Say Yes to the Marquess (Castles Ever After #2)(66)
Author: Tessa Dare

More teasing, maddening bliss.

“Oh,” she sighed. “Oh, Rafe.”

He loved this feeling. It wasn’t just the joy of pleasuring her—though that was brilliant, in and of itself. It was this heady, superhuman awareness, the intensity of focus that could push him out of his troubled mind and make him feel he could do anything. In all his life, he’d only ever felt this way when fighting.

Until now. Until her.

As he slid back and forth, he balanced on his arms above her, watching her every reaction. The steady crescendo of her pleasure was like a captivating story. One written in pink brushstrokes across her pale skin.

She was so beautiful.

And ready for him, judging by the slickness gliding between their bodies. It was a damned good thing, because he couldn’t wait much longer.

“Please,” she whimpered, fisting her hands in the bed linens. “Soon. Please.”

He took his cock in hand and positioned himself at her entrance. “Tell me you want this.”

“I want this.”

Gritting his teeth, he teased them both by sliding the tip of his erection in, then out. “Tell me you want me.”

Her eyes opened and locked with his. “Rafe. I want you. Only you.”

He felt like a god as he pushed into her. Omnipotent. Arrogant. Possessing the keys to Paradise.

She was wet, but so tight. What felt nigh-on glorious for him had to be hurting her. He didn’t try to sink deep all at once but instead moved forward in gentle, steady thrusts. Still, her expression tightened with every inch he advanced.

He paused. “If you’re hurting, tell me to stop.”

“Don’t stop. I love this. I love you. There’s just . . . a great deal of you to love, that’s all. Be patient.”

Be patient, she said.

But patience was her strength, not his. Rafe was approximately as skilled at patience as he was at embroidery. He was already drawing on every available reserve of self-control. He was still only halfway inside her, and wild to bury himself to the hilt.

He reached between them, touching her in just the right place. Those small circles of his thumb were his only motion. He tensed every muscle of his body, determined to hold the rest of him utterly still.

Soon her breathing grew ragged. Her hips began to move, undulating in gentle waves. He held his position through sheer force of will. She worked herself up and down on him, taking him a fraction deeper each time.

Her moans and sighs grew louder, and her back arched off the mattress. It was killing him not to move.

Be patient.

When her climax broke, his control broke, too. He thrust deep, hoping her pleasure would overshadow any pain.

At last. He was at the heart of her. She was holding him tight.

So damned tight. The last pulses of her climax rippled around him. When he slid back, her body gave his cock the tightest, wettest, most purely blissful hug of his life. And no sooner had he withdrawn to the tip than he was plunging back in, eager to feel it again.

He told himself to slow down, be gentler. Perhaps he should withdraw and finish himself with his hand. But he couldn’t bring himself to do either. He’d waited too long for her, and he’d exhausted every bit of patience, and all that was left was this raw, relentless need. His looming orgasm was like a jockey on his back, whipping him faster and faster.

In the end, he decided a sprint to the finish would be the kindest way.

“Hold on to me,” he said, feeling the tingle at the base of his spine that told him the crisis was close. “Hold me tight, with everything.”

She tightened her arms around his shoulders and locked her legs at the small of his back. And when he came inside her, it was heart-stopping. Brain-blanking. Bone-melting.

And sweet.

So damned sweet.

In the aftermath, he pressed kisses to her lips, trying to savor every last bit of that sweetness.

He knew it couldn’t last.

This was his life, after all. And he knew from twenty-eight years of experience being Rafe Brandon . . .

It didn’t matter what promises he made to her, or to himself. When his emotions flared, his good intentions burned to ash. His brother’s intended bride somehow became his own. A waltz turned into a fistfight. Be patient translated to Faster, harder, now.

Someday, he would hurt her. He would follow the wrong impulse, say words he didn’t mean. He’d find a way to cock this up in some stupid, irretrievable manner. Rafe felt sickly certain of it.

All the more reason to treasure this closeness now.

He would let her hold him just as long and as tight as she dared.

Chapter Twenty-two

Morning brought an ironic realization. One Clio was oddly unprepared to face.

“You do realize what this means.” In the early light of dawn, Rafe pulled his shirt over his head and pushed his arms through the sleeves. “Now we actually have to plan a wedding.”

“Oh.” She paused in buttoning her chemise. “Must we?”

“Unless I dreamed all that?” He shot a meaningful look at the bed. “I’m fairly certain we must.”

She gave him a reassuring kiss. “You didn’t dream one moment of that.”

And neither had she. Their night together had been wonderful, and wonderfully real.

After making love the first time, they’d risen to bathe and take some dinner. Then talked until they fell sleep in each other’s arms. But not for long. Twice more in the night, he’d woken her with kisses that quickly became something more. They repeated the cycle as long as the night lasted—making love, falling asleep, then waking to make love again. As though they could make the one night feel like several.

“It’s not the idea of marriage I’m balking at,” she said. “Just the wedding plans. You’ve already carried me up the grand staircase in a white lace gown. We’ve fed each other cake. We’ve spent our night in the honeymoon suite. Can’t we just dispense with all the ceremony? I would be happy to get married in the middle of a field, in a dress I’ve worn twenty times before, so long as I loved the man I was marrying.”

“Simple suits me. I am not going to complain about a lack of bunting.”

Smiling to herself, she reached for her stays. “Of course, I would like to have my sisters there. Frustrating as they can sometimes be, my wedding wouldn’t be the same without them.”

He busied himself with his trouser fastenings and didn’t reply.

She cringed, instantly regretting her thoughtless words. Yes, she could have her sisters. When they married, there was no chance Rafe would have his brother in attendance. Piers might never speak to either one of them again.