Chapter Two

Charles nearly choked on his tongue.

Had the girl truly said what he thought she had?

He'd sensed something was off when the door was answered by a woman who—given her mein, carriage, and dress—was of obvious quality.

When she, herself, took his greatcoat and his hat and was then lost with what to do with them.

When he'd had an appointment to discuss the purchase of a damned horse from the Earl of Darby and had, instead, encountered only this woman. (Don't misunderstand him, she was an intriguing, attractive woman, but she was hardly the Earl of Darby.)

And this night was quickly turning into the strangest since he'd been tracked down at his firm in Boston and been informed that, due to a comedy of errors and an accident of birth, he was the new Duke of Ryton following the death of an elderly third cousin whom he'd never met.

While most of London had been abuzz since his reluctant arrival to claim his birthright, and he'd been dragged this way and that by everyone clamoring to gain an introduction to or host him at one event or another, this woman had most assuredly not been at any of those events.

For one, he liked to think she would have recognized him. For another, he definitely would have remembered her .

She described herself as undesirable, but she was far from it in his eyes. Her tall, buxom figure was more than enticing; her curves begged to be gripped and molded to his body. She was a woman who could take everything he had.

She was not in her first bloom of youth, but that only drew him in further. He knew instantly that other men were intimidated by her; it was the only explanation he could come up with for why she hadn't been snapped up yet.

What a shame.

For them.

And an unexpected gift for him .

For that is what she was; a gift. And it appeared she intended to throw away what was viewed as the most precious asset a woman possessed because the strutting peacocks, fops, and dandies of London had no idea what stood before them. And Charles absolutely couldn't allow that to happen.

The dark pools of her eyes remained unwavering on his face. She held herself motionless. And he realized he needed to respond quickly, lest she come to the wrong conclusion.

His mind whirled in a way it never had before. Somehow, this situation was more confusing, more important than any other he'd made in his life. He felt as if more than just a woman's virtue rested upon his shoulders.

Perhaps her future. Both their futures.

He was scheduled to spend very little additional time in London beyond that night. He'd only arrived the month prior at the solicitors' insistence to handle matters in person, apply his signature to necessary documents, and view a few properties he was determined to unload for sale at the earliest opportunity; it was clear from even the basic reports he'd received that they were of no benefit. The old duke had left things in fair enough shape. With the death tax paid and his identity confirmed, the duchy was firmly in his hold and Charles planned to leave for America within the fortnight with no near plans to return to this narrow little island. He had a life in Boston, and that life would continue whether or not he had the title of "Duke of Ryton" attached to his name. He would leave England in his wake and forget the grey and drizzly land and its stuffy people.

And then, his current predicament became immaculately clear to him like a bolt of lightning across an inky sky.

It took an embarrassingly short amount of time to convince himself that it was better that he do this horrible, reprehensible thing to save this woman—Ariel—from a fate far worse at the hands of some pox-ridden man who would be just as likely to leave her with a venereal disease as a thoughtless pregnancy. She had indicated that her brother wouldn't be home anytime soon—so much for polite Brits who kept appointments—and he could do her this service of divesting her of her maidenhead and take his leave before her brother returned. It felt twisted to view himself as being the benevolent one when, in reality, this would be no hardship whatsoever.

And then he would quit the country.

He truly didn't need to purchase the horse from Ariel's brother; quality horseflesh could certainly be found elsewhere. And he'd been planning to leave shortly anyway. He could give her this one night

and they'd never lay eyes upon one another again. She'd never be the wiser for it either.

Charles closed the gap between them and took her hands in his, bringing them to his lips. She wore no gloves and the skin of her knuckles was soft against his lips and smelled faintly of night-blooming jasmine.

"My lady," he began, lowering his voice to a purr; "it would be my honor."

∞∞∞

Ariel was quite certain she stopped breathing when the man spoke. And quite terrified she would never remember how to do so, so long as he continued to touch her. That would make the rest of this evening quite difficult, wouldn't it?

Oh my…

This was the man who would see her unclothed. He would touch her bare flesh. This beautiful man.

