Chapter Twenty-Two

Grace returned his kiss with all the passion in her soul. She was exposed and vulnerable to him now. A full day of stimulation and laughter had worn down her defenses. She was honest, though, and admitted that she had left her propriety at home from the beginning. From the moment she stepped inside his carriage this morning, she knew where this day would lead. She had gone along anyway, knowing it was futile to resist her last chance to be with Ambrose. Perhaps that was the real reason for her excitement earlier? Not the chance to attend the theater, but her chance to be with him intimately.

Their carriage slowed to a stop, but she was blissfully unaware of that fact. After a few minutes, though, the carriage rocked as a footman climbed down from his perch. John Coachman knocked on the carriage door, bringing her back down to earth.

They touched their heads together as they sought to reign in their emotions. As her breathing slowed, Grace pulled back to look at Ambrose. His desire for her was writ plainly across his handsome face, and she reveled in it.

"Grace, this is my home—well, one of my homes. It's just a small place I use occasionally when I need to get away from the dukedom and all it entails. We would have complete privacy here…"

She cut off what was sure to be a long-winded explanation. He was nervous, poor man. She pressed her lips to his, and smiled at the sweetness driving his sudden discomfort. She knew he struggled for the right words. She put him out of his misery. "It's all right, Ambrose. I would love to go inside."

Inside, she stared at Ambrose, relieved to finally be able to look him over at her leisure. Unguarded. Thoroughly. He was beautiful in his plain clothes with no fancy togs to distract the eye. Her desire climbed a step higher. He had already removed his boots and coat, and it made him appear more virile, more obviously male, now that she could see the hardness of his body clearly defined in the light and without the extra layers of clothes to hide what lay beneath.

She closed the distance between them as her curiosity compelled her to move. She wanted to initiate first contact to prove her acceptance of what they would do. She didn't want to approach this night as a victim, vulnerable to his desires. She wanted him to see and remember her as an equal this night—equal in desire, equally capable to take what she wanted. What she needed.

He reached out at her approach, but she forestalled him with a raised hand.

"Don't. Move."

The order in her demand was unquestionable.

She ran her hands up his chest and steadfastly unbuttoned his shirt, relieved he wore no cravat with which to inhibit the unveiling of his chest.

She saw that her boldness set fire to his desire. Hers had been ratcheting up in unhurried degrees. She wanted to take it slow, but his eyes blazed with passion and she lost a little bit of her own control.

He fisted his hands as he fought for command, but she was determined to take the lead.

Grace finished unmooring the last button of his shirt letting it gape open, naturally, to his sides. Then, she slid her fingertips up his abdominal wall, trailing her thumbs though the arrow of hair that ran from his navel and disappeared into his trousers. His muscles hardened at her contact. Each of her fingers sent a bolt of lightning through his body everywhere they touched making his heart thunder in his chest.

Breathe.

She flattened her hands on his chest and pushed up toward his shoulders. When her hands rubbed over his nipples, they beaded in response. He had never known them to react thus, and he gritted his teeth that much harder. It would kill him, but he would stand still and let her do this. It was important he let her do this.

She placed a gentle kiss on one distended peak.

And his control nearly snapped.

Breathe.

She pushed his shirt off his shoulders, and it fell, but stopped short of the floor as the sleeves caught on his hands. She walked around him, slowly, looking over every inch of his body as she did. He had never been more aroused in his damn life. One of her hands remained in contact with his skin the entire time, trailing about his waist as she moved. She paused behind him, then yanked his shirt the rest of the way free, discarding it where it landed. The buttons at his wrists were ripped from the fabric and bounced a few times before settling on the floor. He wasn't going to survive this unscathed.

Breathe.

She ignored the orphaned buttons as she continued her circular path. Her questing hand still followed, dipping dangerously close to his buttocks before reaching his side. Every one of his muscles tensed in anticipation of her touch as she circled back around to his front.

She paused only a moment before she knelt and began to unbutton the placket of his breeches.

Ah, sweet Mary, mother of God.

He was harder than stone and wanted to beg for relief. His cock was so swollen it pushed against the front of his trousers, making it difficult to undo the buttons.

But they came loose anyway for she was determined, his sweet, indomitable Grace.

And finally, as the last button was unfettered, his cock sprang free with welcome respite.

Aaahhh, sweet, blessed relief.

His prick bobbed a few times, and her eyes widened at the sight. She gripped his thighs to steady herself. His shaft was long, hard and dark, with a prominent vein running its length. The bulbous head flared like a mushroom cap, and it looked soft and shiny in the firelight. She wanted to touch it. She needed to touch it.

She ran her finger over the smoothness of the head before circling the hole at the tip and was surprised to find the pearly wetness there. She felt the softness of the flared edge, before continuing down the shaft—tracing the vein as she went.

