She snorted. “Lest you forget, this is my first time and my tastes will most likely be different.”
“I…won’t do it again.”
“Good.” She smiled for him, hoping to demonstrate that her breasts were fine and that he could continue.
He smiled in turn and frilled his knuckles down the length of her stomach. His hands paused right at the curling hair between her thighs. She spread her legs further apart, wordlessly encouraging him to penetrate her. To make her his.
He leaned in and whispered into her ear, “Open your mouth to me.”
Her breath hitched in her throat, and her mind blanked as he captured her mouth, forcing her lips open with a hot, wet, roaming tongue. Justine froze against him, her eyes stark wide at the realization she was actually being kissed by Bradford, and that his tongue was erotically circling against hers. It was their first kiss.
The room spun and fell over on its side as her heart thundered in her ears. Unable to focus on anything but his incredible kiss, her eyes fluttered closed. She moved her tongue more forcibly against his and gave in to her own rising need to take more and feel more of him.
His mouth pressed harder against hers as his hands roamed her backside and waist, demanding she give even more. His tongue slid alongside her inner cheek, glided against her teeth and the sides of her tongue.
Needing to touch every part of him, she blindly slid her hands beneath his robe, rounding his smooth broad shoulders, desperately wanting to feel him against her palms and confirm that this was in fact real. That she was kissing and touching him and that he was hers, all hers.
She slid her hands lower, down to his smooth, muscled stomach and boldly drifted toward his erection hidden in the soft folds of his robe.
His muscles tensed beneath her wandering touch. He groaned and yanked his mouth away from hers, leaving it cool and moist. “No. Enough. None of that.”
Her eyes popped open, realizing their kiss had already ended. And not as she’d expected. She tried to catch her breath, even though her lips and her face burned like fire. “What is it?”
“It isn’t you. I—” He heaved out a heavy breath and lowered his gaze to where his hands were on her thighs. His fingers spread the folds of her sex. Her entire body quivered as his finger slipped between them and entered her body.
“God. Justine.” He leaned in once again and captured her lips, clearly unable to stay away. A guttural groan escaped him as he sucked her tongue savagely deep into his mouth, astonishing her. Her tongue was kept firmly locked within his wet mouth as he fully slid his finger deep into her. She moaned against him as he further penetrated her with his finger.
He released the aching suction he held on her tongue and further pushed his finger against her virginal tightness, causing a slight pinch. She stiffened.
With his finger still buried deep within her, his thumb rubbed at the upper tip of her opening. Slow, firm and steady.
Heart-pounding sensations rose up through her stomach and drifted back down the length of her legs. She gasped, realizing he was pleasuring her in the manner she had secretly pleasured herself whenever thinking about him.
He watched her intently and increased the stroking of his thumb. His stroke quickened, causing her breath to quicken in turn. Her body stiffened from the soaring sensations overwhelming her.
“Have you ever done this to yourself?” he whispered, leaning in closer.
“Yes,” she choked out. Her cheeks burned at the unexpected confession he had so easily pried from her lips.
“Who taught you?” he insisted, his finger quickening.
She panted, focusing on the delectable sensations overtaking her very breath. “I…taught myself. It wasn’t all that…difficult to learn.”
“Has anyone ever touched you this way?” he demanded.
“N-no.” She grabbed hold of his arms, which were thick and muscled beneath the soft velvet of his robe, and squeezed them as she openly rode his hand, wanting more. She gasped, whimpered and panted as he rubbed and flicked, rubbed and flicked.
“Show me how much you enjoy my touch.” His gaze dominated hers all the while, letting her know that he was very much aware of what he was doing.
She rode his hand faster, harder, trying to keep up, needing more of what he was boldly offering.
He leaned closer, burying his chin firmly into her hair, all the while rubbing faster.
She pressed her cheek against the smooth warmth of his tight, muscled chest and dug her fingers into his arms. All of her sensations suddenly expanded, and, though she bit her lip, trying to hold back an agonizing moan, she failed.
Her hips bucked against his hand, and she threw her head back and away from his chest as she arched her body. Her muscles clenched in rhythmic bursts as she rocked back and forth, not wanting the explosive sensation to ever stop.