She was barely able to swallow past the lump in her throat. And she would get to see all of him in return.

Her cheeks began to burn from within as if someone had lit a kiln beneath her skin.

Oh my …

"Lead the way, if you will, my lady." His murmur was low as he tilted his square chin to the door.

Right. She had to show him the way to her bedchamber. Ariel opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. She attempted to mask it by lowering her face and turning away. To her surprise, the man never let go of her. He intertwined their fingers as he trailed behind her. Never releasing her as she awkwardly led the way up the sweeping main staircase, past the judgmental painted expressions of ancestors whose eyes she knew she'd never again be able to meet after that night's debauchery, and down the dim hallway where the family bedchambers were located.

She had known the man less than a quarter of an hour, yet there was something bolstering about the surety of his grip, the large palm and long fingers. It was absurd, but Ariel was almost comforted by it.

The man had comforting hands.

They were sturdy hands in which a woman could be confident in placing herself.

Perhaps this was a good thing, given the unconventionality of their circumstances. It was nearly painful to remind herself that it was likely all an act anyway… This was a man who knew how to treat a woman—he made a living from it.

Ariel held her breath and opened the door to her bedchamber.

A sconce remained lit, casting a small orb of golden light in the dim room.

The man followed her in and pressed the door closed behind them.

The silence was so heavy she swore he could hear her heartbeat as loud as a drum.

They stood there, staring, sizing one another up for what felt like an eternity before he spoke. "You needn't do this, Ariel." His words were quiet and he held himself unnaturally still. She might have believed him to be a shadow if it were not for the flash of his eyes and the glimmer of white teeth.

What he didn't understand was that she did . She did need to do this. She needed to know what it felt like, even just once. She wanted to feel desired and experience passion. It wasn't as if she was going to wear a sign broadcasting what she'd done for all to see. This was purely for her edification; for her to file away for however many decades of spinsterhood she had remaining. It was a lot of weight to place upon the shoulders of a strange man, but he was a professional.

"I must—I want to," she whispered and he inclined his head after a slight hesitation.

"If I do anything you do not desire—anything that does not bring you the utmost pleasure—you must tell me. It is the only rule."

Ariel bit the inside of her cheek so hard it made her eyes water; her knees practically buckled. She nodded in agreement.

"It is my job to give you nothing but pleasure, Ariel." He closed the gap between them, watching her all the while as if she were a hare who might bolt into the tall grass until he stood close enough that the toes of his boots brushed the hem of her skirts.

It was so novel to look up into a man's face; her unnatural height often left most men of the ton at a disadvantage when speaking to her. It made Ariel feel unexpectedly feminine…and excited.

She was engulfed in his masculine scent of starch, a hint of a woodsiness, and the musk of male skin. His hands skimmed up her arms; one paused at her shoulder and the other cupped the back of her head. A shiver skittered up and down her spine. "Have you been kissed before, Ariel?" It was of the utmost foolishness given their situation, but she was quickly becoming enamored of the way he said her name with his American accent—harder and more forceful, a manner uniquely his.

"No," she breathed. Her eyes flew to the elegant lines of his mouth, now tilting charmingly up at the corners.

"Perfect."

His head began to descend, her eyes fluttered closed, and then a thought struck her just before his lips touched hers. Her eyes flew open once more and one of her hands closed around his—very firm, very sizeable—forearm.

"Wait!"

To his credit, he froze so successfully that she wasn't sure he still lived.

"W—What is your name?" He didn't make her explain why she needed to know; she didn't need to mortify herself by admitting that it didn't feel right to receive her first kiss from a man whose name she did not know.

Instead, he simply answered her: "Charles."

"Thank you, Charles." She closed the small space between their lips and took her first kiss from a man.

Her first thought was how soft his lips were.

Her second was that, while this was nice and it was thrilling to be kissed, she was disappointed that this was all there was to it. The experience seemed rather incongruous with everything her friends had described. She hoped the rest of the evening was more in line with her expect—

"Here," the man called Charles murmured kindly against her mouth. She might have mistaken the sound of a smile in his tone… His other hand reached up and he cupped her face gently and tilted it ever so slightly before slanting his mouth over hers in a vastly different way. And his lips moved.

