Page 30 of Courting the Duke (Reimagined Regency #2)
Hoxton studied Serena’s flushed face, the earthy smell of her desire spurring his own. While he ached to pump into her tight sheath and find his own pleasure, she was new to bed sport, and he wanted to be gentle with her. “How are you faring?”
A lovely smile bloomed across her mouth, and she tightened the arm draped around his neck. Lifting herself up, she played her mouth across his, the passion still bright between them. “Would I offend you if I said that I am enjoying myself very much?”
“I am flattered, not offended.” Hoxton remained still, allowing her time to adjust to the newness of it all. This was her first time, and he’d never bedded a virgin before. Although the drive to find fulfillment was strong, he wanted to savor every moment of this momentous night.
He began to glide in and out of her wet heat, each thrust of his cock slow and measured.
She rocked into his forward thrusts, her eyes closed and her lower lip caught between her teeth.
He trailed kisses down her silky neck, licking a path across her chest to her tempting breasts.
She possessed a lovely bosom with rounded breasts crested with pink nipples.
He swirled his tongue around her areola before drawing her nipple into his mouth.
She released a sultry moan, her fingertips fluttering against his upper back.
Her inner muscles constricted around his cock, pulling him deeper into her core.
Wishing to take her over the brink once more, he slid his arms beneath her back and rolled over. Chest to chest with him, her knees came to settle on either side of his hips. He lifted her chin and stared deep into her amber eyes. “I wish to hear you sing my name again.”
“I never sang your name,” she said, sitting upright.
With her neck and bare breasts flushed, she tempted him like no other woman had.
He dared not consider why. With his past still haunting him, all he could offer were the physical and material comforts of marriage, minus any greater emotion than friendship and lust.
“Not yet.” Hoxton drifted a hand between them, his fingertip finding the nub between her legs. “Serena is a songbird. Sing for me, Serena.”
Shaking her head at his silly statement, she arched her neck, her hands flat on his chest. Her hips rolled in rhythm to his upward thrusts, the slickness of her pussy adding to the delicious friction.
He continued to dance his finger over the cleft between her legs, each gasp and groan of pleasure issuing from her throat music to his ears.
Bending over him, her kisses became increasingly desperate until she whipped her head back. With a cry of pure pleasure, she sang out his name, hitting the rafters in an operatic voice that he was certain the entire household would hear.
Thrilled by her exuberance, he gripped her hips and allowed the pleasure to wash over him. She collapsed on top of him, her breathing ragged.
Silence settled over them, soothing and comfortable. He stroked her back, her breasts soft pillows against his chest.
“Do you think everyone heard that?” she asked, snuggling into him.
“Does it matter?” Night had fallen in earnest, and moonbeams slanted through the window. Contentment sent his eyelids down, his body in a state of utter relaxation. The day started early, and he hadn’t slept well the night before in anticipation of his wedding to her.
“No.” She lifted her head and placed a kiss on his mouth before climbing off the bed.
Yawning, he watched her move behind a screen, her limbs pale and tempting, even in his satiated state.
If tonight were anything to go by, marriage to her would be close to perfect.
Well, as perfect as anything could be. She engaged him with her humor and wit, and amazed him with her musical talent.
Sleep dragged him down, and he gave in to the inevitable.
#
Hoxton struggled to break free from his dream.
He was back in the regiment’s hospital, lying on a narrow hospital cot, his leg throbbing.
The makeshift hospital smelled of fetid flesh and despair.
Cannons rumbled in the distance, a reminder of the battle for survival that never truly left him.
A weight pressed down on his shoulder, and he was now on the battlefield, trapped beneath his horse.
Blood soaked his uniform, and the stench of death surrounded him.
His dreams took him far from his bedroom at Hoxton House and back to the fields where the dying and the wounded remained where they fell.
His chest tight, he fought for air, his mind urging him to forget their lifeless faces, but the screams of his men bombarded his ears.
A scream of his own settled in the back of his throat.
He was trapped, suffocating under the weight of the horse and his never-ending guilt.
Forcing his mind awake, he used all his might to push the weight off him.
The bedroom came into focus the second he heard Serena’s shrill cry.
Panic ensued, and he jumped off the bed to rush to her side. She lay on the floor, the covers he’d inadvertently kicked off covering her face.
“Serena, are you hurt?” Hoxton called out, horrified at what he had just done. He pulled the covers off to reveal her stunned face, her eyes wide in the dim light afforded by the moon.
“I am so sorry, so sorry. Are you hurt? Speak to me.” She had to be unharmed! He patted her prone form quickly but gently, waiting for the inevitable cry of pain.
“No, I am not hurt. I am simply winded. Help me up.” She tried to untangle her limbs from the linen, her bare skin pale in the moonlight. He helped her climb to her feet. Her mass of honey hair tumbled down her shoulders, and her cheeks were rosy from sleep.
Horrified by what he’d done, he cupped the back of her neck, pulling her in tight and inhaling her flowery scent. “Are you sure you’re unhurt?”
She slid her arms around his waist and nodded against his chest. “I assure you, I am fine. You startled me, that’s all.”
He pulled back enough to tilt her head until he could look deep into her eyes. So much for a perfect night. He’d ruined it with his weakened mind. “I am so sorry. I thought you were…well, I had a bad dream.”
Serena traced a finger along his cheek, knowing eyes holding his gaze. “I know. You talk in your sleep.”
Humiliation flooded through him. He could have hurt her in his delirium. The need to run nearly overcame him, but he remained rooted to the spot. “I can’t apologize enough.”
She lifted onto her toes and pressed kisses to his lips, her arm sliding round his neck. “I know you didn’t do it on purpose. Neither one of us is used to sharing a bed.”
“After tonight, I can’t in good conscience sleep in the same bed with you lest I harm you.
” Hoxton clasped her wrists to pull them down, and taking her hands in his, he shook his head.
The power of his dream still haunted him, and he needed solitude to regain his footing.
Guilt warred with doing what was right. He raised his head and met her regard.
“I will ask my valet to send for your maid.”
Hurt-filled eyes met his, her lower lip quivering. “I see.”
He held her hands in his, feeling the worst sort of cad. Short of baring his soul, he couldn’t explain to her why he must leave. Even if he had, she couldn’t understand. The ghosts of his past made a normal life impossible. “Please do not take this personally.”
“I am trying to understand.” She squeezed his fingers, pleading in her gaze. “Perhaps talking about your dream would help? You were very agitated and—”
“Which is the reason I must leave. I could have seriously hurt you. I can’t risk that.” He caressed her soft cheek, his forehead coming to rest against hers. Regret continued to be his constant companion.
After a breathless moment, she nodded, sadness reflected in the downward tilt of her mouth. “I understand that you struggle with the demons of your past. If you ever wish to talk, I will gladly listen.”
“Thank you.” Perhaps someday he could tell her.
Tonight, the ugliness of his dream still haunted him.
With one last lingering kiss, he gathered his robe and left.
The moment the door closed, he quickened his steps.
Was he being a fool for running away? He’d insulted her, yet the wall he’d built inside his head seemed insurmountable.
In the end, her safety eclipsed everything else, even to the detriment of his own happiness.