She widened her thighs even further and Max’s brain turned to porridge. He pushed forward ever so slightly, working the head of his cock inside her tight sheath. The walls squeezed him like a fist, and he had to close his eyes, breathe deeply, to keep from rutting at her like an animal.
“Oh,” Violet said.
He lifted his head and studied her. Violet’s eyes were wide, as if she was surprised. “Are you in pain? Discomfort?” Rebecca had cried their first time, her tears soaking their bed. “Shall I stop?”
She shook her head. “Do not dare.”
He exhaled, relief and affection settling in his chest, lightening his mood. Vowing to go slow, he moved carefully, steadily, watching her the entire time for signs of distress. She was breathing heavily, her skin flushed, as he slid into her body. It was bloody torture, with streaks of lust crackling along the backs of his thighs, his cock demanding friction.
When he bottomed out, he held there, motionless, sucking in air as he gave her time to adjust. Being inside her was heaven, a tight, wet paradise that he never wanted to leave. Violet was all he could see, all he could feel, and he wished he could stay right here, like this, for the rest of the day and into the night.
Soon he couldn’t wait any longer. “All right?” he asked through clenched teeth.
“I expected to be torn in two. Instead I feel . . . full.” She wriggled, causing him to shift inside her, and he screwed his eyes shut, struggling not to spend before they even got started. “I like it,” she said.
Dear God.
Max gave a thrust of his hips, his shaft dragging along her sensitive tissues, and Violet purred. “Goodness, I like that even more.”
He was done for.
Any civility he possessed disappeared and Max snapped, driving into her again and again. At some point she dropped her knees and clutched at him, pulling him closer as he fucked her like a man possessed. Her body slid higher on the mattress and he chased her, unwilling to let her get away even for a moment. A part of him knew he was being too rough, too barbaric for her first time. But she only moaned and scored his skin with her nails, telling him in breathy pants, “more” and “faster.”
The woman would be his undoing.
He leaned over her, snarling in her ear as his hips worked, his cock plunging in and out of her channel. “You like this, my little mouse? You want more?”
“Oh, Max, yes. Please.”
“You’re going to let me fuck you whenever I want, aren’t you?” He couldn’t seem to stop talking, especially when her walls clenched every time he did. She likes my dirty words. “Your cunt was made for my cock. I’ve never had better.”
It was the truth. But he knew it wasn’t her body—it was her.
You’re falling for her.
Unwilling to give credence to such ridiculousness, he shut off his brain and thrust hard. Then he used his thumb on her clitoris, stimulating the button until Violet’s back began to bow, her breasts bouncing as continued to work himself in and out of her. Finally, she arched, crying out as her walls contracted around his cock. Flashes of heat streaked along Max’s spine, through his bollocks, but he somehow held out while watching her orgasm, the sight more alluring than anything he’d ever witnessed.
As soon as she started to relax, it was tempting to let his body take over, surrender to the bliss that rocketed through his system. Yet he couldn’t finish inside her. Quickly, he pulled out and crawled up her body, his knees astride her chest, and aimed the tip of his shaft at her mouth. “Open,” he growled.
She parted her lips and he drove between them, groaning as her tongue swirled on the underside of his shaft as if coaxing his spend. Then it happened. The orgasm roared through him, sensation shooting along his thighs and out the tip of his cock. It went on and on, wave after glorious wave of euphoria, his muscles trembling as he gave her everything he had.
He slumped, nearly falling over, weak as a kitten in the aftermath. Violet continued to lick his shaft, her mouth gentle, and stared up at him with such adoration and satisfaction that his lips twisted into a half grin. He hadn’t smiled this much in . . . ages. But Violet had that effect on him. In the short time they’d been lovers, he found himself thinking of her at the oddest moments, with small comments he wished to tell her, as if she’d invaded his brain with her sweet and earnest nature.
Running his hand through her disheveled hair, he almost blurted out a very stupid sentence.
You cannot ruin this girl’s life. Begging her to be your mistress is selfish, Max.
God, but he wanted her. Day and night. Ready at his disposal, with her easy smile and keen observations, not to mention her delectable body.
He dropped onto his back and tried to catch his breath. Violet rolled closer, snuggling into his side, and he wrapped his arm around her.
“You are very good at that,” she said, her head resting on his shoulder. “No wonder your mistresses fight to keep you.”
It had never been like this, but he didn’t tell her that. “I am pleased you enjoyed yourself. I haven’t much experience with virginity.” Only his late wife, and no one would deem that a success.
“Max, it was perfect.” She pressed a kiss to his skin. “Just as I knew it would be with you.”
He shifted to cradle her cheek in his palm. “I should be reassuring you. Did I hurt you?”
“No.” She bit her lip and wiggled slightly. “I am a bit sore, but I cannot wait to do that again.”
A chuckle escaped Max’s throat. “What am I to do with you, my sweet girl?”
“I am certain you’ll think of something, Your Grace.”
Chapter Nine
Violet forced a smile at her dance partner. What on earth made her parents believe Lord Sundridge a good choice for a husband? While he wasn’t particularly hard on the eyes, he talked nonstop. She’d stopped listening ages ago, instead memorizing three rote comments to interject whenever he paused for a reaction: “Indeed, I daresay you are right,” “How clever of you,” and “One can never know, I suppose.”
Thus far, he hadn’t seemed to notice that her mind was elsewhere. Or, rather on someone.
Max stood on the far side of the room, towering over the other men in his perfectly tailored evening clothes. His dark hair was expertly styled, his expression bored to the casual observer. Violet knew better, however.
The Duke of Ravensthorpe was watching her every move.
Oh, he might not have stared directly at her, but he observed carefully, keeping to her vicinity, and his keen gaze brushed over her person no matter where she was in the room.
She could swoon with the possessiveness of it. The duke, possessive of her. Her core squeezed in happiness, despite the soreness from yesterday. Though she and Max would never marry, she would never regret giving him her virginity. The experience had been utterly divine, satisfying in every way.
Which left her the problem of Sundridge. Her current dance partner was carrying on a one-sided conversation that seemed more like a lecture aimed at no one in particular. Above all else, she could not marry this man.
Had her father already spoken to Sundridge’s father? Dread slithered over Violet’s skin, turning her stomach. Why was her mother anxious to marry her off, even to a nincompoop? It made no sense.