Oh yes , this was better.

She nearly jumped when she felt the tip of his tongue trace the seam of her lips. By all accounts, it should have been repulsive…instead, she sighed and allowed him access. She parted her lips and kissed him back, meeting the slow attack and retreat of his lips and tongue. He patiently demonstrated the rhythm, slowing her down when she would have been too eager in her ignorance. She must have been doing something right because a low growl rumbled up from deep in his throat like the rush of a tide when she touched her tongue to his.

He tasted of something sweet and smoky. The only word that came to mind was cherrywood—seductively rich and warm and comforting.

All at once, she became aware that the length of her body was pressed to his. She wasn't sure which of them had closed the gap between them, but she was well past the point of questioning the situation, wasn't she? What mattered was that every inch of the front of her was touching every inch of the front of him. Her breasts were pressed to the hard wall of his chest. One of his giant palms cupped the ample curve of her hip; his thumb caressed her through the fabric of her dress on its way to wrap around her waist. An expertly placed thumb canted her head back, allowing him to deepen the kiss, to devour her. Ariel's legs began to tremble and she was practically propped up by the impressive strength of his arms; what was more, she had no fear of falling.

Lest she melt completely, she twisted her fingers in the lapels of his jacket. Absently, she wondered at the fineness of the fabric and stitching, of the patterned silk waistcoat pressed flush with her breasts, but all thoughts were dashed away as his hand drifted from her chin to the throbbing pulse in her throat, to the soft skin of her collarbone, and the deep crevasse of her décolletage.

The graze of a fingertip traced the line of her cleavage, down to the neckline of her gown, drew a lazy pattern on the swell of her ample breast. The circles grew smaller as he neared the budding peak of her nipple.

"Are you well?" Charles asked, sounding almost pained. All capabilities of speech had fled her at that point and Ariel could only nod. She wasn't sure how well she was, she just knew she didn't want him to stop. The things he was doing made her skin unbearably hot. Every sweep of his tongue made her long to pull him closer until they were one. She whimpered when he nibbled her lower lip, so strong was the

crashing wave of desire as it spread throughout her like fire catching the parched grasses at the end of a hot summer. She was kindling beneath his touch, primed and ready to ignite.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when the pad of his finger rasped against her erect, aching nipple through the silk of her dress. A gasp was ripped from her throat and she unwillingly tore her mouth from his as his large palm cupped the ample weight of her breast.

Testing it. Savoring it. Kneading it with infinite reverence. Though she was untried, her body seemed to know what to do and it arched her into his touch. She subconsciously begged for more. She wanted to feel him tweak her nipple with nothing between them—to pluck the taut thread of desire strung through her body until she vibrated with it like a harp.

"Mmmm," he purred, his baritone voice further melting her. "You are sensitive here, aren't you? She caught half a glimpse of a wicked smile before he ducked his head and elicited another gasp from her throat. "I am very much going to enjoy this."

All thoughts fled her mind like a bird from a window when Charles replaced his fingers with his mouth, sucking, nibbling, and laving her with the flat of his tongue. The wetness soaking through the fabric of her bodice and underthings only heightened the sensations unleashed within her.

Ariel's hands flew to his head, pressing him closer, burying his face against her, and she learned that his hair was, indeed, even softer than it appeared. She relished the curls winding about her fingers, thrilled when he emitted a tiny moan after she gave the locks an experimental tug, nearly giddy when he demonstrated an unexpected amount of strength as he dipped and wrapped his arms beneath her bottom, standing and then slinging her over his shoulder.

"Oh! Oh, please don't!" Ariel was briefly mortified as she braced her palms on the broad plane of his back…until she realized he wasn't struggling against her weight in the least.