Ambrose sucked in a sharp breath, and she was distracted by the sound. She looked up, gauging his response. His hands were fisted so tightly his knuckles were white, and his eyes were squeezed closed. A muscle in his jaw twitched from the pressure of him clenching his teeth. She didn't think he was in pain—her touch had been too soft—so she determined he was possessed of a desire so strong he almost couldn't control it.

She grinned with satisfaction, then, returned to her perusal of his manhood. She patted his hip in understanding. He would be fine.

She gripped his shaft, her fingers barely meeting around its circumference, and was surprised at the feel of steel beneath the velvety skin, such a contradiction in texture. She gripped firmly and slid her hand down to the base, drawing forth a low moan from her man.

"God, Grace, I am about to explode. Unless you want a close-up view of my seed, you had best stop."

He actually looked at the ceiling as he spoke. And she smiled and almost laughed out loud at the sight. The thought of witnessing his ‘seed' pricked her curiosity, but she could see he was struggling with his control, and she knew there was more to experience first. Maybe she could see it later.

She felt powerful. A goddess in control of this man.

She inhaled and caught a whiff of his unique, male musk. Without thinking about what she was doing, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss in the wiry hair next to his shaft. Her nose buried, she inhaled deeply his unique scent, and felt a curious splurge of wetness between her legs in response.

She leaned back, looked up, and was distracted by the sight of him standing there— his chest bared and his legs spread wide, his cock jutting out from the opening of his trousers and surrounded by his dark, male hair. He looked magnificent. Commanding. All man. And for the moment, he was all hers.

He finally looked down at her after perusing the ceiling again. What was he thinking when he beseeched the heavens? His eyes were ablaze; his stare intense. Ah. She knew. He was at the end of his rope, and she smiled as she recognized her effect on his self-control.

"It's my turn." His voice was gruff and shook with emotion.

He knelt before her and pulled her hands from his thighs. Then he pushed her to the floor and straddled her legs. His hard shaft lay across her still-clothed belly. She could just feel the kiss of its erotic caress. The thought of it inflamed her, and she reached down to touch him again, but he caught her hands. He leaned forward and pushed them over her head, holding them to the floor. Cheek to cheek, now. Breast to breast. She liked the feel of it. She was his prisoner. Out of control, now, herself.

"Grace, let down your hair." His voice was soft, his breath warm in her ear. Her skin tingled all over in response, but he just freed her hands.

She pulled at her pins, those that remained anyway, as he unbuttoned her dress. His hands caressed every inch of her skin as it was revealed to his sight. She was dressed plainly, thus, the buttons were in front and he could see her body being exposed to him in stages, as each fastener left its mooring. One button. Two. Now, three and four. Pale, smooth skin was exposed one button at a time.

She wore a corset and no chemise. And a drop of liquid leaked from his cock at the sight. The corset was simple, white, and unadorned, and the most tantalizing thing he had ever seen. Her breasts were pushed high and he wanted nothing more than to bury his face and worship them. Maybe thrust his aching shaft between them. He groaned at the thought and his cock twitched in agreement.

He was relieved to see the corset tied in front, rather than with laces at the back. He would be able to bare her completely without leaving his enjoyable position on the floor.

As soon as he reached the last button at her waist, he tackled the ties on her corset. Her breasts spread outward as they were relieved of their tight confines. He reached up and pulled them completely free of their cage, enjoying the sight of her nipples—swollen and distended, their rosy color begging for his touch. He touched.

One hand kneaded her left breast as his lips sought out the hardened nipple of the other. He held her breast in position for his tongue as he licked her everywhere but her nipple. She moaned and twisted in torment. Finally, unhurriedly he sucked the tip into his mouth.

Grace bucked off the floor, and he smiled at her responsiveness, her passion, her fire. And after paying sufficient homage to both breasts, he blew on each nipple to ensure their continued stand. He returned to the ties of her corset. Her nipples remained tight and peaked. Taunting him as he worked to unwrap her body.

Once he bared her completely, he paused to take in the sight. She took his breath away. And at that moment, he was the most fortunate man on earth.

Breathe.

He moved down her body and planted tender kisses along the way, and he could tell she had to stifle the urge to giggle. Good. He was delighted at her ticklish response to his touch. He kissed her hip and delighted when her flesh prickled in response.

He stuttered to a halt when he reached her woman's mound. She had removed her underthings before they went out as if she knew where this night would lead. He was humbled and honored with her gift. Her plan. He wouldn't waste it. He leaned in and inhaled, taking in her sweet, feminine smell. And he nearly lost control. Again. It was as if her scent was created for him alone. It fired his blood. Embedded itself in his brain, destined to remain for eternity. Tied to his soul.

He could smell her arousal, and he simply had to taste.

