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Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

" H ave you finished arranging your spoils?"

Nando's amused drawl had Eleanora whirling about to find him standing at the threshold to the library, booted feet crossed at the ankles, hip leaning against the doorjamb. He was handsome and informal in his shirtsleeves, waistcoat, and trousers. Her heart gave a pang at the sight of him, and so did the rest of her.

She suppressed the impulsive urge to race across the Aubusson like an impish girl and throw herself into his arms and held up the book in her hand instead. "One more to go, but I believe I will take this one to my room for reading. How was your session with Mr. Winter?"

The famed prizefighter, Mr. Gavin Winter, was the proprietor of Winter's Boxing Academy. Nando had declared himself sufficiently healed and in need of resuming his customary daily exercise with Mr. Winter.

Either that , he had told her, mischief dancing in his eyes, or I will have to continue shagging you senseless every afternoon.

Eleanora hadn't considered that to be a problem, but she was also keenly aware that she and her husband could not spend every waking hour together and that, for their marriage to thrive, they would need to develop something of a routine. She had sent him off earlier that day with the concern that he might not yet be healed properly, which he had reassured her was misplaced.

"Terrible." He straightened before sauntering into the room. "I reckon I'm not as healed as I would have liked to imagine. Winter trounced me quite soundly."

Eleanora started forward, meeting him halfway, her gaze inspecting his person for any hint of blood. "Are you injured?"

He held a hand over his heart in dramatic fashion. "Indeed, my pride is irreversibly destroyed."

Relief washed over her. "Are you saying I was right about it being too soon to resume your sessions with Mr. Winter?"

"You were right, my dear." He took her free hand and raised it to his lips for a lingering kiss. "I should have known better than to doubt you."

A wicked flare of heat sparked to life deep within her at the brush of his mouth over her bare skin. Good heavens, all he had to do was be near her, and she was aflame for him.

Their marriage, thus far, had been almost too wondrous to be real. The part of her that had seen every period of happiness in her life supplanted by struggle had her on edge, fearing that it wouldn't last. That a handsome, rakehell prince would never be contented with the plain, spinster daughter of an actress for long.

But she was foolish enough to enjoy their marital bliss whilst it lasted.

And that meant seizing every opportunity to be with him that she could.

"I think you owe me penance," she suggested.

His countenance instantly changed, his disarming grin and nonchalant air fading, replaced by stark, sensual hunger. "What manner of penance? If it involves me on my knees for you, I would be more than happy to oblige."

She was shamelessly wet between her legs already. If he put his mouth on her, she would combust.

"Here in the library?" she asked, her voice husky with desire.

Thus far, their lovemaking had been relegated to their bedchambers, aside from that lone instance in the carriage after they had first wed.

He took the tip of her finger in his mouth and sucked, bathing her in wetness and heat, ending with a small nip. "Why not?"

"Anyone could come upon us."

"The door is closed."

She glanced over his shoulder. So it was.

"It is the midst of the day," she offered.

He took the book from her other hand and gently set it upon a nearby table. "I could lick you each second of every day and still never have enough of you."

His claim stole a laugh from her even as her nipples tightened. "Your tongue might grow weary of such an endless pursuit."

"Excellent point, my dear. Perhaps I would have to supplement with my cock. You wouldn't mind, would you?"

The ache between her thighs intensified, sharp and sweet.

"I'm sure I could be persuaded not to mind at all," she managed breathlessly.

"Good. Now come with me. I want to see how much you've missed me." He caught her hands in his, guiding her to a table on the opposite end of the library.

She went willingly, trusting him implicitly. "How will you tell?" she asked, though she was confident she knew.

"Sit on this table, and I'll show you."

The table was elegant and high, its legs tapered and narrow. She eyed it with misgiving. "What if it breaks?"

"It won't." He took her waist in a firm grip, lifting her with ease and settling her atop the piece of furniture.

They were suddenly at the same height, nose to nose.

