Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

S tars erupted in the sky as Richard’s words cut to the core of Amelia’s being. His lips crashed down upon hers, claiming them so thoroughly as he’d done just the other evening. The cosmos itself could not contain the magnitude of overwhelming sensation that flooded through her, and at least for now, Amelia was done trying to fight it.

She was liquid in his arms as he held her to his chest, the rigid length that strained between them making her mind strain with the possibilities. Amelia had never been intimate with a man before, and yes, Richard was her husband, the one man she should allow herself to be with. Still, the nerves were hardly put at rest with the simple thought.

Consternation and arousal warred, a raucous battleground within her mind that forced any notion of a world beyond this room oceans away from her awareness.

“Honeyed ambrosia,” the words were muffled against her neck as Richard dragged kissed down the column of flesh, stopping on her pulse point, “nectar of the gods, Amelia. It’s been right here before me all this time.”

Sparks of lightning coursed through, making Amelia feel alive in a way she’d never experienced prior to Richard’s delicious torment. The now was all the better for it as well, these new and familiar sensations creating a heady cocktail that went straight to Amelia’s head.

“Richard, oh god, please. You mustn’t tease me more. I shall perish.”

He didn’t respond but to walk Amelia backward, taking them to a shadowy corner of the room where the newly acquired foliage created a curtain of privacy. It was as if they’d left London altogether, stolen themselves away to a private land where they might for once indulge their most hedonistic desires.

Lord, at night, right here in the conservatory? I’m a terrible cyprian.

But the care was not near strong enough to keep Amelia from allowing herself to be lowered down onto the ground, Richard smoothing himself between her thighs as he knelt above her.

“A bewitching woman of the fair folk. It must be what you are for all that you have done to me.”

Amelia reached up, taking Richard’s face in her hands and drawing him down to her lips. She was desperate to taste him, to feel his lips on hers for as long as this stolen moment would allow.

“Speak with your actions, Richard.” She kissed him, licking across the seam of his lips as he opened up before whispering against him again. “I cannot contain the fire in blood a moment longer.”

He responded in kind, sweeping his tongue against her as he reached for the plentiful skirts of her half gown and chemise. Richard’s dexterous fingers found the dainty laces at the top of her stockings, tugging them free and assisting the fabric in its descent down her legs—first one, then the other.

Amelia’s skin hummed, the sensation of exposure making the lust that intoxicated her pound harder. Goosebumps erupted along the bare skin of her thighs as cool air touched them, her skirts no longer providing her coverage.

“Oh,” she wined, her breath rushing in and out of her chest in shallow heaves.

“Are you warmed, Amelia? Shall I find your fruitful vine ripe with splendor?”

Her cheeks flamed, the vulgarity of Richard’s words drawing out something sinful and tantalizing within her. She should be so shocked by his words, by their actions, but the daring nature of their location and the lascivious air of Richard’s intoxicating whispers only heightened the pleasure already worming through her veins.

Even more, her husband did not wait for a response, winding his touch beneath her chemise until he ghosted the tips of his fingers across her seam. Indeed, she was heated to the core—an ingot glowing red and prepared for a blacksmith’s merciless pounding.

Amelia arched against his touch, and as her chest rose, Richard’s velvety lips found the top of her breast, his arm scooping under her back and holding her to his mouth. His teeth grabbed hold of the lace that trimmed her bodice, slowly prying away the offending fabric from her breast.

She wanted to cry out as his tongue slipped around her nipple, flicking it before his lips pulled it into his mouth. Still, she dared not make more than a desperate squeak, knowing that a call out would lead anyone nearby to their location. The restriction, the demand to remain quiet even as she felt entirely overwhelmed by sensations, made each touch that much more magical, more… pleasurable.

“Richard,” she whispered, “oh, God…”

He chuckled against her skin, the vibrations rumbling through the pert bud at the tip of her breast. It was lovely, the humming stimulating her nerve endings, and Richard’s touch slipped between her slick folds, pressing into that bundle of responsiveness just before her entrance.

“Such a naughty girl.” Her husband nipped at her nipple, pain flaring for a brief moment that ramped up the delight another notch. “I adore it, Amelia.”

