He met her untroubled gaze frankly a moment, then shook his head. “Now tell me about every minute you’ve spent away from me.”
She reached up and pressed the pad of her forefinger to his frowning brow as she told him the whole unvarnished story as swiftly and in as economical words as possible.
He didn’t interrupt, even if he did breathe in sharply and narrow his eyes at a couple of points. At the parts about Sir Matthew she slid her hands up his shirt and stroked his muscular back by way of comfort, marveling that he could be so jealous. It seemed ridiculous to her, but she trod carefully all the same. “So, you see,” she said teasingly, “My virtue is firmly intact.”
His eyebrows rose at this. “You’re lying on the floor of a coach with your tits out and my cock still in you,” he pointed out.
She slapped a hand against his back. “Nye!”
“It’s the truth, love,” he smirked. “Your ideas of virtue have taken quite a battering since we got wed.”
“There’s no need to be crude,” she said, pressing her lips together.
He gave a soft laugh. “That prim look doesn’t work when I’m buried between your thighs, Minerva.” He dropped his words, low and intimate and flexed his hips, eliciting a soft moan from her lips. “God knows, it’s my favorite spot in all the world.”
“Nye,” she whispered, feeling him grow hard again.
He dropped his mouth to hers for a tender kiss. “Get up on your knees, love. We’ve still got a good ten minutes of even road.”
She gaped. “Nye, we need to set ourselves to rights! They’ll be waiting for us at the inn, wanting to shake your hand and wish you well-,”
“Well, I only care about what I want, right now,” he growled pulling out of her and dragging her up from the floor. “Because I’ve been in abject misery for three days thinking I’d lost my future with you.” He bent her forward, so her chest was pressed into the cushioned seat and then settled behind her, bunching her skirts to her waist.
“But that’s ridiculous—” She broke off with a groan as he thrust back into her, the front of his powerful thighs pressing into the back of hers. “Oh Will!”
“Mmm,” he grunted, one hand sliding around her hip and diving between her thighs to rub against her most sensitive spot. “I think you like being ravished in a coach, wife.”
Mina turned her face, so her cheek was pressed against the cushioned seat. “Oh!” she panted. “Oh Will,” her eyes drifted shut.
“Tell me,” he insisted.
“Yes,” she sobbed. “Anywhere with you.”
He started a vigorous pace, driving into her so briskly, she struggled to catch her breath. “Anywhere?” he echoed, sounding intrigued. “What if I’d wanted you in my cell. With your back against the bars”
She gave a choked laugh. “As if you’d ever ask such a thing of me.” She couldn’t resist pointing out.
“Don’t be so sure...” he answered darkly.
“You wouldn’t even look me in the eye in that holding room!”
His hands slid up over her waist, urging her to straighten up from the seat. When she did, he cupped her generous breasts, pulling her back firmly against him, even as he kept thrusting. “Don’t imagine for one minute that I didn’t think about it,” he panted. “Because the thought of never spending inside your hot little cunt again, nearly made me weep.”
Mina reached down and grasped the seat hard. “Nye!” she gasped.
“You’re mine, Minerva,” he said richly. “Say it.”
‘I’m yours.”
His mouth nuzzled at the back of her neck. “Don’t you ever forget it, wife.”
“Or you,” she panted, making him give a broken laugh.
“I’m not likely to,” he groaned, his hips picking up the pace further. “Everyone knows you keep me on a short fucking leash, woman.”
Minerva made a sound of explosive disagreement as he ran his thumbs hard over her nipples.
“Oh yes, you do,” he whispered huskily against her temple. “And I don’t give a fuck who knows it.” He planted a hand on her upper back and propelled her forward again until her upper half lay against the seat again. “You want to know something really messed up, Mina?” he asked in a raspy voice.
His hips were really hammering against her backside now and Mina knew she was lost. She gave a low scream as he pushed in deep and pinned her hard against the seat. She clamped down on his shaft, as her shuddering orgasm ripped through her. Only when the tremors had subsided, did he buck his hips forward in another hard thrust which tore a grunt from his own throat. “I. fucking. like. you. owning. me.” Each word was punctuated with a thrust.
Then she felt him stiffen and swell inside her for a moment before his seed gushed inside of her in a long spurt which drew a satisfied moan from him. He carried on rocking his hips as he gave her it all and she reached back to clasp his hip, holding him close. He dragged her chemise out of the way, in search of the spot where her neck met her shoulder. When he found it, he kissed it lingeringly, before letting her feel the scrape of his teeth. “And now you know,” he said with a ragged breath, wrapping his arms around her tight.
*
One month later
Hotel de Maris, Exeter
Mina sighed as Nye leaned over and topped up her champagne glass. “Nye, I fear may be a little tipsy already,” she confided, noticing the lace wrapper she wore was hanging open, the sky-blue ribbons negligently untied and affording him a view of her cleavage. “I drank at least three glasses at the restaurant.”
“Good,” he responded promptly. “I like it when you’re tipsy.” His voice lowered intimately. “You afford me so many more liberties.” He dropped a kiss onto her lips, then sauntered through to the adjoining room, replacing the bottle in the ice bucket and unfastening his cufflinks.
Mina glanced down at the array of vast array of boxes that littered the floor of the dressing room in their hotel suite. “How on earth are we going to fit all of this into a coach on the way home?”
“We’ll have to hire our own,” he answered promptly, sounding wholly unconcerned at the prospect.
She twisted around on her seat to show him a disapproving expression. “Nye, the extravagance!”
He smirked. “You’ll be wearing some of it, I hope,” he said.
Mina gazed down at her new wedding ring and sipped the delicious bubbles as she surveyed the bewildering array of new things, she had amassed over the last three days. Silk, satin, and lace undergarments spilled out of a variety of pretty colored boxes and her new black silk dress hung up in all its glory over the back of the wardrobe door. Not only that but she had accumulated a dozen pairs of thigh-high silken hose, so far removed from her old black stockings, as to be virtually unrecognizable as the same garment.
Nye had wanted to buy her a whole new wardrobe of pretty gowns, but she had only to explain to him in a quiet aside, that she wanted to keep on her blacks for Papa for at least a twelvemonth, and he had acquiesced at once without a single objection.
After that, he had concentrated solely on her underclothing. She was now the owner of pink, lilac, palest lemon and ice blue drawers and chemises, trimmed with profusions of lace and pearl buttons. So pretty were these garments and so delicate, that she could scarcely believe their purpose was to be hidden away from view. She had satin nightgowns with ribbons and wrappers to match, every bit as fancy as those Cecily or Amanda Vance had worn.