He stepped into her, her legs parting naturally for him, and rubbed the bridge of his nose along hers in a tender gesture that made something inside her come loose. How was it possible to want him so much, with such marrow-deep need? Her response to him terrified her, because she knew that with each passing day, he only drew her further beneath his spell. And that inevitably, there would come the day that he would grow weary of her. She knew the ways of the world.

But Eleanora wouldn't think of that now, for it would only spoil a moment she intended to savor. She inhaled his scent, shaving soap and man, and took his lips in a fierce kiss, showing him how he undid her without words. He groaned, his fingertips digging with delicious pressure into her hips, his tongue plundering her mouth.

She needed to be closer to him. Needed his skin on hers. Needed more than a kiss. And she couldn't wait. She moved her hand from his shoulder, finding the fall of his trousers, and cupped his length. He was thick and hard, as ready for her as she was for him. How she ached for him, sex pulsing with a restless desire that could only be soothed in one way.

She needed him inside her.

Eleanora abandoned his cock to find the buttons she sought, undoing them. The slit in the front of his smalls was easily breached, and then she had him in her hand, hot and smooth and tempting. She gave him a firm stroke the way she had learned he liked, gratified when he made another low sound of surrender, his hips pumping in time with her hand's movement.

Nando raised his head, staring down at her with sea-blue eyes that were drenched with desire. "Not yet, love. I want to bury my face in your cunny first."

As much as she loved his tongue on her, she was already beyond the point of patience.

She continued to work his cock unmercifully, keeping him in a tight grasp, swirling her thumb over the bulbous crown. Moisture seeped from him, slicking her hand in a sign that he wanted her every bit as much as she wanted him.

"I need you inside me," she told him without preamble.

"Deus," he muttered. "Are you ready?"

As he asked the question—ever concerned for her pleasure, as he always was—he caught her gown and underpinnings, hauling them up to her thighs. Air kissed her legs through the thin barrier of her silk stockings. He parted her slick folds to tease her pearl.

She held his gaze, still milking his cock, and licked the fullness of her lower lip. "Do you think I am?"

"You're soaked." He made the observation with reverence and awe and unabashed lust, continuing to rub her sensitive nub just as she liked.

"It's your fault. You make me into a wanton."

"I've debauched you, haven't I?" He glided his finger through her wetness to her entrance, dipping it inside.

"Oh yes." She slid forward on the table, drawing him into her, mindless in her pursuit of everything he would give her.

She had never known such wondrous sensations existed, that lovemaking was far more complex than her simplistic understanding of what happened between a woman and a man. But Nando had opened her eyes to a world of possibilities. Wicked, sensual possibilities, and for the first time in her life, she was able to revel in her own body and desires. He made her feel powerful, beautiful, and wanted.

She stroked him faster, already on the edge of an orgasm. His finger sank all the way inside her, and she gasped, tightening her hold on his steely length. It was good, so good.

"So wet and hot," he praised, adding a second finger, driving in and out of her. "You're such a good girl, primed for my cock. What can I do but give you what you want?"

His thumb rubbed over her pearl in tight circles, fingers thrusting. And when he buried his face in her throat, pressing hot, openmouthed kisses to her skin, she lost all grip on her fragile control. She came, the force of her peak making her body bow toward him, her hips pounding mercilessly against his probing fingers. His cock was pinned between them as wave after wave swept over her.

She sagged backward, struggling for her breath as the fury of her spend waned, and tugged his cock to where she wanted him most. His fingers slid away, and then they were wrapped around hers, slippery and covered in her dew. As one, they guided him to her entrance.

But just when she was ready for him to plunge inside her, his hand fell away and he tore his lips from her neck. The same hand that had pleasured her rose, slick and glistening, to cup her nape. His fingers tangled in her hair, tugging her head back with enough firmness to dance on the line between pleasure and pain. He was beautiful in his need, his eyes smoldering into hers.

"Put me inside you," he said.

And somehow the command made her hotter, wetter. She drew him to her opening, the thick head of his cock making her inhale swiftly.

"Go on, love," he prodded softly.