He continued to hold her firmly in place, fingering her relentlessly until she could do nothing but cry out again and again and again.
Eventually the blinding moments of bliss subsided. As did the movement of his thumb. His finger, which was still deep within her, slowly slipped out. His now damp fingers dug into the sides of her exposed thighs and pressed against her skin with silent urgency.
With her chest still heaving, she leveled her head and stared up at him, more than ready for all of him.
He skimmed his large hands down the sides of her thighs toward her knees, all the while lingering. He rubbed her skin softly, in perfect sensual circles, intently watching his own hands move.
She spread her legs wider and leaned slightly back, meeting his gaze and tauntingly inviting him.
Tightening his jaw, he shoved her back hard, causing her to gasp as his solid weight climbed on top of her, crushing the breath out of her chest. She gasped again, unable to breathe, as his muscled body shifted and his thick erection brushed her leg.
He paused and met her wide gaze. He scrambled off her and the bed, his chest heaving. He adjusted his robe to cover himself. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
He stepped farther back, the protruding thick line of his penis pressing against the robe draping his body. “Forgive me. I cannot do this. Not tonight. Good night.”
He turned and strode toward the door.
She sat up in bewilderment, still breathing heavily in an effort to draw in the air he’d pushed out. “There is no need for you to go. I can forgive a little aggression, Bradford, especially if you’re aware of it. I am not made of porcelain.”
Bradford paused beside the door and glanced over his shoulder, presenting that mangled, scarred side. His dark hair slid into his eyes from the movement.
She could sense his reluctance to leave. The tension in his broad back and stiff stance more than alluded to it.
“No. I am not prepared to engage you.” With that, he yanked open the door and stepped out, shutting it behind him. His steps retreated until they ceased to exist.
Justine blinked. When was a man not prepared to engage a woman? Drat him. He’d left her a virgin. On her own wedding night. So much for hourly performances! She’d be fortunate to get one with the way he reacted.
She crawled across the expanse of the large mattress, grabbed hold of the coverlet he had earlier thrown aside and pulled it over her body, burying herself beneath its comforting warmth.
She stared up at the red velvet canopy of the four-poster bed, listening to the humming silence. Silly as it was, she considered writing to the editors of How to Avoid a Scandal and insist they include a bit more accurate information pertaining to matters involving the bedchamber. For the book was seriously misleading every single woman in London. But then again, given the taste she’d just received, if every debutante realized just how wonderful copulation truly was, there wouldn’t be a single virgin left in England.
Do not give in to the slightest of temptation, unless, of course, you possess the mind and the heart of a saint, which, we all know, you do not.
—
How to Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown
HIS OBSESSION WAS going to be the death of him.
Radcliff slammed the door of his bedchamber shut, the few candles around him flickering from the action, and bolted it. He leaned against the door for a moment, eyes closed, picturing Justine at the height of ecstasy.
Sweat beaded his skin as he fought the trembling within his body. He had to. This once. Otherwise he’d never survive the night.
Hissing out a breath, he leaned against the oak-paneled door, and reached beneath the folds of his robe. Deliberately using the same hand that had touched Justine, he repeatedly rubbed the soft head of his cock, each rapid jerk of his hand causing his core to tighten with the anticipation of release. A release he hadn’t allowed himself to experience in eight months.
His breath caught in his throat as Justine’s whimpers and gasps echoed within his mind. The way her soft, perfect body had rocked back and forth against his hand slowly stripped the last of his thoughts.
He groaned, his own pleasure escaping his lips. Though he had mindlessly wanted to consummate their marriage, he knew by the way he had almost taken her by force, he wasn’t physically prepared. As a virgin, she deserved tenderness and patience. Something he had yet to master, considering every time he engaged his obsession, his need and desire grew in demand. The less he engaged her, the better off they would both be.
Radcliff envisioned his cock slamming deep into Justine’s sleek, tight, hot wetness, her full breasts bouncing with each solid plunge. He licked his lips, stroking faster. They would have to consummate their marriage, he knew. But he needed to learn more self-control before he allowed that to happen. And until then, pleasuring himself would have to do.