She was already steadily approaching that realm of release, a building tingle blooming through her most intimate locales. Her mind spun as well, trying to piece together the reality that so amazed her. Amelia wanted Richard completely, to feel him sink himself deep within her, and yet, she was not sure if she wished for the current torture to end.

His delicious worship of her breast forced a low moan to bubble to the surface, and then her husband was slipping two of his long digits into her channel. He stroked in sublime rhythm, and Amelia’s head fell back as her eyes rolled up to the ceiling.

Amelia’s thighs clamped around Richard’s hand as he pumped in and out of her, and she clutched at his waistcoat like she might fall off the face of the earth. The deliberate ministrations had her scissoring her legs, that coiling need within her growing ever more blinding with each delectable swirl of Richard’s fingers.

And still, she wanted more.

“Please, Richard,” she whispered yet again, “I want to feel you.”

He teased her nipple, slipping his fingers from her core to rub briskly across the most sensitive part at the tip of her. Amelia bucked, her body overloaded with the sparking of her nerves.

“I must feel your body give in, sweet Amelia. I need to feel you release,” he licked across her breast, ramming his fingers home once more and attending to her bud with his thumb, “then you shall have what you so desire.”

Richard was soon to get his wish for Amelia’s entire body seized as the wonders throughout her drove the Duchess to the edge. Each area of assault beneath Richard’s talented appendages was on fire, reeling and wailing for that climax that hung overhead.

“Oh, God…I’m so near, Richard. I?—”

Her words were cut off as the barreling release claimed her. Amelia began to cry out, but Richard’s lips were quickly to her own, and he swallowed down her cries as the bliss flared brightly.

“That’s my sweet kitten,” Richard smirked above her as Amelia gazed up at him, her eyes lust-lidded and her being humming.

It was as if she were drunk, and Amelia dimply processed how Richard removed his fingers, leaving her skirts hiked up around her hips, and reached for his trousers.

God, can I handle much more?

The thought was swiftly answered, however, because the notion of at last feeling Richard within her—properly seated as her husband—bloomed in her mind, snuffing out all potential doubt or apprehension. She wanted this. She wanted this with her entire soul.

Leaning over her, Richard pressed his lips to her chest, dragging kisses across her skin as his hands busied themselves at his hips. Rustling fabric sounded quietly between them, and Amelia’s pulse fluttered quicker. She was indeed about to lose her virginity, and she silently marveled at the fact.

Amelia had long assumed she would die an old maid who’d managed to be married, remaining ever untouched because of her devotion to upholding her vows. She thanked God that it would not be so.

The kisses became a frenzy, and Richard’s tongue slipped between her lips, exploring her thoroughly. She moaned quietly against his mouth, and then his fierce grip was once more at her hips. Richard slid a hand beneath her thigh, angling her leg so that it might wrap around him and deliver her to him.

He leaned back, meeting her eyes in a hungry stare that also held motionless for a time. It was an unspoken question of continuation, and Amelia nodded before her eyes flicked down.

“Oh.”

Flaring their widest, Amelia’s eyes took in the unsubtle form of her husband bared to her, her brows reaching her hairline. She’d never seen a man like this before, and her body thrummed in response, eager and wanting.

Richard chuckled softly, his lips returning to her breast as he warmed her all the more. Internally, her mind whirled. Her husband was a thick, proud man, and it bewildered her that he might genuinely fit within her. The long shaft was gently curved up toward Richard’s navel, and the round, blunt head was an intriguing swollen nob.

Amelia hung in excited curiosity at what he would feel like, the impressive length filling her completely. Her seam was slick, the moisture on her thighs, and she could feel her pulse pound all the hard within her chest, her neck, and even her commodity.

“You flatter me, dear,” Richard mumbled against her chest. “And t’would be best if the entire estate did not hear you.”

He traveled his kisses to the side of her neck, his head brushing against her seam, making Amelia arch up into him as her body naturally sought out more of him. In a flash, Richard’s hand was over her mouth, his fingers wrapping around her face as he muffled her.

Before she could think to speak up, Richard rocked his hips forward, pressing himself between her folds. Amelia groaned, the stretch of accommodating him a singeing wonder.

“Ugh!” she called out, but Richard’s palm did its work, keeping the sound from drawing attention.