She urged him closer, his cock partially inside her, the same, by-now-familiar stretching of her body to accommodate him making heat glide through her veins. He felt impossibly wonderful, filling her, claiming her. She grasped his hip with her free hand, roughly pulling him so that his cock surged into her some more. And then she wriggled on the desk, bringing her bottom to the edge of the table so that she could welcome him completely, wrapping her legs around his waist in shameless invitation.

"Yes," he hissed, kissing her everywhere—lips, cheek, chin, ear, throat. Again and again, his mouth a hot benediction falling over her flesh. "Yes, sweetheart. Take my cock. Take what I give you."

She rocked against him, and he sank into her to the hilt, his cock lodged where it belonged, deep inside her. They stayed thus for a moment, bodies entwined, connected, as close as two people could be.

And then he straightened, dragging her skirts away with one hand and using the other to brace himself against the table. His head was bent, gaze intent upon the place where they were joined as he slid almost completely from her and then back inside her again.

"You're so perfect. I love the way your cunt feels, wrapped around me, so snug, so hot, so wet."

More praise. She lost all restraint, her channel tightening on his, wetness gushing from her in an abundance that would have been embarrassing had his reaction been any different.

"Oh fuck. You're so… I can't… My love…"

He said something more, but it was in his native tongue, and Eleanora couldn't understand the words. He sounded as if he were in ecstasy and pain all at once, and she knew the feeling, because she was coming on him, and he began to plow into her with more fervent thrusts, slamming deep and then withdrawing, only to slide inside her again. The table tilted, balancing on two legs and then thumping to all four, then back to two.

She reached for any surface to keep from tumbling backward, coming on him as he drove into her wildly, as if it were the first time and the last time they would ever make love. Her hand snagged in smooth cloth, and she clutched it, another peak hitting her as he surged forward, his cock buried so deeply in her that sensation made black stars speckle her vision. A mindless yank, and the curtains came tumbling down around them.

Later, she would concern herself with how she would explain the mess they had made to the servants. Now, she was too consumed in Nando. Now, she was wanton and wicked, her breasts heavy and full, nipples abrading her stays with every thrust she matched him for, her hips dancing from the table as it wavered and crashed about.

He thrust in and out of her wetness, groaning, praising her.

"You look so beautiful." He sank deep, then withdrew. "Such a good girl, coming all over my cock again and again. I'm drowning in you."

"Yes," she whimpered, matching his movements, hands splayed on the table, hips mindlessly working, bringing him into her over and over, her entire body sensitized beyond all control. "Fuck me, Nando. Fill me with your seed. I need it. I need you . Please."

A confession of sorts. Perhaps she would regret it later. But her mind was not functioning as it ought, drenched as it was in filthy, debauched pleasure. She was more desperate than she had ever been, drawn to the height of something bigger than she was. Something bigger than the both of them.

He tugged at her hair, pulling her head back, holding her gaze. "Say it again."

She had said so much. Her wits scrambled, trying to recall the words that had only just left her lips. How was she to think with his big cock filling her?

"I…" He sank into her quickly, deeply. "Oh."

He withdrew, the glide of his thick erection something close to pure bliss. "Say it."

"Fuck me."

He slammed into her, the table shuddering beneath them.

"Not that." He found her mouth with his, kissing her harshly, deliciously, his tongue mating with hers before he lifted his head again. "Tell me to come inside you. To fill you with my seed. Tell me you need me."

"Come inside me," she begged without hesitation, wanting to do anything to please him, to please them both. "I need you. Fill me up with your seed. Make me with child."

She didn't know where the last request came from. In all the years she had been working so steadfastly as a paid companion, she had never dreamed of children of her own. It had been elusive, something that would never be hers. And she hadn't thought about children with Nando either. But the words left her, coming from some place of validity, from some part of her she hadn't ever acknowledged.

The effect upon him was instant.

He hastened his pace, his strokes deep, hard, and fast. Not hurried but frenzied as he sank his cock into her again and again. Until, with a choked sound, he buried himself inside her and stiffened, his spend spurting into her, hot and wet and so delicious that she trembled, pressing her breasts shamelessly into his chest, her mouth seeking his. They kissed as the last spurt of his seed left him, warmth blossoming inside her like a summer bloom.

