to slide into her, but this time there was no pain. Just a tightness as he pushed in, slowly, and tilted her hips back, trying to get more.

He had his hands on her hips, holding her still as he sank into her, and his pace was driving her mad. “Do it,” sh

e said hoarsely. “Now.”

It seemed to break whatever hold he had on himself. He thrust all the way into her, deep and hard, and it felt so good, so necessary, and she exploded once more, her body clamping down around that part that she’d taken into her mouth so lovingly, ripples of reaction shaking her.

She felt his hands cover her breasts, and when he pinched them lightly the last bit of her mind vanished. She howled and sank down into the bedclothes, covering her head with her arms as he began to thrust inside her, hard, so hard, so gloriously hard. “More,” she said, though she didn’t even know what she wanted.

But he knew. He was moving faster now, harder, the hands on her breasts holding her in place, keeping her from being flattened by his heavy thrusts. She clawed at the sheets, so lost in pleasure she was aware of nothing but Alexander with his body around her, inside her, thrusting, and she climaxed again, so lost that when she wanted to scream nothing came out. It was just them joining together, sweat and fluids and love and mess and nothing mattered but his arms around her, his cock still thrusting back and forth inside her as the night shattered around them both, and she felt him spill inside her. And she was gone.

When he finally pulled away she felt the loss of him so keenly that she wanted to weep. She couldn’t, of course. She never cried.

She collapsed flat on her stomach on the bed, and he covered her, his much-bigger body pushing her down into the bedclothes.

He was like a hot, heavy blanket on top of her, and she loved it. It didn’t matter that he was so much heavier than she was; she wanted to sink into him, be a part of him, dissolve into nothingness and let him absorb her. Crazy ideas kept flitting through her head, thoughts that belonged in the darkness that he’d brought to light. He lifted off her and turned her over, pulling her into his arms, so tightly that air couldn’t get between their sweat-soaked bodies. He pulled one of her legs over his hip to get her closer, and she collapsed into him, as the last, final shudder racked her body. She wanted to stay this way forever, full of him, replete. Everything felt so right, for the first time in her life. This was where she belonged. With Alexander, who didn’t love her.

She pushed the thought from her mind—she pushed everything out of her mind, concentrating on his sleek skin, his arms tight around her, the pounding of his heart as it slowly returned to normal. She listened for the heartbeats, ba-thump, ba-thump, and then she fell sound asleep.

Alexander looked down at her. She’d fallen asleep—she was exhausted, poor baby, and he’d made it worse. If he had to use sex to keep her with him then he’d gladly make the sacrifice, but the truth was he could have sex with anyone. He wanted only Sophie.

She could learn to care for him. He had to count on that. By coming in here she had accepted his offer, no, his demand. She would marry him, and she would learn to love him.

They had fucked, they had rutted, they had made love. Had Rufus heard them? Knowing Rufus, he would have been listening if he could. It didn’t matter. Rufus would find his own way in the world—he always had several schemes going. The last one, whatever it was, obviously hadn’t worked out too well, but Rufus was his brother, not his responsibility, and nothing to worry about. Rufus’s monstrous mother was a different matter.

But he wasn’t going to think of Adelia when Sophie was lying naked in his arms. He didn’t think he’d seen anything more erotic than the way she’d ripped off her chemise before taking his cock in her mouth. He still couldn’t believe she’d done that. He was getting hard again—in fact, he hadn’t come down completely from the first time. But he would let her sleep. He would hold her in his arms, smell the scent of roses mixed with sex, and dream about all the things they could do together.

Perhaps lick hollandaise sauce from her stomach and then carry her sticky body out to the pool and take her again. The possibilities were endless.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

RUFUS VOMITED. HE HADN’T wanted to, but the rage and betrayal were twisting his insides, and he had no choice. He’d heard them. Alexander would know that he’d heard them. Alexander, whom he’d worshiped for so long, Alexander, whom he killed for, stole for, all so his idol could have the perfect life.

She’d warned him. She’d told him he’d be untrustworthy, but Rufus hadn’t listened, and now he was vomiting his betrayal into a waste bin.

He knew what he had to do, and he wouldn’t hesitate again. He’d planned to wait until all the extraneous details were dealt with, but the two Russell sisters had survived. It didn’t matter. His mother would know how to deal with it, once he finished what she’d planned. He would lure the Russell girl onto the roof, and suspicion would fall on Alexander.

He’d idolized his brother for so long, loved him so much he’d been determined to be like him. He hadn’t liked other people interfering, and the first time he’d killed had been surprisingly easy. Not that he’d planned to drown his father—he’d been caught in a strong current and his father had jumped in after him. Holding the old man under the water had been almost too easy, and it meant he no longer had to share Alexander’s attention with anyone.

Jessamine had had to die for any number of reasons, chief among them that she couldn’t be allowed to bear Alexander an heir. It would cut Rufus out of any chance of ascending to the title, and his mother had no plans to ever let that happen. Rufus had been more than happy to do her bidding, and it had been easy enough to lure Jessamine up onto the battlements. She’d had a crush on him, and he’d nurtured it, and one little slip had taken care of things.

But Alexander wasn’t the man Rufus had thought he was. He made mistakes; he was troubled by ridiculous concerns like honor. The Russell girl had bewitched him, and there would be another wife to be gotten rid of. It was getting too complicated. His idol had fallen, and there was only one solution. He would have to take his place.