"Surely you cannot fault me for my eagerness," Charles replied lightly as he strode to her bed and dropped her gently to the thick mattress. "Not when your touch is so exciting." His smoldering eyes raked her from head to toe. "Not when you look like you do." Ariel felt her cheeks flare anew and she believed those words, fool girl that she was. It was difficult not to feel emboldened by the intensity of this man's gaze, the hint of a needy rasp in his deep voice. Throwing all common sense to the wind, Ariel raised her arms and opened them to Charles. The man seemed only too happy to oblige as he quickly finished shrugging from his coat and unwinding his cravat. Dropping both to the floor, he pounced upon her, carefully balancing his weight to press just enough of it against her aching nipples as his mouth cov- ered hers once more. The hard length of one powerful thigh nudged her legs apart to rub ever so subtly against the growing moisture collecting at the juncture there. Her pelvis arched and searched for more pressure, but Charles would only allow her a taste before he retreated just far enough that she could not quite obtain that which her body desired. He flashed her a most wicked grin when she emitted a small, involuntary whimper of frustration; his mouth covered hers once more the next moment, his skillful tongue slipping between her lips once more to trace the fine edge of her teeth and tangle with hers. Ariel kissed him back, gaining confidence with every stroke of his tongue and softening of her muscles. Her legs fell open wider and he rewarded her with more pressure of his firm thigh against that secret place between them.

He laid himself a little more flush atop her and she experienced the thick, marble-like ridge of his manhood pressing through the layers of the fabric between them to brand the soft mound of her lower belly.

Before she had time to grow too nervous, Charles lifted his head just enough to speak against her mouth. "You may touch me." Kiss. "In fact…" Kiss. "I insist you do so." Another kiss that melted her limbs to the point she was afraid she would be unable to feel him if she did wrap her body around him.

To her ecstatic delight, she did feel the swell of his broad shoulders with her palms, she was able to trace the sharp lines of his collarbone beneath the fine linen of his crisp white shirt, and she could savor the slight undulation of the impressive muscles spanning his back with every one of his minuscule thrusts. She was rewarded with a sharp hiss of pleasure when she ran experimental nails down his spine and then up his trim sides and the bumps of his ribs. The response emboldened her in a new way.

"You seem to be rather sensitive as well."

The feral glint in Charles' eyes made her heart skip frantically in her breast.

"I think it's time we divest you of these cumbersome clothes." His tone was dangerous, but far from frightening. She floated upon this curious cloud of nerves and excitement, barely aware as Charles lifted her up once more and, in between more kisses, caresses, and nibbles, began to undress her with startlingly—or not-so-startlingly—practiced ease until she remained only in her thin shift, stockings, and garters. Charles pulled back and rose, bracing himself with one knee on the bed and the other foot on the floor as his eyes traced every one of her curves with animalistic appreciation. They lingered upon the swell of her hips and the dusky shadows of her nipples. Ariel sat up on her elbows and her rose-gold curls tumbled around her face and shoulders—the man really must have been a magician to remove her hairpins without her realizing! She nibbled her lip and made the sudden decision to ride out this wave of confidence.

"Will you remove your clothing as well, sir?"

One of his dark brows cocked at her question; the tilt of his lips made her weak all over again. Without speaking or removing his eyes from hers, Charles undid his cuffs and the closures along the front of his shirt, collecting the glinting silver fastenings in his large palm be- fore setting them on the small table beside her bed. She swallowed hard when he untucked the garment from his breeches and slid it from his shoulders to reveal a chest the likes of which she hadn't thought existed in nature. He was all lean lines and angles hewn as if by Michelangelo's chisel. He was smooth save for a light dusting of dark whorls at the center of his chest. The defined ridges of his abdomen teased her ever so naughtily before they disappeared beneath the fitted waist of his breeches. Surely, her eyes must have been as wide as saucers, but Charles was kind enough—or savvy enough—not to comment or mock her inexperience.

"The next move is yours, Ariel." She hadn't thought the mixture of vowels and consonants comprising her name lent themselves to a purr, but Charles managed it with impressive ease.

Pulling her lips between her teeth, she slid to the edge of the bed and stood, her body so close to Charles' that she could feel the heat rolling off his naked flesh. She swiftly undid her garters and slid her stockings from her legs. Without pausing to overthink it, she lifted her shift over her head and added it to the growing pile of garments scat- tered near the bed—the tangible proof of her recklessly abandoned inhibitions.