Nando collapsed against her, still nestled deep, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close, never wanting him to part from her. Even as she knew that one day, he inevitably would. Because there was one lesson Mama had taught her that Eleanora had never forgotten—men always left.

He loved fucking.

Ye gods, did he love fucking.

However, Nando had discovered there was something he loved more than fucking. Several things, actually. One of them was his wife. Another of them was having said wife on his lap, as he did now, in his arms, with Benvolio curled on her. The cat sleepily purred as she rubbed the soft white patch of fur under his chin where he loved to be petted most. They had been spending their evenings thus for the last few nights.

Just after dinner, they would retire to the salon that she had yet to decorate and make her own, the hearth cheerily crackling, Benvolio twining about their ankles in an attempt to kill them, as Nando teasingly claimed. They would settle upon the same obliging Grecian couch and talk.

Yes, talking —to his wife. That was another thing Nando loved more than fucking. Getting to know her was a joy he had not previously imagined existed. Certainly, he had never shared such jarring intimacy with another woman. Marriage had taught him that there was far more to a relationship between a man and a woman than merely the carnal aspect. And although his appetite for his beautiful wife did remain ravenous, he couldn't deny that quiet moments such as these, Eleanora snuggled in his lap, were every bit as glorious as making love to her was.

"Tell me about Varros," she said softly, her husky voice a welcome intrusion on his thoughts. "What is it like there?"

He thought of his homeland, the small island kingdom where he had spent most of his life, and a pang went through him. "It is beautiful. Summers are warm and filled with sunshine and blue skies. We've beaches of white sand where wild horses roam."

"Do you not miss your home?"

He did and he didn't. The truth of it was, he had been unsettled when he had left for England. Seeking something. He hadn't known what until Eleanora had swirled into his life wearing a fichu and a frown.

He sifted his fingers through her unbound hair, mesmerized by the way the candlelight brought the burnished strands to life. "I do in some ways, I suppose."

"How long do you intend to remain in England?"

"I hadn't really thought about it," he admitted. "I bought this town house on a whim, but staying here certainly has its merits."

She glanced at him over her shoulder, her gaze searching. "Are you saying you never intend to go back to Varros?"

"I don't know. My life there was…different."

Incomplete, he wanted to say. Each day the same as the next, an endless blur of fucking and fêtes and the unceasing pursuit of pleasure that could never truly be obtained. Because pleasure like this—Eleanora in his arms, the night quiet and still around them, save for Benvolio's contented purrs and the crackling of a warm fire—couldn't be found in a stranger's bed.

"But surely you would want to return to your homeland," she pressed.

He didn't want to go back to his old circle, no. Not to the courtiers who would welcome him with open arms. Nor to the lovers he had left behind. He wanted a new life, a new purpose. He wanted what he had with Eleanora, this charmed existence they had been building together, this stunning idyll. And part of him was terrified that if they returned, and if she were to discover all the sordid secrets of his past, she would no longer want him.

"There is much for me here," he explained, stroking her jaw, then tracing an absent fingertip around her lips.

"What of your brother, the king? Your baby nephew and your sister-in-law? Have you no wish to see them again?"

Of course he did. He loved Maxim and his brother's burgeoning family. But Nando wasn't sure how to explain himself to Eleanora without revealing his true motive for not wanting to return to Varros.

He shrugged. "Perhaps Maxim can come to us one day."

Unlikely, however. His brother had only come to England for his formal betrothal to Princess Anastasia. After that had been broken and Maxim had wed Tansy, there was precious little reason for Maxim to leave the capital city. Particularly since there had recently been unrest with one of their uncle's loyalists. It was safer for the king to remain on his throne with his queen.

Maybe Nando could delay his return to Varros until Eleanora had fallen so hopelessly in love with him that she would never leave when she learned the depths of his depravity.

"Are you ashamed of me?" Eleanora asked quietly.

"God no," he reassured her, wishing he could kick himself in the arse for causing her a moment of uncertainty. "I couldn't be prouder of you, my dear. You are my better in every way."

