Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

M arrying in London was damned annoying.

Marrying in London in haste , however, was nigh impossible.

But after what had seemed an eternity of waiting with limited patience as Nando's future bride was held captive by Stasia, it was done. Propriety, she had claimed, and he had only relented when she had mentioned the damage it would do Eleanora if he did whatever he wanted.

Nando excelled at doing what he wanted. In all things. Denying himself Eleanora for five more days—procuring a special license as a scapegrace foreign prince was unfortunately not as easy as he had hoped—had been torment, pure and simple. And now, at long last, that torment was coming to an end.

Because he had what he wanted—Eleanora, his wife —in his carriage.

She was wearing a gown he had never seen her in before, and for the first time, it was one that suited her lush figure instead of hiding it. Fashioned of a pale blue that made her eyes seem so much more vivid, the gown also had a daring decolletage that put her breasts on display without the hindrance of a fichu. Silk roses festooned the full skirt and bedecked the smart bonnet on her head. She was bereft of ornamentation aside from a sapphire parure he had gifted her with.

Too dear , she had claimed. But he had asked her to wear it for their wedding day, wanting to see her looking the part of a princess— his princess—even if she remained reluctant to assume the role. Her wrap had slid from her shoulders as the carriage swayed over a bump. Flimsy and nearly transparent, it was the most imprudent garment he had ever seen her don.

His hands itched to tear it off her, along with the beautiful gown and every other stitch of misbegotten muslin and silk and lace that was keeping him from her delectable bare skin.

"Is something amiss?" she asked him, color rising on her cheeks.

Ye gods , she was fetching when she was discomfited. But then, she was lovely, no matter the occasion. Upbraiding him icily in a dour gown. Trading barbs with him as she hid her lustrous hair beneath a hideous cap. Laughing, smiling, frowning most ferociously. Regardless of the occasion or the garments, Eleanora Brett made his cock painfully hard, and he suspected she always would.

It was almost alarming, this monstrous amount of feeling inside him where she was concerned, growing and blooming greater by the day, the hour, the minute. Why, he was far more than halfway in love with her. He truly ought to have realized it before now. What a dullard he was.

"Nando?" she pressed, making him belatedly realize that he had failed to answer her quiet question.

"Yes." He reached across the carriage and snatched her from the squabs she occupied in one swift motion, hauling her into his lap. "You were too far away."

"Your arm," she protested, attempting to straighten herself into a more suitably demure position.

The weight of her soft, supple curves in his lap was so entrancing that for a moment, he could not speak. All he could do was hold her, this mysterious, wonderful woman he had married a mere hour ago that morning. Eleanora Harriet Merritt, as it happened. That was her true name in its entirety.

"My arm is still attached," he told her mildly, slipping a hand up to cup the fullness of one breast.

An arrow of pure need shot through him. He thought he might catch flame there on the Moroccan leather, sending the entire carriage up as well. Her stays were impeding him from the joy of her hard nipple, but he knew it was there, waiting for his mouth.

She squirmed in his lap, clearly vexed by his lack of concern for his healing wound. "What if you tear your stitches?"

He chuckled. "Darling, I am going to be engaging in far more strenuous activity than holding you in my lap as soon as we reach my town house. At present, I don't give a damn if all the stitches tear and I bleed to death on the floor, so long as I've had you first."

"You must not speak of something so horrid," she chastised, frowning at him in that way she had, that made him want to kiss her.

Her bodice gaped, giving him an indecent view down it, and he was nearly unmanned by so much pale, creamy skin and the way she continued to wriggle on his lap.

Nando lowered his head and pressed a reverent kiss to the top of her left breast. "Trust me, what is about to happen between us won't be horrid at all."

"Not that ," she protested, sounding breathless. "Bleeding to death. It has scarcely been any time since you were wounded, and the man who shot you is still out there somewhere in London. You could be in danger. Even Mr. Tierney said so."

"I'm not concerned about him, nor should you be." Nando cupped her cheek, running the pad of his thumb along the elegant architecture of her cheekbone. How was it that every part of her could entrance him, from the bridge of her nose to the curve of her shoulder, from the shell of her ear to the hollow at the base of her throat, or the slight dimple in her stubborn chin?

"Why are you not concerned?" she pressed.

"Because he surprised me once, and he shan't surprise me a second time," he reassured her, watching his thumb travel along her jaw and down her neck to where her pulse beat fast. "And because I now have more guards at my disposal than a king."