He slid his shoulders under her so she straddled his head, his face centered at her feminine core. He didn't take a light taste. No. He dove right in and licked the petals of her sex before plunging his tongue into her tight channel.

She screamed her pleasure.

She tasted of honey and cream, and heaven and everything he had ever wanted in his whole damn life. He sought more. He found the pearl of her clitoris and began alternately tonguing and sucking it with furious intent while his fingers claimed her wetness below.

Ah, hell. Who had time to breathe?

Grace squirmed and clamped her knees to either side of his head, the sensation of his tongue and swirling fingers overwhelming. She tried to relax, but gave up that quest as futile. Instead, she reached forward and gripped his head making it clear he stopped upon pain of death.

He was so quickly there, his face buried between her legs; she didn't have time to process his intentions before she was shaking with pleasure. She could never have imagined this scenario before, and she had no time to consider if it was proper now. She didn't care. It felt too good, and before she knew it, every muscle in her body tensed with restrained energy. On instinct, she sought the sensation. It hovered out of reach, something she knew to reach for. Heat gathered in her feet and hands, like they were dipped in molten fire. Then, the dam burst and her body exploded, all the built-up energy shooting out from her center.

She screamed again as she thrashed in uncontained frenzy. Her channel contracting. Her cream gushing. Ambrose suckled her bud until her tremors subsided and her screams and moans turned to little whimpers of pleasure.

Goodness gracious. What was that? And why wasn't everyone doing this all the time?

He sat back and she looked up at him through eyes she could barely open. She was languid and relaxed. But he didn't stay still for long. He all but tore his trousers from his body. Then, returned in a rush and centered himself over her, ready to join with her without delay.

He put his weight on one arm and reached down to position his iron cock at her entrance. He guided the tip. She shook both with anticipation and the aftershocks of her release. But he stopped and instead reached down to pinch the base of his penis; his face contorted in pain. His eyes squeezed shut.

"Are you all right? Ambrose?"

"Yes, sweet, I'm fine. I just need. A moment. Or it will be over before I begin."

A moment more passed as she waited expectantly. Yes. It wasn't over. His cock was still turgid and long. Dark purple and swollen. A mighty tool designed for her pleasure. She could tell by the look on his face that he was unsatisfied and needing more.

He opened his eyes and unerringly sought out her own. His own softened for just a moment. "This might hurt, darling. But I will endeavor to be gentle."

He caressed her face. Soothed her. And she nodded her head in acceptance. He kissed her once on the tip of her nose, then he reached down, grabbed his cock with his hand, and pushed in to her still pulsing sheath. He pushed on and on and on. Until he was entirely seated, thick and full in her.

She stiffened for just a moment at the intrusion. The pain wasn't bad, only a light pinch. She looked at Ambrose. He was laboriously still, his eyes clinched and she wondered at his pause.

"Are we finished?"

Ambrose let loose a burst of laughter. "Oh God, Grace, hardly. I was just giving you…and me…a moment to adjust."

She laughed in return, though with undisguised relief, before leaning up to whisper in his ear, "If you don't move now, I will not be responsible for my actions."

That was all it took. He pulled back and thrust forward, deep. She watched his cock moving in and out, the sight erogenous to behold. Then, she could hold herself up no longer, and she fell back to the rug with a moan.

He grabbed her hips and pounded into her. He gave her everything he had. She took it all.

"Grace. Oh, hell, Grace!" He roared her name. Thrusting. Thrusting. Thrusting. She felt his shaft harden even further as he pistoned in and out. Out and in. On and on and on.

She gripped his waist with her legs and held on, powerless to do anything else but let him ride. The pleasure was intense, and she felt that energy building inside again, but now, she knew what was coming and she reached for it. It was upon her without warning, and the pause just before release seemed to last an eternity before she detonated and cried out in ecstasy.

Ambrose stiffened above her, and with one final thrust, the head of his cock brushed her womb as his seed exploded from his cock.

"Grace, I'm coming. Oh, God, I'm coming. Grace." He roared her name again and again as he pumped on while he bathed her insides with his seed. She felt the heat of it scorch her. Brand her. Claim her. She held on and cherished his gift.

Later, he rested his head against hers, as she wrapped her arms around his. They were both slick with perspiration, and for the moment, content in each other's arms.

They might have dozed. Who knew? It was Grace who finally broke the silence. "That was wonderful. Tha…"

He interrupted her when he stood and carefully lifted her from the floor. His face was intent upon his course. He set her down and turned her toward the foot of the bed. She followed his unspoken lead, trusting him completely.

He pushed down on her back and bent her forward at the waist before he leaned over and whispered, "Grace, my sweet. You speak too soon. I'm not nearly finished with you, love."

He placed both her hands on the foot board and squeezed them to indicate she retain her grip before he slid his hands down her arms, down her sides, and gripped her hips.

"Now, love, you had better hold on." And he plowed into her from behind.