Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

E vangeline stared at Hugh in confusion. "My mouth?"

"Are you so averse to the idea?" He rose to sit beside her and gestured for her to take his place on the floor. "I assure you that you'll enjoy it if you're anything like I believe you to be."

"And what do you believe me to be?"

"A lady who enjoys the pleasure of others."

He unbuttoned the fall of his breeches and let his shaft fall free. She had never seen it before—or anything quite like it—and stared at it in fascination for a moment. It was long and thick, with veins running on either side and a bulbous head that glistened with moisture.

"You may touch it if you like," he said lazily. "In fact, that's encouraged."

Evangeline reached out to take hold of the rod, wrapping her fingers around its girth. It was warmer than she was expecting, hot against her palm, and silky soft. Not at all what she had imagined from a man's appendage—from what she knew of men, their skin was coarser than her own, harder, more callused.

His eyelids flickered, and he sucked in a breath at the contact. Experimenting, watching his face for his reaction, she brought her hand up and down. Once again, he tensed in a way he had never done when she'd touched him before. Signs of strain touched the corners of his mouth.

"There is a chance I may disgrace myself tonight," he said, with a wry smile. "Now, Evie, come closer. Put me in your mouth and keep your lips over your teeth as far as you are able. There—that's it. Now look at me."

Evangeline raised her gaze to his face, the intrusion of his erection in her mouth more intimate than she ever could have imagined. His eyes were heavy-lidded, pleasure written into every line of his face. His hand was against the back of her neck, guiding her where he wanted her to, and she sucked in a breath through her nose.

"Trust me," he said.

When it came to this—when it came to everything—she did. That was perhaps one of the most terrifying understandings that this experience of intimacy had given her. She trusted him in all things. His judgment, his command, his assurance.

If he commanded her to go, she would follow. If he told her to trust him as he thrust into her mouth, she would and she did. After all, there had been no portion of his word that he had reneged on. When it came to her, he had always been utterly reliable.

This wasn't a case of taking advantage… this was a demonstration of trust. She understood that, and the moment she coughed, he withdrew, wiping the saliva from the side of her mouth.

"You did well," he said, guiding her up so she was on the sofa with him. "You did so well, love." Still with her dress on, he positioned her so she was straddling his lap. "It'll be better this way," he said.

"What will?"

"This is your first time." He met her gaze, and once more seemed tender. "This position is better for that."

This was an unfamiliar position to be in here: where she was in control. "What do I do?"

"Just what feels natural." He positioned himself at her entrance. "Usually, I would not relinquish control, but it allows you to decide how fast you move, and it may hurt."

Her mother had not explained what to expect from intimacy, but from what she had garnered, it often did hurt. Until Hugh had shown her otherwise, she had half thought it would be an unpleasant experience designed more for his pleasure than her own.

But it transpired that Hugh had even thought of this. Despite his desire for control, he allowed her this.

"Thank you," she said as his hand on her hip guided her downward, sinking onto him until she had almost taken him in.

The stretch was both delicious and borderline painful, on the very edge of what she could take.

"Breathe," he said, stilling her. "You're doing so well."

The praise set off fireworks in her chest, and she sank a little further on him. The promised pain didn't arrive, aside from a little tightness, and eventually, she was wholly on him.

Yes .

"Good girl," he said, though his words were more of a grunt this time. "There we go. Take your time. Breathe."

She collected herself for a few breaths, adjusting to the feel of him. Big, but not too big. Still comfortable. And when she rocked her hips, more of that delectable tension crossed his face, as though he was struggling to remain still. His muscles were taut, and she ran her hands across his chest. A shame they were both clothed, although given she could still hear the distant ball, she understood why.

Taking matters into her own hands, she rolled her hips once more before trying a bounce. He sucked in a breath, and she did it again, finding a rhythm that best suited her. As he had promised, he did nothing to take control; the hand that was on her hip remained there, fingers flexing, but making no effort to guide her movements.

Just for this once, she could choose.

It was a gift, in a way. And she took full advantage of it, eliciting the reactions from him that he had compelled from her. Groans deep in his chest, caught breaths. The way his eyes rolled back in his head as she moved.

This was all she had ever wanted. This feeling of being together, being joined, being one. Now they had done this, the dynamic between them had fundamentally shifted. They were different—together, they were different.

She would never see him in the same way. Not just her husband, but hers .

And she was his.

"Yes," he grated. "That's right, love. Just like that."

Her heart swelled at the praise. He knew just when to give it, when she needed it, and when she needed the harsh words of control. It was as though he could see into her heart and mind and knew all her desires before he could vocalize them.

Today, for this, she needed softness.

But she very much hoped this would not be the only time they engaged in such activities.

He made another low sound in the back of his throat, and before she could wonder too much, he took control for the first time, lifting her up and off him. Confused, she fell back onto the cushions, still panting, still tingling with an odd sense of loss from no longer having him inside her.

He glanced over at her with a wry expression she hadn't often seen on his face.

"I'm sorry, Evie," he said with a self-deprecating tone that was again unfamiliar. "I'd intended to do better by you, but?—"

"Do better by me?"

"Make you climax again," he said. "I think you could have done."

"Oh." She certainly still felt as though that had been the possibility, although the feeling was sinking back into a delicious soreness and languidness. "Well, I don't mind."

"No?"

"I enjoyed it very much."

A smile, this time not wry, not cynical, and not mocking, crossed his face. "You did? Good. Come here."

He opened his arms for her, and she came to snuggle against his side, his warmth and scent enveloping her. Again, this was what she needed; the languidness dissolved into relief and relaxation. At some point, they would need to return to the ball, but not yet. Not yet.

"Why did you push me off?"

"Because I knew I wouldn't be able to hold out against you any longer." He tapped the end of her nose. "And because I don't want you getting with child yet."

She frowned. Children were usually the primary motivation for marriage, and she had to admit she had been looking forward to having some of her own.

"Why not?"

"There is some business of mine I would prefer to be completed before then."

"And if I don't want to wait that long?"

"I shouldn't think it'll be too long now," he said cryptically.

"Is this the business you were discussing with Mr. Sloane?"

"You listen too much," he said, though it sounded a little as though he was amused, too. "Yes, that business. I hope to have it concluded soon."

"And you won't tell me what it is?"

"Not everything is designed for your ears, love. And a man's business is not necessarily a husband's business, that his wife should know. Trust me."

"I do," she said. "Utterly."

For a moment, he was silent, and then he gave a strangled laugh and pressed his lips against her hair.

"Then I am humbled indeed," he said.

* * *

As Hugh prepared to leave the little room he had commandeered for the sake of ravishing his wife, he couldn't help but reflect on the utter trust she had shown toward him. And think of all the ways in which he didn't deserve it.

Heavens above, she deserved better than for her first time to have been on a chair before he helped her tidy herself up and return to the ball. It felt like something clandestine rather than the intimacy he knew she craved.

Better he had never married her at all.

Except… no. He couldn't even bring himself to want that.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, gazing up at him with those large, trusting eyes.

He would have ripped the world apart rather than admit anything that might hurt her.

And given the state of the world as he knew that was entirely possible.

"Very well," he said, tucking her arm into his. "Couldn't be better. Shall we, wife of mine?"

She raised her chin in a gesture he knew well—and loved.

"Let's show them what success looks like."