He also hoped that, now that he had taken his shot at Nando, Levering's bloodlust had been satiated. Besides, Nando was a married man now. He expected alarm to settle over him at the reminder. But instead, all he felt was a calm, peaceful sense within, a rightness he hadn't known in…

Well, ever.

"I am not sure I find that as reassuring as you do." Eleanora was frowning at him, her gloved hands resting lightly on his chest.

"All will be well, my love." He traced slowly down the soft cord of her throat, then traced the gold and diamonds of her necklace to the large Ceylon sapphire situated in its middle. "Trust me."

She said nothing for a moment, so he settled his lips on her neck and kissed her there, hot and openmouthed, feeling as if he could devour her.

"Nando."

"Mmm," he murmured against her skin, his hand dipping lower, to slide into her bodice, between her stays and chemise and her bare breast.

Her nipple was hungry and pointed, and he could not wait to suck on it. He would have done so now, were he not persuaded that they had nearly arrived at his town house.

She gasped, arching into his touch, as responsive as he had remembered. "In the carriage? Should we not at least wait until we are inside?"

This would not do. The proper spinster in her would not be permitted to emerge.

He tugged down her bodice with one fast motion, leaving her breast bare, her stays and gown lifting it high, her nipple like an erotic offering for him alone.

"I've been made to wait for five endless days." He lowered his head and sucked on the pretty pink nipple he had revealed, gratified when she moaned and arched her back, her fingers gliding through his hair in wordless encouragement.

He suckled her, astounded at how the simple action could heighten his own need to such a shocking crescendo that he felt the slight wetness seeping from his cock and into his smalls. He was so ready for her. Would she be similarly ready?

He had to know.

Ignoring the tightness in his arm, he found the hem of her gown and slipped his hand under her skirts. He found the heart of her, soft and hot and so very wet, and teased her swollen pearl. There was his answer as her hips moved, lifting, chasing his touch, demanding more.

He released her nipple, wanting to see the sight she presented, rosy-cheeked, bonnet half off her head, her eyes stormy with desire, lips darkened from his kisses, one breast freed from her gown, her skirts gathered around her waist. Stocking-clad legs on display to the tops of her thighs where pink garters met more bare skin.

"Nando." His name was a restless moan on her lips now.

And he knew that he had pushed her beyond her proper fa?ade. That she wanted him so badly that she would writhe in his lap, seeking more of the friction she craved to find her completion.

"You are so wet for me," he said, stroking her harder, his fingers finding the seam of her sex and parting her folds to slick her wetness up and down, all over her, swirling around and around that demanding bundle of flesh that made her jerk and pant. "So ready, aren't you?"

She didn't acknowledge his question, her ragged breaths falling from her parted lips. Of course she wouldn't admit something so vulgar, even if she loved every moment of what he was doing to her. But she didn't need to say anything at all. Her body spoke for her as she thrust her hips against him, wordlessly begging to be fucked. He would give her what she wanted soon. He would give her everything she wanted and everything she had never even dreamed possible.

"Say it," he urged. "Tell me, Eleanora mine."

"I… I can't." She tipped her head back, her bonnet hanging precariously now, and there was her glorious golden hair, still confined in its customary chignon but glinting from the sunlight streaming through the carriage windows.

He hadn't seen fit to close the Venetian blinds when they had entered, and he was glad of the lack of circumspection now, for it meant he could see her better. Admire her more fully.

He worked her pearl with his thumb and then moved his fingers lower, through that satiny, welcoming heat, needing to be inside her however he could. He found her entrance with his forefinger, probing gently. Her thighs parted in invitation he gladly accepted, sinking his finger deep. Her cunt gripped him deliciously.

He took a moment to collect himself, gathering his control. And then he returned to her nipple, sucking hard, nipping her with his teeth as he began fucking her with more deliberate intent, a second finger joining the first.

"Say my name when you come," he ordered her against the swell of her breast, needing to hear it, needing her submission.

Needing to know that this glorious, bold, beautiful, passionate woman was his in every way. In and out, he pumped, crooking his fingers, using slow, measured strokes until she was making inane sounds and grasping at his clothes, his hair, any part of him she could reach. His cravat came undone. Christ knew what happened to his hat. He didn't care. She tightened on him, her body stiffening as her release claimed her, and he was blissfully unable to breathe for a handful of seconds as her perfumed breast crushed into his face and he sucked her nipple while her eager cunny tightened on his fingers.

