Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

W ould you like to be my something more?

As if a simple yes could encompass the dire necessity pulsing through Beatrix.

As if she’d ever wanted anything more in her life.

“You’ve shown me what more a kiss can be. Now,” she said, driven by an instinct that held demands, “I want you to show me where more leads .”

“Beatrix…” The low rumble of Dev’s voice quaked through her and settled deep within, made her knees squeeze together with ache. “This isn’t a good idea.”

She understood that.

Truly, she did.

But here was the thing.

She didn’t care.

Tonight, all her hopes and dreams for a good, solid future with a good, solid husband had come to a crashing end.

So, tonight, she would have this man.

He didn’t have to be good or solid or her future.

All he had to be tonight was her something more .

Again, she halved the distance between them. Now they were separated by inches. So close she caught his scent of pine and fresh, salty sea and inhaled a sip of air that contained him and held it in her lungs, letting it penetrate her from deep within.

She hardly knew herself, driven as she was by this instinct. Emboldened by the way he watched her—both wary and desirous—by the way he held so still, as if he didn’t trust himself to move.

As if doing so would incite an utter and complete ravishment.

This was power.

She would say it was power unlike any she’d ever felt, but she’d never experienced power in any sense.

But here she was, a mere woman, with the power to seduce the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on.

And she was going to use it.

She reached out and caressed his cheek, dark stubble scratchy against her palm, following the strong line of his jaw. Unable to resist, her thumb slid along his full bottom lip. Oh, how she ached to replace her thumb with her tongue.

“You have a reputation, Lord Devil.” She hardly knew her voice.

“Aye.” Nothing he wouldn’t already know.

Oh, the bolt of desire his confidence arrowed through her.

With one hand she grabbed her skirts, as with the other she reached for his shoulder, and with a flurry of motion she moved inelegantly to straddle him.

Yet, still, his hands remained at his sides—even as she now sat astride him.

The thought occurred to her that women might attack him thusly on a nightly basis.

His head tipped back; he watched her as if from a great distance.

In fact, they were very close.

So close she could…

She gave her hips a bold swivel.

There.

She felt it.

Through the muslin of her chemise and the superfine of his trousers, his manhood— hard…thick .

It seemed the sort of implement that would be equal to any task.

A shiver crawled through her.

“ Beatrix …”

Oh, how she liked the sound of her name pouring from his mouth on a plea.

“Now, Lord Devil, it’s time you earn your reputation.”

Within his fiery aquamarine eyes that pierced and prodded, she saw resistance give way to surrender, then harden into something that struck through her on an elemental chord—from man to woman.

Intention.

His intention to have her.

She lowered her mouth to his— at last —and his hands— finally —moved…from calves, following the seam of her stockings up to the garters above her knees…trailing along her thighs…across her bottom…up to her hips…grabbing hold as he pressed her hard against him, her sex grinding along his rigid length.

She gasped as novel sensation cascaded through her—all of it pleasurable.

“Oh, do that again,” she murmured against his lips.

She felt him smile against her mouth.

And he did.

From the center of her sex, lightning spiderwebbed through her veins, nerve endings lit alive.

Heady and daring, this was the feeling of freedom. With this man, she could do whatever she liked, such was the communication between their bodies that didn’t need words to be spoken.

And what she would like now was to see him …to feel him against her bare skin.

His mouth pressed against the crook of her neck, almost undoing her intention, but down his body her hands proceeded, awed fingertips brushing across the falls of his trousers…the turgid length of his aroused shaft.

The size of him.

Once, she’d seen a depiction of Michelangelo’s David in a book on Italian art. In many ways, Beatrix could see how Deverill’s form mirrored that of the hero’s—muscles precisely delineated into near god-like lines and curves.

Except in this one area—his manhood.

The statue of David had in no way prepared her for what lay beneath the falls of Deverill’s trousers.

Overcome with curiosity and determination, she settled slightly back and unfastened one button at a time, her heart seeming to double its rate with each button freed.

The cloth fell away, and she inhaled a gasp.

Bold.

His was a manhood with no need to apologize for itself.

Oh, the wickedness that sparked within his eyes. “Like what you see?”

How his wickedness delighted her.

“I’m not sure yet.” She could be wicked, too. “Further investigation will be necessary.”

A dry chuckle rumbled through him.