He meant those words with every speck of the heart he had previously believed he hadn't had.

"Then why do you not wish to go back to Varros?" she asked. "There must be another reason, one you aren't telling me. It makes no sense. An attempt was made on your life here, and yet you remain, with no plans of returning to your home any time soon."

She was far too perceptive and clever, his Eleanora. He was going to have to explain.

He sifted the silken strands of her hair again, considering his words with great care. "My life there…the circles I kept…they were different. There are people I would not wish for you to meet, stories I would prefer you never hear. I'm not proud of the man I've been."

"Do you suppose I haven't heard the rumors about you?" she asked.

His ears went hot. He hadn't thought she had, although he had been aware that his reputation generally preceded him. Nando had preferred simply not to think of it.

"Which rumors have you heard?" he dared to ask, dreading the answer.

"That you closeted yourself in a brothel for days and had to be removed by your brother the king," she began.

Nando winced. "It wasn't days."

"That you bedded three women at once," she continued. "That you cuckolded an earl, a baron, and a marquess."

"Deus," he muttered. "That is enough. Apparently, I have proven quite the fodder for London scandal broth."

"I'm afraid you have."

He smoothed a stray tendril of hair from her cheek. "Little wonder you scorned me so when you first met me. I am not proud of my reckless ways. But all that is in the past. I am a different man now."

Her brow was furrowed, her look pensive. He could see her warring with herself, and he hated that his past had the power to hurt her, to come between them.

"Princess Anastasia told me you are known for your recklessness," Eleanora added. "She warned me not to marry you because of it."

His spine stiffened, outrage boiling up within him. "The devil she did."

He had thought he was on friendly terms with Stasia. To think that she'd had the nerve to warn Eleanora not to wed him. It was infuriating. Maddening.

But then, how could he blame her?

Eleanora shifted in his lap so she could face him fully. "I didn't listen."

"Why didn't you?" he asked hoarsely, needing to know.

Ye gods , she ought to have run as far and as fast as she could in the opposite direction of him. He was selfishly glad she had not.

"I wanted to marry you," she said softly, her words falling over him like a velvet caress. "Her concerns weren't enough to dissuade me."

Disappointment laced through him. What had he expected from her? A declaration of love? Of course not, but he knew why she had wanted to marry him, and it didn't have anything to do with tender emotion.

"Because I'm a prince," he said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

She shook her head. "No, Nando."

"For my looks?" he guessed next, for he was well aware of the effect he had upon the opposite sex.

Women found him very handsome indeed, and it was simply an incontrovertible fact, much like his title.

Eleanora tucked her chin, biting her lip as she shook her head again. "Because you're you, and I like you for who you are, regardless of whether you're a prince."

Her words stunned him. Humbled him.

Shook him.

His hand trembled as he cupped her cheek and kissed her, swift and hard before retreating. "Thank you. No one has ever said that to me before."

Women had wanted him for his power, his wealth, his looks, the pleasure he could give them. But none of them had ever wanted him simply for himself. For Nando, imperfect and flawed, reckless and lost, and now, because of the woman in his arms, found.

"Then I am honored to be the first," she said, cupping his cheek in a fond gesture that had him hardening beneath her.

All she had to do was touch him. Sometimes, it was as simple as her appearance in a room or the faint trace of her scent where she had recently been. Yes, he was thoroughly besotted. Maxim would laugh at him.

Perhaps Nando would take her with him to Varros sooner than he had supposed. And perhaps there was a chance that he could earn her love. It was a chance he was willing to take.

"I think that perhaps Benvolio ought to go to bed," he told her.

Eleanora laughed, wriggling her bottom in a way that nearly had him spending in his trousers. "It certainly feels as if he should."

"Minx," he said tenderly, awed by her, and took her lips again.

She kissed him back, and he reveled in the decadent taste of her, the gentle play of her tongue with his. He had never been happier than he was in this salon, Eleanora in his arms, her mouth on his.

And he knew that the future would only be sweeter.

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