"Nando," she cried out, obliging him.

Her surrender was the most potent aphrodisiac in all the world.

And Prince Ferdinando of the House of Tayrnes, notorious rakehell and dedicated sybarite, promptly lost all control and came in his smalls like a virgin.

Nando made an expansive gesture in the marble entryway of the handsome town house. "Your home, my dear."

Home .

That word sent unexpected feeling coursing through Eleanora. It had been ten years since the roof over her head had last been a true home. For so long, she had been living in elegant town houses belonging to London's wealthiest, flitting from one to the next, the life she had known forever gone. And now, suddenly, she was no longer a stranger invited for a temporary stay, but the mistress of the household.

"It is lovely," she told her new husband, still overwhelmed by the pleasure he had given her in the carriage and now doubly stunned by the realization that she was a married woman with a husband and a home to call her own.

Her rational mind had known, of course, the changes that were upon her. But the notion of marrying Nando and the reality of it were two disparate things.

He caught her hand in his and raised it to his lips for a reverent kiss. "You have carte blanche to do whatever you like with it. Anything you wish."

She was far more accustomed to simply inhabiting rooms rather than contemplating how she might change them, but his easy acceptance of her pleased Eleanora. "Thank you."

He smiled, the effect stunning as always. "You needn't thank me for your due."

Her due. What a foreign—and alluring—concept.

"Nonetheless, I am grateful to you."

He leaned nearer, his lips grazing her ear as he spoke in a soft voice not intended to carry. "It isn't your gratitude I want, darling."

Heat blossomed deep within. She knew what he wanted. And she wanted it too.

Still, she was keenly aware of the servants who were hovering nearby, awaiting introductions.

"We've an audience," she murmured.

"Alas." He straightened, his devil-may-care grin firmly in place, and proceeded to perform the formal introductions.

A whirlwind of faces and names ensued. When Nando introduced her as Princess Eleanora of Varros, she nearly expected to turn and find someone else ready to take her place. After the formalities were observed, he accompanied her upstairs to her room.

The bedchamber adjoined with his. It appeared to have been recently opened and given a thorough cleaning. Paintings hung on the walls in an assortment of gilt frames. The bed was far larger than the narrow bed she had become accustomed to.

"If the furniture isn't to your liking, buy whatever you wish."

Nando's voice was a low, decadent rumble at her back as she circled the chamber. She turned to find him watching her intently, and a surge of desire went through her. It was their wedding day. They were alone. She knew what was meant to happen next, and she was both eager and nervous for the consummation of their union.

She summoned up a smile even as her pulse began to race. "In truth, I don't know what is to my liking. It has been quite some time since I've had reason to choose my own furnishings."

"How long?" he asked, coming nearer to her.

"Ten years."

"Too long, then. I'll take you shopping. You can buy all of London."

A chuckle fled her. "I hardly think all of London shall fit in your town house, despite its impressive size."

He grinned, stopping before her. "My town house is large, isn't it? Do you know what else is large, my dear?"

His tone was teasing. She knew him well enough by now to understand that he was speaking of a certain portion of his anatomy.

Nando was being so silly that she couldn't help but to laugh, some of the tension easing from her. His lightheartedness was, as ever, infectious.

"Your feet?" she pretended to guess.

"My cock." His head dipped toward hers. "Naturally, I would be more than happy to offer proof."

"What manner of proof?" she dared to ask, enjoying their banter, their proximity, this chance to flirt with each other and no need to worry over being caught in an indelicate position alone together.

How freeing it was.

No more icy Miss Brett.

Now, she was someone else. Not the girl she'd been a lifetime ago, but certainly not the prim spinster who had grimly led her charges across the dance floors of the ton .

He took her hand in his and brought it to the fall of his trousers. "Will this suffice?"

Good heavens. He was indeed large. And long. And distinctly hard.

She had felt him against her before, but this was different. He molded her fingers around his length, granting her a liberty that both shocked and titillated her.

Feeling bold, she met his gaze, falling into the astounding sea-blue. "I'm not certain I am convinced just yet."

His lips twitched. "A closer inspection, then."

She explored him tentatively, growing accustomed to the feeling of him, so big, so bold, curious about how best to please him. The more she stroked him, the more her own desire heightened.

