She spread herself for him, one of her hands holding her skirts up out of his way. He stroked her slowly, teasing her clitoris and taunting her folds. Her breath came in pants as her hips arched to meet his touch. “Please, Constantine.”
“Please what?” He was being quite terrible, but he was rather enjoying this side of his wife. Hell, this side of himself. He didn’t even recognize the man standing between her legs and delivering torment upon her.
“Please, do what you started.”
“With my mouth?” He slipped his finger into her wet sheath and had to close his eyes as a wave of lust surged over him. “Tell me, Sabrina.”
“I want your mouth on me. Your tongue…in me. Please, Constantine.”
“How can I refuse?” He literally could not. His body demanded he taste her. He bent again and spread her wide for his tongue, licking up into her with a calculated thrust.
She gripped his head again, her fingers tangling in his hair as she rose up. Nonsense sounds filled the air around him as she whimpered and moaned. He buried himself in her, using his mouth and fingers to wreak a beautiful chaos upon her.
Her muscles clenched around him, signaling she was about to come. Sucking on her clitoris, he speared two fingers inside and pressed up, finding that spot that would send her into sweet oblivion.
A high-pitched keen erupted from her lips as her sheath squeezed tight around him. Her legs quivered with the force of her orgasm. He massaged her thigh and kissed her flesh, carrying her through the storm until her body began to settle.
She opened her eyes and regarded him with a hazy stare. “Constantine, that was magnificent.”
“Let me take you upstairs.” He started to lower her skirts, but she held them fast.
“Don’t you dare. I want you now. Inside me.” She sat up and reached for his fall.
“We have a perfectly good bed,” he reasoned. “Two, actually.”
“And we’ll use one—or both—later.” She released his buttons and slipped her hand into his smallclothes. Cradling his cock, she wrapped her fingers around him. All argument left him.
“Come to the edge.” He pulled her toward him. “Take me inside you.”
Their eyes met, her blue gaze brimming with determination and erotic promise. She guided him to her sex, and he thrust into her. Her lids shuttered, and her lips parted.
“Yes,” she hissed, wrapping her legs around him.
Constantine secured his arms around her—one on her back and one clutching her backside. “Forgive me, for I cannot go slow. Later, I’ll take my time. But now—”
Now, he had no control. Nor did he want any. He surrendered completely to this blissful, spontaneous moment—the moment they’d toasted just a short while earlier. Gratitude and joy swept through him as he rocked into her. She clutched his shoulder and neck, pulling his head down to kiss him.
Her mouth was hot and wet, as greedy as he felt. Their bodies strained together, completely enraptured as they hurtled toward completion.
It came hard and fast for him. He managed to slip his hand between them, to coax another release from her. She clenched around him, and he swore he’d never experienced such pure satisfaction. Since last night anyway.
Rising from the devastation of his release, he withdrew from her. “I don’t have anything to tidy you…”
“Fortunately, I have a criminal number of garments with which to ameliorate the situation.” She flashed him a smile as she tended to herself before sliding from the desk.
He hastened to help her, marveling at her brazenness. At her beauty. At her undeniable courage and fortitude. If not for her single-minded pursuit, they would not be here. She was astonishing.
And he was falling in love with her.
Two years wasted. Because he was such a reticent, self-involved idiot. He stroked his fingertips from her forehead down her cheek to her jaw. Then he kissed her, softly, reverently, dragging his thumb over her lips when he finished. “Now we can go upstairs.”
She picked up her wineglass and finished the madeira. “And now, I am ready.”
“I’ll be along presently, after I pick up my clothing.” He watched her go and hoped this was truly the start of something new, of something real.
If it wasn’t, he didn’t know what he was going to do. Because he couldn’t go back to the way things were.
And if he thought about it, which he tried not to, he had the tutor to thank for everything that was happening. Without her giving him the courage to do and say what he ought with Sabrina, they might still be fumbling in the dark. Despite the inarguable benefit of her help, he was sorry it had been necessary. Although, he couldn’t regret the progress they’d made, the intimacy they’d discovered. The tutor had been a help when they’d needed it, and he was grateful for what she’d provoked within him—the desire to court his wife, to give her the attention and consideration she deserved.
He retrieved his clothing, then his gaze fell on the invitation to the Phoenix Club. What the hell was that about? He couldn’t deny the rush of joy—and relief—he’d felt when he’d read it. But the threat of his father’s wrath had to be considered.
Or did it?
Perhaps it was time the duke altered his thinking when it came to his second son and his second son’s incredibly worthwhile endeavor. More importantly, perhaps it was time his eldest son pushed him to that end.
Chapter 18
Reynolds, Lucien’s butler, showed Constantine into his brother’s library where Lucien sat at his small desk, his hand scratching a pen across parchment. He seemed rather intent on his task since he didn’t react to their arrival.
“Lord Aldington is here to see you,” Reynolds said, prompting Lucien to look up.
Lucien blinked, then wiped his hand over his face.
The butler left and Constantine moved toward the desk, which stood beside a window that looked out to the back garden. “Good morning, Lucien.”
Lucien put his paper into a drawer and stood. “Another surprising visit. Can this be, what, the second in a fortnight?”
“Yes, I suppose it is.” Constantine sat in one of the wingback chairs near the hearth.
“Do you want a drink?” Lucien asked, taking a step toward his liquor cabinet.
“No, thank you. I can’t stay long. Too much happening at Westminster this week.”
“Ah yes, the Importation Bill?” At Constantine’s nod, Lucien continued. “Have you decided how you will vote?”
“You sound like Father. Yes, and don’t ask me about it. Please.”
Lucien’s brows climbed his forehead. “Such manners. And you’re almost…smiley.” He narrowed his eyes. “You seem happy. What’s wrong?”
Constantine laughed.
“Dear God, you’re laughing.” Lucien strode to him and put his hand against Constantine’s forehead. “Are you feverish?”
Swatting Lucien’s hand away, Constantine pursed his mouth up at his brother. “Stop being an ass and sit down.”
“I’ve been admonished.” Lucien sat opposite him and straightened his waistcoat—he wasn’t wearing a coat. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this highly entertaining call?” His eyes widened. “You and Lady Aldington have reached an accord.”