Driven by the necessity of the moment, her hand wrapped around him, finger by curious finger. So very, impossibly hard…and hot , yet…the skin soft like velvet. Instinctively, she moved her hand up its length, and a groan poured from his parted lips as eyes half-lidded with desire watched her explore him.

Though she straddled his legs, her thighs wanted to squeeze together with a fresh wave of arousal as he watched her pleasure him with her hand.

Emboldened, she squeezed tighter and moved with building confidence.

The raw desire in his eyes… She inspired that.

He slid lower on sofa cushions, his legs sprawled beneath her as he let her have her way with him—and watched.

Blimey.

Now she understood stolen moments between lovers, the willingness to risk all for… this .

On a groan, he reached out and covered her hand with his. “That will be enough for now.”

Her brow creased. “I thought you were enjoying my, erm , ministrations.”

“Let us enjoy some other ministrations before I enjoy myself too much.”

Ah . He was afraid he would spill. She might’ve been new to this, but she understood the basic mechanics of the act.

In a swift fluidity of motion, he drew her tight into his body and stood. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth to his throat, the hard, alive throb of his pulse against her lips, as he carried her into his bedroom. The large, four-poster bed had the covers turned down, as it awaited the presence of its master.

Alive.

That was the word that best described the sensations whirring through her.

Her body had never felt more alive… enlivened .

When they reached the bed, he released the arm beneath her legs and set her on her feet. Her head tipped back. The look in his eyes— determined…intent —had her hands moving…reaching for the hem of his untucked shirt, pushing it up his torso and over his head, tousling his thick black hair. His hands responded in kind, fingers nimbly unbuttoning her dress, sliding it off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.

They each took a second to gaze upon the other revealed. Oh, his chest was as she remembered—broad…lightly fuzzed with fine black hair…muscles dense and well-defined.

But it was his eyes that called most to her, as they gazed upon her clad in naught but chemise and stockings. She’d lost her slippers somewhere in sofa cushions.

He wanted her.

Perhaps as badly as she wanted him.

Perhaps desperately.

A wicked smile tipped one corner of his mouth. “Shall I return the favor for you?”

“What…” The question faded as quickly as begun. She knew what favor. And… “Oh, yes.”

Firm, masculine fingers wrapped around her waist and eased her back against the bed. As her bottom perched on the cushy edge, he moved forward, pressing her back, lying her down, the length of his body poised above, their faces inches apart. Into his eyes she gazed, and he into hers, their breath shallow and quick, mingling. He dipped his head and took her mouth with his in a slow, languorous kiss. The sort of kiss that slipped deep into a soul.

He angled his body slightly to the side of hers, supported by his forearm. His other hand slid across her skin, teasing a trail of goose bumps as it went—cupping her breast, giving the nipple a light pinch…across her stomach…into the curls of her mons pubis…

And still he kissed her, their tongues tangling, as a light fingertip grazed along her slit, pulling a moan from her as her hips tilted and pleaded for more.

Then she felt it—the slide of his finger…him entering her, slowly pushing inside.

Her sex had been waiting all its life for this moment.

For… Blake Deverill .

How full she felt as he penetrated her, her body discovering a rhythm with the motion. With each thrust of his finger, lightning shot through her veins. Her sex felt… oh …pleasured.

Brimming with so much pleasure.

Yet, still, it wasn’t enough.

Something inside her had awakened and wanted— demanded —more, as she felt herself beginning to strain and take all of him. It seemed her quim wasn’t opposed to begging.

And getting ideas, too.

If this was how his fingers felt, then how much more would his manhood feel?

The question produced a frisson of trepidation, but also… need .

She needed to know.

She tore her mouth from his. “Dev.”

He angled slightly back. “You’re sure?” He knew what she’d left unsaid.

“I am.”

His gaze searched hers for another three seconds—the longest three seconds of her life.

He could say no .

And that would be the end of it.

Instead, he nodded.

Triumph soared through her. This man… He wasn’t a perfect man, but he ever took her at her word. He trusted her to know herself.

Even if he, like she, knew that on the morrow another belief would come—that tonight had been the height of foolishness.

His finger eased from her, and her thighs squeezed together, aching at the absence of him. He slid off the bed and made short work of the rest of his clothing. Then he was reaching across her and slipping her chemise over her head. “What a beauty you are, Beatrix.”

She nearly snorted— nearly .