"Ye gods, Eleanora." He lowered his forehead to hers, his breath falling hotly over her lips. "I need you now."

Her pulse quickened.

"Whatever shall the servants think?"

He kissed her swiftly and then raised his head, nimble fingers undoing the retied knot of his cravat. "That I am besotted with my wife and intend to shag her silly for the rest of the day." He pulled the neckcloth free and tossed it to the floor. "And they would be correct."

Nando was disrobing . And whilst she had seen the glory of his bare chest before, she had never seen his entire form. Eleanora couldn't look away from the sight of the potently masculine prince undressing before her. Not just the prince, she reminded herself, but her husband . How was it possible? It seemed a dream from which she would wake up.

Just one week ago, she couldn't have imagined the turn her life would take. That she would go from being a spinster chaperone hired to guide unmarried ladies through polite society to being this beautiful man's wife.

She swallowed as he shrugged out of his coat and moved to the buttons on his waistcoat. "It's highly improper, surely."

He chuckled. "The best things in life always are."

How she wished she were so carefree. Perhaps she could be, in time. Her role as Miss Brett, chaperone to London's innocent misses, had become so ingrained that she wasn't even certain who she had been before. The reckless girl who had wholeheartedly embraced the gaiety of her mother's scandalous circle had long since faded into a dreary version of her former self.

"You're frowning." The buttons of his crisp, white shirt were undone at his throat now, a slice of sun-bronzed skin visible. "I can see your clever mind at work, fretting over propriety. Stop thinking at once. You are meant only to feel."

Nando held her face in his hands and kissed her again, slowly, sweetly. How easy it was to forget everything else when his lips claimed hers. She surrendered easily to his expert mouth, to his tongue, and—good heavens—even his teeth as he caught her lower lip in a gentle nip that sent a bolt of liquid heat rushing between her thighs. Despite the pleasure he had given her in the carriage, she already wanted him again.

Oh yes, he had her feeling. Feeling far, far too much.

His lips left hers to nuzzle her ear. "This moment is all I've been longing for."

It occurred to her suddenly that he was a practiced seducer and she was woefully inexpert. The tip of his tongue traced the whorl of her ear, eliciting a shiver from her.

"What if it proves a disappointment?"

"Not a chance." He kissed her throat, her jaw, found his way back to her lips and kissed her until she was breathless again.

His mouth on hers was sufficient distraction. All worry over what the servants might think of her or whether she would prove a woefully inadequate lover to a skilled rake fled. Nando's fingers sank into the careful precision of her chignon, sending pins raining to the floor. Her hair fell heavy down her back, and then he moved on to the tapes of her gown, unfastening them.

He broke the kiss to pull the garment over her head, his movements knowing and sure. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the gown sailing halfway across the chamber. Eleanora, still unaccustomed to her new husband's lavish wealth, winced at the brutish treatment.

"Thinking again," Nando said, kissing the tip of her nose as he looked down at her with mock severity. "I forbid it. Besides, I'll buy you a hundred more gowns just like that one if you like."

"I would never wear that many gowns in my lifetime," she protested as he found the buttons on her petticoat and slipped them from their moorings.

"Suit yourself, my dear, for I have a suspicion I will prefer you naked." He grinned, then whisked the petticoat away with as much speed and ease as he had the gown.

His words were wicked. Again, she ought to have been scandalized. But he was her husband. They were wed. And there was no fear of being discovered, of losing her livelihood, of her reputation being dashed to bits.

This newfound freedom felt dangerous.

When he moved to her stays, she decided that it was time to return the favor. She reached for his shirt, plucking it from his trousers and then pulling it over his head, taking care not to cause injury to his wounded arm, which was healing well by now. Still, the skin was dark and puckered where it had been sewn back together, an unsettling reminder of just how close he had come to death.

"I suppose I'll be hideously scarred forever now," he said absently, taking note of the direction of her gaze.

"Not hideously. You wear your scar as a mark of honor and strength, a reminder of what you have withstood to be where you are." Without hesitation, she pressed her lips to the healing flesh, kissing him there. "I find it quite heroic, actually."

Her words pleased him. Nando's grin deepened. "You do?"

"Of course I do. How can I not?"

"No one has ever called me heroic before." He cupped her cheek, gazing at her with renewed tenderness. "Though they have called me many things."