Though she didn't look up into his face, she watched him take a few steps back and she could feel the caress of his gaze from head to toe. The room was warm, but she shivered. As a reflex, she crossed her arms over her ample bosom. The gesture was useless but somehow necessary. The heat of her flush seeped from her face to her throat, it warmed her chest and tinted the pale flesh of her breasts pink.

"It is natural for a woman to be shy the first time she is unclothed before a man," Charles murmured kindly. His tone was as warm as his molten eyes when she finally met them. "But you should never be ashamed."

"I am not ashamed," Ariel spoke as adamantly as possible, though she feared the slight warble gave her away. She knew she was not like other women—she was too tall, too curvaceous, too unconventional, too…her. She had come to love her body, but she also recognized that not everyone felt the same. She could have possessed the proportions deemed perfect in Society and she doubted she'd feel any differently about the situation, laid quite literally bare as she was. This was vulnerability in its rawest form. She didn't think she could weather it if Charles demonstrated even a flicker of hesitancy.

"I'm glad of it," he rasped hoarsely. "Because it would be a tragedy above all others for this body to be hidden away."

Her heart's pace redoubled. Surely he only said such things because he was being paid for the evening. Surely he said such things to all the women he was with.

But all of her mental ramblings were silenced when Charles' gaze raked over her, as palpable as if he'd touched her with the fiery brand of his fingers.

And then he really was touching her. He gently removed her arms from her breasts, which suddenly felt heavier beneath his assessing eyes.

His pupils dilated, nearly swallowing the irises whole.

"Give a spin," he whispered harshly with a small twirl of a finger in a gesture more lighthearted than its owner appeared.

Willing herself not to cross her arms again, Ariel did as she was told. She earned a guttural groan of appreciation when Charles spied the waterfall of her rose-gold curls tumbling down her back, ending just before the voluptuous mounds of her bottom. She would have completed her spin had Charles not stalled her with the whisper of a finger on the swell of her hip. Just that small touch was enough to send ripples of anticipation from her body. She stood still as a statue.

Waiting.

The pounding of her heart filled the stretching silence until she thought she would burst.

"Lean forward," Charles finally instructed, his voice balancing the sharp line between pain and composure.

She did so, canting her hips back until she was at a seventy-degree angle. It wasn't enough because he murmured a few reassuring, complimentary words as he used a palm to urge her forward until her palms were flat upon the mattress, her rear jutting out behind her shamelessly.

His large palms cupped the rounded swells of her bottom. His strong hands kneaded her, massaging the flesh and muscles. He nudged her feet apart and spread her wide and growled his pleasure at the sight, as deep and penetrating as thunder. She experienced another rush of liquid heat between her legs at the sound, the dampness increasing with shameless abandon.

"What a sight…" Charles rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "May I touch you here?" His fingers slid incrementally toward the crevasse between her legs, the deep cleft of her bottom. Ariel swallowed and nodded wordlessly. Immediately, his hands came together, spreading her wider for his perusal. Two of his fingers dipped lower and he moaned at what he discovered.

"Just as I thought; so wet already." His touch was torturously gentle against her slick, swollen flesh. He traced her nether lips, caressed the damp curls at the crux of her sex, and swirled around her entrance, making her arch her spine and press back into his touch.

Charles inhaled sharply and released it on one drawn out, " Fuck …" The word was shockingly crude—made even more so on his blunt American tongue, but she was far from offended. Her heart tripped with excitement. His hand stilled, cupping her tightly, his fingers curling to enter her ever so slightly. "If only you knew how delicious you look, Ariel; what this view does to me."

Her heart pounded at the raw words, his haggard voice. She could believe him when he sounded like that—she gasped as he began to stroke her once more—and especially when he touched her like that.