It was so much, Amelia’s body ringing with tension. How could she possibly take him? Was this to be the whole of the experience? She could not take it.

But he began to roll his hips in a steady rhythm, the motions easing him in and out of her in a way that mimicked the sensation of his fingers but so much more profoundly. With every methodical pump, Amelia’s body gave more of herself to her husband, the pleasure roiling once more and making her drip for him.

“That’s it, dearest.” Richard gripped her hip, anchoring himself as he made love to her. “You’re doing so very well.”

It was surely heaven on earth, the sensations beyond any she’d dreamed of. Amelia began the dance with him, losing herself to the feeling of Richard’s length driving in and out of her. Their pace quickened, and once more, she rushed toward the edge of release.

Amelia clung onto Richard’s arm and neck as he lavished her collarbone and breast with his lips. Being a fair amount taller than her, he was able to swirl his tongue around her breast while he remained sheathed inside her, the thickness he possessed filling every inch of her channel.

He thrust into her, picking up momentum as he drove himself forward. Richard was flush to her, reaching the brink within her so that it found something oversensitive that made Amelia yelp. The fullness, the stretch, was mindboggling. Amelia could almost feel her thoughts scrambling, unable to keep up with the new, incredible sensations.

“Ugh, Amelia,” Richard’s voice was deep and sinful, utterly consumed by their encounter, “you are incomparable. I should like to stay locked within you for eternity.”

The praising words lit her up, sunlight shining from within her veins as Richard continued to pummel her with his impressive erection. It was a marvel that she could withstand him, but her body melted around Richard like it was destined to be his—and his alone.

“Richard, I…Oh God…do not stop. Do not ever stop.”

His pace quickened once more, and Richard dropped his head to her shoulder. The soft grunts he released made the passion swell all the higher inside her, and Amelia wrapped her arm around him, gripping Richard’s hair at the back of his head.

Something changed so utterly within her. Amelia was gone to anything but the feeling of Richard claiming her. He stretched her walls, demanding so much from her body. He barreled into her, obliterating her maidenhead. The need to cry out was so unbelievably intense, but Amelia forced herself quiet, biting into her lip.

Daring to open her eyes, Amelia wondered up at the canopy of green that cloaked their presence in the conservatory. The darkness of night surrounded the glass space, the sun having set during their time here. It was a sphere of shrouding shadow that stole them both away from the world beyond, allowing them this moment of connection as just the two of them.

There were no responsibilities here, no worries, no squabbles or plots at work, and no nagging thoughts of duty or propriety. It was only the two of them—Amelia and Richard, her husband.

Clinging to him still, Amelia shifted her hips, allowing Richard to sink even deeper. She whimpered, the sound all she would permit herself to make, and Richard lifted his head from her shoulder. As their eyes met, it was as if he drank her in, gulping down the look of her like nectar.

Richard shifted up onto his knees as he gripped Amelia’s hips and brought her with him. Seating her, he thrust up as she straddled him, and Amelia’s head fell back as Richard was impossibly plunged further into her. It was bliss, their joining so profound, and he speared upward as she rode him, squeezing her thighs around him.

He was her stallion, and Amelia mounted her husband, the furious pace of his gallop taking her to uncharted places of carnality. Gripping around her face and hair, Richard crashed his lips into hers once more as she bounced up and down along his exquisite length.

Exertion swam through her, her leg muscles burning, but she cared not a wink. Amelia was on the brink of climax, the thundering burn in the swollen, sensitive bud at her front aching to tumble down into another release.

At once, Richard felt all the more steel within her, his shaft driving into her with such force as he flexed his hips. The hedonism of their spontaneous encounter reached its crescendo, and Amelia could just make out the sense of Richard’s pulse through his sword. It thrummed until she was careening over the cliff, her vision tunneling and sparking with light as she climaxed.

Warmth surged inside her as Richard’s seed filled her channel to overflowing. They had ridden the tsunami of indulgence together. As their breaths heaved in their chests, their brows dotted with sweat, Richard and Amelia coasted down into a place of posthumous serenity.

For it was secretly called le petit mort by the French, and Amelia at once understood why. Whatever version of her that had existed prior to this late afternoon had surely died, replaced by the changed woman she was now.