There was something in his voice and gaze, a neediness that she had never seen before. It startled her to realize that this silver-tongued rake longed for praise. Certainly, he must have received a great many compliments concerning his looks and his prowess in the bedchamber, but he wanted to hear it from her. A strange new warmth crept into her breast at the notion.

"Then I am happy to be the first," she said. "There is far more to you than the devil-may-care you show to the world."

And she couldn't help but to feel she was glimpsing Nando—the real Nando, not just the rakehell prince with the self-deprecating grin and the flirtatious air. That revelation was gratifying on a deeply intimate level.

He kissed her by way of response, hungry and demanding. More garments were removed. Stays, stockings, and trousers dropped to the Aubusson, until they stood in only chemise and smalls, and then with sure hands and well-placed caresses, those were gone as well. The difference between his body and hers intrigued her. His legs were long and lean, stippled with golden hair. His cock protruded, thick and erect, ruddy and ready and a thing of unique beauty.

She thought of how he had lavished pleasure upon her most intimate places before they had wed, using his mouth on her, and suddenly, she wanted that too. Wanted to worship every inch of him that was exposed to her, to taste him on her tongue. She knew enough to understand he would find it pleasurable for her to do so.

Without thought, Eleanora dropped to her knees before him.

"What are you doing, love?" Nando asked, his voice thick with need.

"Pleasuring you." She reached for him tentatively, wrapping her fingers around his shaft, wondering at how much more delightful it was to touch him thus, no barrier of cloth keeping her from him.

"Eleanora."

Her name was a strangled plea from above.

She glanced up to find him looking down at her, his jaw rigid and tensed, his eyes smoldering. "Am I doing it wrong?"

As she asked the question, she gave him a firm stroke, reveling in the way he felt, hard and yet smooth, his skin hot, his length growing stiffer as she worked him.

He groaned. "Ye gods, no. You're doing it too right . But damn it, I'll not have you on your knees before me this first time."

"I want to." She continued her ministrations, noting a bead of moisture seeping from the slit in the tip of his cock. Curiosity seized her, and she leaned forward, catching the drop on her tongue.

"Fuck, Eleanora."

The word was vulgar. Crude. She'd heard it before, of course, but it had never particularly moved her either way. But there was something about the way he said it now, his voice laden with desire, tinged with a hint of desperation, that made her feel powerful and sensual. Spurred by his reaction, she flicked her tongue over him again, circling the head.

"You'll unman me a second time."

She kissed the glistening tip, looking up at him again. "A second time?"

His nod was grim. Jerky. "The first was in the carriage. You felt so delicious on my fingers that I couldn't restrain myself. You make me lose control."

His admission filled her with fire. "Good."

She wanted him to lose control. Wanted him to lose himself in his need for her.

Holding his gaze, she opened her mouth over him, engulfing the bulbous end of his hard length, ridiculously roused by the way his expression went slack, desire darkening his eyes. She thought about how he had suckled the small bud hidden in the folds of her sex, of the conversations she had heard from her mother's laughing companions from another room, when they had all believed she had been abed and was no longer listening. And she knew what she had to do.

Eleanora sucked hard, drawing him deeper into her mouth, angling her head, breathing through her nose. He pumped his hips, sending himself to the back of her throat, and still, there was so much of him.

"This isn't what I intended," he rasped, but his fingers were sifting through her hair, and he was not making any attempt to withdraw from her.

She grasped his lean hips, holding him to her, and followed her instincts.

The sight before Nando was the single most erotic scene he had ever beheld. Eleanora was on her knees before him, naked, taking his cock between her lush pink lips. It was wrong, so wrong, but Deus, he liked her this way, loved watching his prick, glistening with her saliva, disappear into her sweet mouth. And when the tip of him reached her throat, it was almost more than he could withstand. He had to close his eyes against a stinging rush of need. His sac was heavy and full, and he thought he might shoot down her throat at any second.

But he was greedy. He didn't want her to stop. Not yet. He opened his eyes again, wanting to watch.

He was far more experienced, a rake. He was meant to be the one seducing. But he didn't fool himself now. The only one performing a seduction was Eleanora. His wife. Yes, she was his . His at last.

The reminder made him harder. He caught a handful of her hair and fed her his cock with slow, short thrusts. And she took him. Eagerly, with inexpert abandon that was somehow more delicious than the most knowing of mouths. He didn't want to come yet. He wanted to come inside her. To mark her as his in that most elemental of ways, to consummate their marriage as he had been longing to do.