One of his large palms pressed gently between her shoulder blades until she rested her cheek on her forearms. His knees nudged her thighs open wider as his hand trailed back up her spine, tracing the concave arch created by his manipulation. "That's it," he purred. "Such a good girl." It should have felt demeaning, but it only made her inner thighs quiver in anticipation. She felt both powerful and at his mercy… And when his hand dipped lower between her legs, his longest fingers discovered the most magical thing of all.

The firm, slick pressure against that sensitive bundle of nerves both melted her and made her clench. She gasped until her breath died in her throat. That was new. And thrilling. And wonderful. Despite the wave of delicious sensations, her thighs flexed in an attempt to close and protect her most secret of places, but Charles didn't allow it. His chuckle danced across her spine and his large palm kneaded the soft globe of her buttocks, the long fingers sinking into her flesh. He tsked at her. "I know you like it. I can feel how wet you are." Ariel felt her flush spread rapidly from her face to her throat and chest at his words.

And then he began to move those knowledgeable fingers of his, swirling and plucking and caressing and stroking her in ways she hadn't considered and unleashing sensations she hadn't known possible. Her body began to undulate; her hips pressed back into Charles until she made contact with the hard bulge in the front of his breeches. An appreciative sound rumbled behind her. "Almost, pet. You're nearly ready."

"Ready? For—oh!" She cried out in shocked pleasure when his thick thumb pressed inside of her while his nimble fingers continued teasing the pearl at the crux of her sex. She screwed her eyes closed and every one of her senses focused on what Charles was doing to her and how he made her feel. Her skin tingled, her muscles clenched and trembled, her toes curled, and her nails gripped the sheets so tightly she feared they would be shredded. The pressure was building uncontrollably in her core with every slick glide of Charles' fingers on her and in her. Her body clenched around him with every dragging stroke. She panted and rocked against his onslaught.

"Please," she whimpered desperately.

"Please, what?" Charles leaned over her and purred. She could only toss her head from side to side, unable to put words to her needs. Charles, however, seemed to know exactly what she craved. "This?" he growled, applying just the right pressure and rhythm to make her arch her back and sob as the world shattered around her. She buried her face in the coverlet, letting it absorb her cresting pleasure. Her body was wracked by the blinding, consuming fire Charles had unleashed within her. It was glorious and terrifying and life-altering.

She floated down slowly from the rapture, the feeling gradually returning to her quaking limbs, when the sound of rustling cloth reached her ears. She barely registered it before Charles' warm hands returned to her bottom. The unfamiliar tickle of crisp masculine hair on strong, muscular thighs grazed her skin and she vaguely recog- nized he'd shucked the remainder of his clothing so he was finally as bare as she.

"Tell me you still want this, Ariel," Charles demanded, gripping her flesh with desperate fingers. "Or tell me to stop now because, by God, I can't guarantee I have much self-control left in me." She was still too fuzzy to register the oddity of those words. "Say it now." Something thick and hard prodded the wet folds of her sex.

She moaned and pressed her hips back, eliciting a guttural groan from deep within Charles' chest when the tip of him inadvertently slipped ever so slightly into the entrance of her tight sheath.

"Say it," he hissed painfully, Ariel gasping in response to the sound and the stretching sensation. "Say it," Charles repeated even more forcefully.

"Yes, yes, yes…" she breathed again and again, her voice growing louder as Charles began to slowly push into her body, joining them, claiming her, changing her. The dew he'd coaxed from her body helped the way, but she was still impossibly tight, and he, impossibly large. Her body stretched around him and Ariel silently repeated to herself that her body had been made for this, but the insistent sting was growing ever more uncomfortable.

Then, Charles stopped.

She nearly lifted her head to ask him why, when she felt his large palms and strong fingers drawing languid designs upon the skin of her back, between her shoulder blades, down the channel of her spine, cupping and caressing the round globes of her rear. He began to knead her muscles, the only part of him moving were his hands as they danced across her muscles, massaging and melting her tension away like wax beneath a candle's relentless flame. Only when she was a pliable puddle once more did Charles resume pressing forward into her. There was a small, sharp rip of pain and then, he was seated fully within her.

