God, he wanted to be the one to teach her—to learn from her.
“One of us has to think about the consequences,” he said. “One of us has to stop this.”
“It won’t be me,” she said, kissing his neck as her own hands began to explore. One skated down his back then found his buttocks and squeezed.
“Belle,” Hew said in a warning tone.
She giggled and brought her hand around. He caught her wrist before she could take his cock in her hand.
“If we don’t stop now, I won’t have the willpower.”
“Do you love me?” she asked, pulling back to see his face. “Willoughby says you love me.”
Hew didn’t think she could see him much better than he could see her. Her eyes glittered in the weak firelight, and only outlines of cheek, nose, and forehead were visible. But he could fill in the shadows with his memory of her. The tight line of her lips when she was angry. The fine brows above her deep brown eyes. The pink of her cheeks, especially the side that was scarred, when she was presented with a new tea.
Hew gathered her closer, still holding her wrist. “I do love you, Isabelle Howard.”
“And I love you,” she said, wriggling her hand free. “And that’s all that matters in this moment.”
He wanted to believe that. He did believe it when her hand slid around his cock.
“I know you don’t want to ever marry again,” she said, tracing a finger over him, seeming unsure what to do with him now that she had him.
Hew made a sound that was something like Gah. He wasn’t quite able to talk with the way she touched him. There was something to be said for awkward curiosity.
“But you’ll change your mind. You’ll beg me to marry you, and I might even agree.”
“Belle, stop.” To his dismay, she did stop. Her hand on his cock stilling. “As much as I want you, I don’t want to deceive you.”
“I’m not deceived. You don’t want to marry.” She slid her hand upward. “But you’ll change your mind, just as I have.” Her hand slid down again. “Your friend Willoughby said something tonight that made me realize marriage is the only way we can be together. And you want to be with me.”
“I do.” God, her hand was driving him to madness.
“You will beg me to marry you,” she said.
“I won’t.”
“And I will say no.”
“What?” He tried to wrap his head around what she was saying, but his mind was having trouble focusing on anything but the way he was feeling.
“Ask me to marry you as much as you please. I’ll say no.”
“And if I tell your father about this.” He moved his hips, thrusting them slightly. “He’ll demand we marry.”
“I knew it!” she said, pausing her movements and smiling down at him. “You don’t think he’s dead.”
“Belle, I didn’t mean—”
“Oh, shut it, Hew, and put this thing to some use.”
BELLE FOUND HERSELF on her back with Hew Arundel on top of her. She didn’t know why he was finally persuaded. Had she aroused him to the point of no return? Had she finally convinced him she would not force him to marry her? She understood now that she wouldn’t have to demand he marry her. His friend was right. He wanted to marry her. He just wasn’t ready to admit it, and that was fine. She could wait. In the end, he would have to convince her marriage was a good idea.
He had already made several good points about the benefits of the institution of marriage, and then his hand slid between her legs, and she stopped thinking and allowed herself to feel.
His knee fitted between her legs and parted them, giving his hand more access. He had truly remarkable fingers. They slid over her slick folds, teasing and tempting her, until she caught his hand and pressed it where she wanted it.
He chuckled low in her ear, making gooseflesh pebble her skin, but he didn’t move his hand. Instead, he slid his thumb over that part of her that needed him most, making her gasp and then moan in pleasure.
At the same time, she felt him at her entrance. His cock—hard and hot—had settled just inside her. The pressure of it was intoxicating, and the more Hew teased her with his thumb, the more she wanted that cock to go deeper. It did slide deeper, filling her almost to the point of pain. But then his thumb would incite some new sensation, and she’d forget the pain and beg for the pleasure.
Belle realized she was probably making an idiot of herself. She was mewling and begging and gasping for him. She didn’t care. His own breath was coming fast and hard, his body rigid with the strength it took for him to hold back. She didn’t want him to hold back, told him so, but he only murmured something about trusting him.
She did trust him. Would she be naked in bed with him if she didn’t trust him?
Would she allow—oh. She couldn’t think any longer as sensation took over. It was that same pleasure he’d given her earlier, and it rose inside her, blotting out every thought except chasing after the peak. She was dimly aware of her hips bucking and Hew trying to still them. She was also aware she made small moaning sounds, but she didn’t care. The pleasure, when it finally came, overwhelmed her until she was swallowed by it. And that was when he pushed into her, melding pain with pleasure until she couldn’t separate one from the other and didn’t want to.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked, his voice low and husky.
“Yes. No. Don’t stop,” she said as she crested a final wave of pleasure and allowed herself to be carried away with it.
Gradually, she became aware of the pressure of him and the pain that caused...not a sharp stabbing pain but a dull ache that intensified when he moved. She thought she might like that movement—at some point. Not now.
She hissed in a breath as he moved again.
“I’m hurting you,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Yes. Stop.”
Instantly, he stopped moving. Braced on his elbows, he looked down at her, and she had a moment to wonder about his injury. Surely this was putting a strain on it. He began to pull away, but she wrapped her arms about his neck. “Don’t move. Just stay like this,” she said, pulling his mouth down to hers. The last vestiges of the pleasure were still coursing through her, and it was not so unpleasant to have him inside her, if he didn’t move.
Her hands ran over his shoulders and his arms, all straining muscles and tight as a wire.
“Belle,” he said, his voice ragged. “It’s very hard for me not to move. I have to pull—”
“Wait.” She wrapped her legs around him, and he groaned.
“You are killing me.”
“This hurts you too?”
“Not in the way you mean.”
She was torturing him. She should let him go, and she would have except she felt him throb inside her. He wanted her, and that feeling of being desired was something she hadn’t felt before. When men showed interest in her, she always questioned it, always wondered if they’d seen her scars, if they could look past them.
She didn’t have to wonder that with Hew. She knew he had seen the scars, knew he wanted her anyway, loved her anyway.
“Belle, I have to—” He moved inside her, and she winced. She contracted around him, and he gasped in a breath. “God, don’t do that—”