She rocked back on her heels, lavishing attention on the sensitive head of his cock. Then she licked along the underside, grasping him in a firm hold that had him clenching his jaw so hard to delay his release that a muscle began twitching near his eye. He had never been so caught up in need. All he could think was Eleanora. All he could see was her, so lovely and perfect on her knees, her breasts full and tipped with hard nipples he couldn't wait to suck. And the scent of her, musky and flowery—soap and woman and the perfume of her desire—surrounded him.

He should have married this woman the moment he had first met her. She was going to kill him with her innocent abandon. He had always suspected she had a sensual nature beneath her prim ice, but she was a revelation. A revelation on her knees before him, sucking his cock deep. She took his cock so well, moaning softly, as if she was every bit as moved as he was.

Was her cunny wet again? Did sucking him make her want him more? He had to know. His cock reached the back of her throat again, and she swallowed, and he thought his head was about to explode along with the rest of him.

He couldn't bear another second of this sensual torment. There would be plenty of time for him to come inside her mouth. This was but the first day of their marriage. She sucked and stroked, and it required all the restraint he possessed to keep from shooting his spend on her clever tongue. Yes, he would paint her with it one day soon. Spurt after spurt on her breasts.

Damn, that was too much. He would never last now.

"Enough," he gasped, breathless, heart pounding.

Gently, he withdrew from her mouth, his cock aching, his seed leaking from the tip. He caught her hands in his and drew her to her feet. Her face was flushed, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire.

"You didn't like it?" she asked, sounding hurt.

"Dear God." He chuckled, drawing her against him. "I liked it too much. If you want to swallow me, you can do it some other time. I want to be inside you now."

Her lips glistened. He couldn't resist the urge to kiss her, tasting the faintest traces of salt and himself on her tongue. His cock strained between them, prodding her belly. She kissed him eagerly, her tongue lashing his.

Caught up in her, their mouths still fused, Nando guided her to the bed. He broke the kiss long enough to help her climb into the high bed and took a moment to admire her. Fucking hell, every part of her was perfection. Lush hips, curved waist, rounded breasts, and hungry nipples. Her hair was a cloud of golden silk on the pillows, her short legs pressed together in maidenly modesty he found helplessly charming. He joined her on the bed, a ravenous beast he would have to rein in somehow, lest he hurt her.

Nando caressed her thigh, the smooth softness of her skin a luxury he never wanted to live without. "Open for me, love. Let me see you."

She knew what he wanted. Wordlessly, she spread her legs apart, revealing the pink folds of her sex, gleaming with dew. He couldn't resist lowering himself there, cupping her bottom in his hands, and lifting her to his mouth so that he could feast. He licked into her entrance, lapping her up, all that sweet cream making him wild. She rolled her hips, seeking more, and the soft, breathy sounds she made had his cock harder than ever.

He'd wanted her to come, but if he didn't soon get inside her, he would lose control. Realizing his endurance was stretched past its limits, he moved up the bed until they were perfectly aligned, her hips cradling his, her bountiful breasts cushioning his chest.

Yes, yes, yes.

His body sang with the knowledge he was home, where he was meant to be. This was what he wanted. What he craved. It had been far too long since he had last made love, but he didn't fool himself into believing that was the reason for his intense ardor. No, that was all Eleanora.

He kissed her, his fingers dipping between them to tease her wet, swollen flesh. "You're so ready for me aren't you, love?"

She moaned in agreement, her arms winding around his neck and holding him tight, as if she feared he would leave. Not a bloody chance in Hades of that.

He toyed with her pearl, circling it. "Sucking my cock made you wet."

And that pleased him.

Eleanora arched her back. "I like having you in my mouth."

Hell and damnation.

He almost came from her words alone. He kissed her jaw, her shoulder, the curve of her breast. "I like watching you take my cock. Next time, I'll spend in your mouth. Would you like that?"

The insistence of her hips and the soft sounds of need she made, along with a new rush of wetness on her sex, said that she would. Why had no one told him it would be this good, bedding his wife? Having a woman who was his alone? His to please, his to fuck.

"You would, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," she hissed, growing restless beneath him.

"Naughty minx."

What a joy she was. He stroked her pearl harder, faster, giving her what she wanted until she stiffened beneath him, crying out. Bringing her to her release was his new favorite pastime. He wondered if he could convince her to start every morning by sitting on his face. He would happily devour her for breakfast.