He groaned again and grew unbearably hard. He jerked harder, needing to release the guilt, the pleasure and the raw emotions buried deep within him.
His heart thundered, his body stiffened, and his heavy cock pulsed, spurting the wet warmth of his seed against his hand. He threw his head back as wave after wave rippled through him, giving him the mindless pleasure he’d denied himself all these months.
But the climax ebbed too soon. Knees weak, he sank against the door, pressing his forehead to the cool, hard wood. When? When would it ever be enough? For he already wanted to return to that moment of climax.
His shoulders slumped. He always did. It was what drove his obsession. He’d barely spent himself before the emptiness, the need, urged him to seek pleasure again.
Swiping his hand against his robe in a disgusted attempt to remove his seed, he slowly made his way toward his bed, exhausted, not wanting to think about anything.
Yet thoughts of Justine’s beautiful naked body and the feel of her warm, wet quim against his fingers kept assaulting him. Over and over. The urge to storm back into her room and mount her by force from the backside as she had originally suggested steadily rose within his chest.
A knock came to the door.
He swung around. “Who is it?”
“Your Grace,” the butler called from the other side.
Radcliff blew out a relieved breath, forcing his shoulders to relax. Thank bloody God it was only Jefferson. Adjusting his robe, he strode back toward the door, unbolted it and yanked it open. “What is it?” He blinked, glancing down at the sealed parchment being held out toward him.
“This was just delivered with the request that it be read and responded to at once.” Jefferson, still in full livery, brought the glass lantern he held with his other hand to better display the letter. A red wax imprinted with his brother’s crest glistened on the flap.
Radcliff stared at it in disbelief. It was the first time Carlton had ever contacted him since storming into his home and blaming him for what had happened to Matilda. And though Radcliff wanted to burn it and disregard any more pointless words, he knew his curiosity would not allow for it. He had to know what it said.
Slipping the letter from his butler’s hand, Radcliff hesitated, then cracked the seal apart. He unfolded the parchment and leaned toward the lantern Jefferson held up. His brows rose. The letter hadn’t been scribed by Carlton, but rather, Carlton’s mistress…Matilda.
Your Grace, There is not a single day that goes by that I do not think of you and the amount of suffering you have endured on my behalf. I must admit that since the night of my assault, Carlton has been very difficult to contend with. And now, more so than ever. Though I have stayed all these months, due to my delicate state, I simply cannot justify another night. I do not wish to evoke pity, but there is no one left for me to trust. No one. I require money and a place to stay until I can better situate myself. Please call upon me at 14 Craven Street, if you are able. God bless. Ever your dearest friend,
Matilda Thurlow How fated it was indeed that such a note would find him on his own wedding night. How he wished he could lock away the self-loathing that continued to rot within him. The self-loathing of knowing that he and he alone was responsible for the suffering Matilda had endured that night at the hands of six men. He swallowed. Although Matilda was the last person he wanted to see, he owed her what little she asked. For it had been his mindless pursuit of her that had ultimately led to not only his downfall, but hers.
Radcliff refolded the missive and shoved it at Jefferson. “Burn it. The moment you do, have a carriage waiting. If anytime during my absence my wife—” how bizarre to think he had one “—should inquire about my whereabouts, inform her that I do not wish to be disturbed until morning. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Jefferson bowed, turned and disappeared down the corridor.
Radcliff stalked into his room, stripping off his robe, and whipped it to the floor. Knowing what Carlton was capable of, he downright dreaded discovering the state Matilda was in.
He quickly dressed, adjusted and buttoned everything, and shoved his feet into his boots. Striding over to the large mirror set above the mahogany sideboard, he washed his hands and splashed cool water on his face from the basin, the lingering scent of Justine’s pleasure mingling with his.
He paused and stared at his reflection as water dripped from his chin. Black eyes stared back at him, as if he were a stranger to himself. Which he was.
He once had a good, handsome face. A face that had only poisoned every aspect of his life and brought more women to his side than he ever knew what to do with. Now, it seemed he didn’t even know what to do with himself anymore.