It was the utter seriousness in his eyes that held it back.

Whether she believed his words mattered not. He believed them, and something in her blossomed.

Again, he eased his body onto hers, her legs opening to accommodate him. The air between them grew intimate and close. As he took his length in hand, she tilted her hips to receive him.

No one had taught her this.

No one needed to.

Feminine instinct was her guide.

Then she felt it—the press of him against her. His mouth met her ear, and her name was easing from him as he pushed with slow, deliberate force. The breath caught in her lungs as he filled her, inch by inch. She’d seen with her eyes how very big he was. But seeing and feeling were two very different sensations. For a wild instant, she wondered how all of him could fit. Then he pressed yet another inch deeper, and she was adjusting to the feel of him all over again.

“Are you all right?” His voice was a rasped growl that sent shivers through her.

She nodded—and hoped she did so convincingly.

As uncomfortable as the surface of this act was, a deeper part of her absolutely needed him to keep going. Slowly…slowly… he penetrated her and she had to wonder if the length of him would ever end.

“We don’t have to do more than this,” he said into the space between their mouths, his voice ragged. “We can go back to what we were doing before.”

She shook her head, adamant. “There’s no going back, do you understand me?” She meant it quite literally, but it couldn’t help feeling like a metaphor, too. Anyway, she wasn’t asking. “Prove yourself to me, Lord Devil.”

The light of challenge in his eyes, he reached beneath her and cupped her bottom, steadying her as he pushed impossibly deeper. It wasn’t only the feel of him that required adjustment, but also this need…this feel of… completion .

Until this moment, she’d considered herself an entity complete unto herself.

But this — him inside her…filling her —offered a different possibility.

That she’d been incomplete.

Until she’d joined her body with his.

Until… now .

What strange, wondrous workings of the mind this act wrought.

He began to move, and the feeling of him consumed her, as all her senses heightened to take every bit of him inside. His male scent…his moans…the taste of him as her tongue followed a bead of sweat along his throat… But the sensation most acute was that of feel —her quim’s slick acceptance of his hard length…the thickness of him stretching her…

Yet through that superficial pain pushed a deeper pleasure. This act…it felt, oh , good.

“Sweet Bea,” he rasped. “You are perfection.”

Sweet Bea .

She wouldn’t have thought herself the sort of woman who would respond to a little endearment.

But it turned out she was.

Deeper, he impaled her—and deeper, she took him. His movements became more focused, somehow his manhood harder, as he drove into her. “Bea, are you…” he muttered. “Are you close?”

“ Close? ” The question a breathless gasp. “Close to what?”

“ Blast. ” Every muscle in his body went rigid with tension as he slowed his motion. “I need to?—”

She wasn’t about to allow him to finish that sentence. “ Stop? ” She gave her head a firm shake. “You’re not stopping.”

“But you haven’t?—”

Her legs wrapped around him. She wasn’t certain what she was setting out to accomplish, except he wasn’t going anywhere.

Long, demanding fingers tightened on her bottom as he became a different man altogether. Withdrawn into himself, into his pleasure, as he thrust with singular intention. An undefinable feeling began to pull through Beatrix, sparking a peculiar drive inside her. Of a sudden, she couldn’t get enough of this man.

Then he was pulling away from her and, with an animal groan, spilling his seed onto the counterpane.

The abruptness of their separation opened a feeling inside her—a void.

How empty she felt.

She hadn’t known she’d been living her entire life empty of him.

Sweaty, enervated, he collapsed beside her. Within those piercing eyes of his shone a peculiar emotion. “Please accept my apologies.”

Guilt , that was what ran behind his eyes.

And something else, too— shame .

“You have nothing to apologize for,” she said, very clear on this point. “I wanted this.”

He gave a short, mirthless laugh and rolled onto his back, resting the back of his hand over his eyes.

“Now,” she said, turning onto her side, facing away from him. “I’ll have a short rest before I go home.”

Behind her, she heard him exhale a long sigh.

Why was he behaving thusly?

Their coupling had been one of mutual want, and now she knew what all the fuss was about.

She couldn’t regret it.

Her eyes drifted shut.

Yet…

She had to admit the act wasn’t as transformative as plays, poetry, and novels had led her to believe—that a part of her that felt oddly unknowable had teased just out of reach and ultimately denied her a secret.

Perhaps, someday, it would reveal itself to her.