Nando waited until the last of her tremors had subsided, and when she was pliant and sated beneath him, he knew he couldn't last a second longer. Possessive pleasure shot through him as he gripped his shaft and notched himself against her. He rubbed his cock in her slick dew, up and down her swollen folds. The sound of her wetness was almost obscene in the hushed stillness of the chamber. He'd never heard anything better.

Until finally, he could take no more of the torture he inflicted on them both and pressed his slippery cock to her entrance. He had never taken a virgin before, and he wasn't certain what to expect. This would be a first for them both. Leveraging himself on his forearm, he ignored the insistent pain in his arm as he guided himself into her. A shallow thrust of his hips, and he was encased in her snug heat, and he lowered his head to take her lips in a passionate, claiming kiss.

Mine , roared the beast within him. This woman is mine.

He couldn't keep himself from pumping into her again. He was deeper, and she was hotter, tighter. Sweet Deus, the pleasure was enough to kill him, and he had only just begun. He lifted his head, the control he exerted over his rampaging body nothing short of miraculous.

"How does it feel, sweetheart?"

Her eyes were luminous, and he had never seen her more beautiful than this, under him, her body surrendering to his, passion making her cheeks flushed a becoming pink, her hair wild around her heart-shaped face. She was completely undone, wearing nothing but the glinting sapphires and diamonds at her throat and ears.

"Perfect," she murmured, her kiss-darkened lips remaining parted for her ragged breaths.

"I don't want to cause you any discomfort or pain," he added. "Tell me if you wish for me to stop, and I will."

She cupped his face, her touch almost reverent, looking at him with a countenance filled with tenderness, raw and profound. "Don't stop."

A growl of satisfaction was torn from him as he flexed his hips, harder this time, not stopping until he was fully inside her, her slick heat having swallowed the entire length of his cock. He remained still for a moment, overcome by the sensation of being fully seated within her, their hips pressed together, her cunt gripping him like a manacle. His heart galloped, his cock ached. It was the closest to heaven, no doubt, that a sinner like him would ever manage to find himself.

"Pain?" he gritted.

"None." She caressed over his shoulders now, her fingers taking care to avoid his wound, then to his back. "It is different and new. I feel so full of you."

"Because you are full of me." He pumped his hips. "My cock is deep inside you."

"Oh," she breathed, awe in her voice. "Oh, that feels wonderful."

He couldn't agree more. Except perhaps he would argue that it felt better than wonderful, planted within her like this, their bodies pressed together, becoming one. He had never felt the true intimacy of a joining before. It had been pleasure, pure and simple. But being with Eleanora felt starkly different. Different in a way that alarmed him for its potency and newness.

He moved before he could allow any more maudlin sentiment to overtake him, consigning himself headlong to the lust pounding through his veins. He moved in and out of her, his thrusts slow and measured at first, allowing her to adjust to the strange invasion. He knew he was large and that she was untried; he had no wish to hurt her. And so, he kept himself on a tight rein, pacing himself, dropping kisses on her lips, her breasts, her throat.

Her hips began dancing beneath his, increasingly demanding. He sucked her nipple, and she moaned, arching her back. So, he sucked harder, tonguing the peak as he slid into her again and again. He had never been so lost. He was mindless; he was hers.

This English beauty fashioned of ice had turned to flame, and he wanted to burn in the glorious fire of her sensual awakening. Her nails raked down his back. She cried out his name. He kissed her throat, her shoulder, her ear. Thrust harder and faster, his sac tightening and aching until he knew that he would not last much longer.

Finally, Nando raised himself so he could drink in the sight of his thick cock gliding through her pink folds. He reached for the bud peeking from her sex, strumming over her as he had learned she liked, wanting her to come again as he watched himself fuck her. She rewarded him with a new rush of wetness sluicing down his cock.

"Come for me, my love," he urged, barely capable of forming words. "Come on my cock. I want your dew all over me."

More pressure, faster, his fingers flying over her as he continued thrusting deep. The view was almost more than he could bear. But he continued, riding her and pleasuring her until she tightened on him with such sudden strength that she nearly squeezed him from her cunny. He took her hip in hand, holding her to him, and rutted into her slippery warmth.

The pulse of her release was still all around his cock as he lost control, sinking deep and emptying himself inside her. As he flooded her with his seed, the truth struck him with the undeniable jolt of a lightning bolt through the sky.

He had fallen in love with his wife.