"Are you well?" Charles panted, his warm hands gripping her hips tightly, the fingers digging into her flesh in a not-unpleasant way. She nodded her head, her curls obscuring her vision like a veil. It was all the encouragement Charles needed to begin moving.

The retreat and thrust began as a slow, insistent rhythm of deep strokes which somehow managed to remain gentle and ever careful of her tender flesh.

Ariel closed her eyes and, with a deep sigh, she let go. She gave herself over to the physical sensations of Charles behind her, touching her, deep inside her, rubbing some heretofore unknown place that made her vibrate from the inside out. Her ears were deaf to all except the soft sounds of the collision of slick flesh and Charles' erotic gasps and groans and murmurs of praise. Some of the words from his lips were unbearably naughty, others, unexpectedly sweet. He called her a goddess, perfection personified; he also told her he loved how wet she was for him, how it drove him mad with need.

She fisted her hands in the rumpled coverlet when he leaned forward to reach around her thigh, dipping his fingers between her dripping folds and caressing that secret pearl. A breath hissed between her teeth as he touched her hypersensitive flesh to begin once again the trembling climb toward that pinnacle of perfection where the stars shattered behind her eyes in blinding flashes of white ecstasy and her body simultaneously clenched and melted. Each pass of his fingers lifted her higher and higher, tearing gasps and cries of joy she didn't bother to smother against her arm or the mattress.

"Yes," Charles growled. "Let me hear you, Ariel." His words loosed a bolt of joy from her stomach to her limbs and back and, with it, a tremulous sob of pleasure. Something seemed to snap inside of Charles. His hands moved to clasp her hips in a deliciously bruising grip as he pounded into her from behind. Flesh smacked on flesh, the pendulous weight of the sac beneath his member striking her clitoris with every powerful thrust. She braced her forearms and arched back into him, meeting him thrust for thrust as he drove deeply, mercilessly into her tight sheath. "That's it. I knew you could take all of me. I knew it the moment I saw you." He pounded into her from behind.

His power and strength should have been painful, but it made her feel both weak and powerful and brought her only pleasure so incredulous it was blinding. Charles was unleashed and it was glorious. His body and his presence seemed to devour her; he set her nerves, her senses, her body on fire. "Let me feel you come," Charles commanded. "I want to feel you clench around my—"

Ariel never heard the end because she was tipped over that precipice. She was falling head over heels, tumbling harder, farther, faster than she ever thought possible as Charles continued his brutal, relentless pace. Her body trembled and quaked and then, suddenly, she was tragically empty. There was a gravelly roar behind her and splashes of something hot and forbidden on her lower back, dripping down the curve of her bottom.

She was panting and shivering as the last tremors of joy vibrated through her limbs when a warm hand cupped her cheek and turned her head, the throbbing heat of a male body enveloped her. Soft lips covered hers in a tender, lingering caress.

"You are magnificent, Ariel…" The words were a warm whisper upon her lips and she knew they would echo throughout the halls of her mind for many, many years to come.

Before she knew it, she was wrapped within Charles' long, strong arms, feeling impossibly feminine and infinitely cherished. She sighed contentedly, both her mind and her body still contentedly coasting along the rivulets of passion to which Charles had introduced her. They remained just so for several long, comfortable minutes merely listening to the other's breathing and gradually slowing heartbeats when Ariel's eyes shot open.

This man was not her husband. They were not in a relationship of any sort. This was a business transaction, and the last thing she wished was for him to feel obligated to coddle her.

"You needn't linger, you know." Ariel was surprised to discover that her throat was a tad tender from the repeated cries of ecstasy Charles had coaxed from her.

"I beg pardon?" She could feel him lift his head to look down at her.

"I mean, I am certain you have elsewhere you would desire to be. It was…quite lovely to meet you, but I wouldn't wish to keep you."

She felt his broad chest huff in a silent scoff. A handful of heart- beats passed before he asked, "You paid for the entire night, did you not?"

"Well…yes…"

"Then the entire night you shall have."

Ariel tried to ignore the butterflies in her abdomen at his words. She settled for snuggling back into Charles' embrace and savoring what little time they had left.