Page 50 of My Darling Mr. Darling
“Witch,” he growled, and his gaze fell to her breasts, his teeth bared as if he were considering the merits of tearing away the modest neckline of her dress with them.
That wicked voice in her head whispered,Why not? The dress is ruined already.
“You’ll be naked for me,” he said in a searing whisper. “Inmybed. However I want you.”
“Yes,” she said, as her pulse leapt viciously, blood singing hot through her veins even as he kept his movements languid, nudging her inexorably toward climax and yet keeping it just out of reach.
“You’ll let me kiss you,” he murmured into her mouth with a stroke of his tongue. “Your lips. Your breasts. Anywhere I please.Everywhere.” His thumb swirled over her sensitized skin with deep, delicious friction; an unspoken suggestion.
In that moment, she would have promised anything he demanded. Anything at all. Despite the twist of titillated anxiety behind her ribs, she heard herself whisper, “Yes.”
“Good girl.” It was a guttural response, and it was only when he shed the last torn scraps of his iron-willed control and drove into her with an unmatched determination that Violet realized that she had not been the only one he had tortured. To secure her agreement, he had denied himself as well.
Her mouth was dry as if it had been stuffed with cotton; her lips swollen from the pressure of his. She had never considered the sexual act one of particular intimacy—and it hadn’t been. Before. But now itwas, and she found she could not tear her gaze from his, even as her breath clogged her throat, her legs seized around his waist, and wild, lush spasms began to roll through her body in waves.
She could only hold on desperately as he gave a hard, deep thrust that pressed her spine flat to the wall and held himself still, his big body shuddering over hers. A low, deep sound rattled around in his chest, and he muffled it somewhere near her temple, his breath hot and strong, stirring the wisps of hair that had come loose.
It was a long moment before Violet recovered enough to trust the strength of her legs beneath her, and even when she managed to unwrap them from around him and let him ease her back to the floor, still she kept her back braced against the wall, knees locked.
Stunned. No; that wasn’t the right word—changed. Something wonderful and terrible had occurred between them, and she would forever be changed by it. Byhim. Her heart still hammered in her chest; her breaths came in odd fits and starts.
Changed. Her body still hummed with those odd little shivers, as if he had forced her into the mold of a different woman. One she hardly recognized. One whose heart beat to the tune of his, whose cheek turned into the hand he lifted to her face, savoring the gentle caress of his fingers.
“Next time will be better,” he said, in that low, passion-roughened voice that scratched along her nerves, provoking chill bumps to burst out along her flesh. “I promise you.”
Dear God. She wouldn’t survive it.
Chapter Nineteen
Violet hadn’t come to him.
John blew out an aggravated breath, flicking back the curtain that hung over the window of the carriage to determine the progress the driver had made through the congested London streets. He had perhaps a dozen other things to consider: What he intended to do about Mitchell; the latest—unopened—letter from his Grandfather that had arrived this afternoon; the various contracts that awaited his signature at his office…and yet, all of them faded into insignificance when weighed against Violet.
He had awaited her all last evening in the certainty that shewouldcome—and yet she had not, and he had finally nodded off sometime around three in the morning, petulant and surly. Like a child deprived of a favored toy. It sat ill with him, to find himself so affected. He’d behaved abhorrently toward her; first, with his juvenile antics designed to annoy her, like a child in the throes of a tantrum, and then to press her back against the wall and take her like some sort of barbarian.
There was just something about her that evoked something primitive in him, gave rise to odd, atavistic inclinations that he hadn’t even suspected might have lurked somewhere inside him. He’d said things to her, done things with her,alludedto future acts…if she were any other woman, he’d likely have terrified her out of her wits. But shewasn’tany other woman. She wasViolet, and that made her unique in all the world.
And he knew he’d pleased her. He’d felt her coming around him, felt her legs trembling, her heart racing. Heard the dramatic hitch of her breath, the tiny whimper that had escaped her.
Christ. Just the memory provoked a predictable reaction, and he swore beneath his breath. There was only one more turn left, and then the carriage would arrive at the Alex’s townhouse, where he had been invited to dine.
Well, notinvited, precisely. It would be closer to say that the duchess hadcommandedit of him. And he—he knew he had disappointed her just lately, with his absence.
The carriage drew to a stop at last, and as he climbed out, the front door of the house swung open wide immediately; a testament to how long he had been a welcome guest within these hallowed halls that the butler stepped straight aside to admit him entrance.
“John!” the duchess enthused as she came toward him in a lovely gold gown that sparkled in the candlelight. “You’ve arrived precisely in time. You have been soabsentof late; I shan’t forgive you for it.” Empty words, he knew, as she swept him up in a lavender verbena-scented embrace.
She had seemed so grand in his youth, so indomitable—but he had outstripped her in height before he had turned thirteen, and now—well, she was still entirely indomitable. A force of nature, with a will to rival the strongest he’d ever known. All of her delicacy was merely a façade to mask the strength of spirit behind it. He had been in awe of her as a child. If truth be told, he was still in awe of her—anyone of any sense would have been. And though he had long outgrown the days when she would have kissed his grazed knees, or dried his tears after a tumble from a tree, he would always remember those things with the gratefulness they rightfully deserved.
God knew that his grandfather had never given him a single reason to be grateful.
“Forgive me anyway,” he said. “I’ll do better in the future.”
“As well you should,” she said, with a maternal pat of his cheek. “Come,darling Mr. Darling; you may escort me in to dine.”
John did not have the heart to chide her for the hated appellation given the circumstances—and, of course, one did not refuse the Duchess of Davenport in matters such as these. Like the perfect gentleman she had raised him up to be, he offered her his arm and escorted her to the dining room.
Alex—the duke—sat at the head of the table, his eyes sharp, piercing. Grey and Serena were present as well, which was yet another display of just how far John had let his priorities slip, if they had arrived so much earlier than had he. Probably they’d attended a good number more dinners than he had just lately, too.