Duke of Thorns (Heiress Games 1) (26 page)

And so she learned her first lesson of the night — she could grow aroused just by touching him, even if he didn’t touch her at all.

Finally, one of his hands came to her shoulder and slid the sleeve of her chemise down to her elbow. He did the same to the other, effectively pinning her arms at her sides.

This time she didn’t grow tense, and he didn’t hesitate. He bent down and caught one of her nipples between his teeth.

She’d thought she wanted him before. But this, suddenly, was a different level of need. His questing mouth had taken her by surprise, and she was entirely at his mercy. He bit, lightly, then soothed the fleeting pain with the warmth of his mouth and a soft caress of tongue. Meanwhile, he stroked her other breast, teasing it, denying it.

Within minutes, as he alternated between her breasts, she was struggling against her chemise, trying to free her arms. He finally took pity on her, pulling it over her head and throwing it aside to join the pile of clothes they’d left behind. “Do you feel ruined now?” he asked.

She felt too glorious to be ruined. “You will have to do better than that, sirrah.”

“My saucy colonial,” he murmured. “I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet.”

Then he drew his fingers over her belly. She guessed his destination, and she suddenly felt shy — not ruined, not by him, but still a little uncertain. She started to cover herself, but he grabbed her wrist and pinned it over her head.

That gesture never should have seemed reassuring. But he twined his fingers in hers as though he would hold onto them forever.

Her stupid Briarley heart skipped a beat.

His other hand, though, showed no mercy. He buried his fingers in her curls, stroking, seeking. He found his target immediately, drawing his middle finger over the most sensitive bit of flesh.

She gasped. “Is this the lesson?”

He stroked her again, and again, his touch firm and confident. “Part of it. Now pay attention or you won’t pass your exams at the end of it.”

He didn’t have to order her to pay attention. She couldn’t think of anything beyond how his hand pressed against her. He teased her with feathery touches one moment, then drove her mad with demanding strokes the next. Occasionally his fingers slipped lower, parting her slick folds to slide briefly into her core.

It was maddening. And it was entirely beyond her capacity to deny him. She arched her back, wanting more. His other hand still held hers. She squeezed his fingers, trying to urge him on. Her free hand came up to his arm, digging into his flesh, wanting him to stop the torment...

Suddenly, he stopped.

And she realized that wasn’t what she’d wanted at all.

“Please,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “I cannot do this under false pretenses.”

He dropped her hand. She leaned up on her elbows. “What are you saying?”

Then she realized he was unbuttoning his trousers.

Her heart skipped another beat.

“I should tell you this isn’t just about teaching you a lesson,” he said.

“No?”

“No.” He kicked off his shoes as his fingers still worked his buttons. “I intend to take my pleasure, too.”

His voice alone could arouse her. She didn’t even need to touch him. Something ached in her belly as she watched him finish with the fastenings. But he didn’t cast his trousers aside yet.

Instead, he held her gaze. “Will you feel ruined if we continue?”

She shook her head.

“Think about it,” he said.

His voice was as neutral as she guessed he was capable of at the moment — as though he really did want her to make the choice that was right for her.

“I want you, Gavin,” she said.

He grinned, more from pleasure than victory. “Indeed you do.”

She laughed. “My saucy duke. Does etiquette say I should send you an invitation now? A calling card?”

“I’ve received your message,” he said drily.

He dropped his trousers.

And then there were no more words.

He moved over her again, shifting them both more fully onto the bed. His fingers came back to torment her. It felt like only moments before she was back to the precipice he’d driven her to before…and yet the wait for the torment to end seemed endless.

But it couldn’t have been endless. It must have been only minutes that she writhed beneath him, fisting the coverlet in her hands as she arched against him — gasping his name when he brought his mouth back to her aching breasts.

Finally, something in the way he held her changed. The rain had slowed outside, but inside, it felt like a new storm was gathering. He nudged her thighs apart. She opened for him willingly — she would have done anything for him, if it meant he would finish what he had started.

She knew what should come next. But he didn’t move toward her. Instead, he leaned back on his heels, kneeling between her splayed legs, keeping her from closing them. She still wore her stockings and slippers, and the sight of pale, soft silk against his sinewy thighs sent another jolt of lust through her belly.

She should have been fascinated by his member, or concerned about the pain Mrs. Jennings had warned her about. But at the moment, she was more mesmerized by his eyes. They roved over every inch of her, from the most innocent to the most intimate, as though he wanted to commit her to memory.

“Magnificent,” he whispered.

She reached her hand up and brushed it over his heart. “Perfect,” she whispered back.

It was the only word she had for that moment. But it seemed to cause him pain. He didn’t give her one of his smooth, cutting retorts — but he didn’t smile. He stared at her for another endless minute.

Then he leaned over her. “Promise me, Callista. Promise you won’t give yourself to anyone who cannot give you this.”

She couldn’t look away. And she was afraid, then, that her eyes had given too much away — that her voice had betrayed her, that her body had abandoned her, that her soul had ruined her.

She wanted
him
, not someone else.

But that wasn’t what he offered.

“I promise,” she said.

He kissed her. This time his mouth ravaged hers. If he wasn’t careful, she would be bruised in the morning. His fingers sought out her core again, testing her. The head of his cock replaced his fingers, and she felt a moment of panic — but it was the panic of the unknown, not true fear.

She could never have him, but she would never fear him.

She squeezed her eyes shut against that thought, spread her legs more fully to welcome him even as her soul began its premature mourning. And then slowly — more slowly than she thought him capable of — he moved forward an inch, then another, until he was seated to the hilt.

“Am I hurting you?”

Yes
. But it wasn’t the sharp, almost nauseating pain of his entry that made her gasp. That had already begun to subside, especially as his fingers returned to their clever work.

It was the knowledge that she would never have him again. How could her mind choose this moment — this perfect moment of connection — to remind her of that? If she wanted to have him again, she would have to give up everything for him — her freedom, her fortune, her claim to Maidenstone.

He’d made no hint that he would give her anything in return.

She shook her head. “It only hurts a little bit. It already feels better.”

He brushed his lips over her forehead. “We were made for this, my dear.”

He could have been talking about humans generally — or he could have meant it about the two of them, and this moment that they seemed destined for. But she didn’t ask.

He withdrew, slowly, and pressed forward, even more slowly. But as she began to move underneath him — wrapping her legs around his hips, urging him on — his pace quickened. And then he finally, roughly, stroked that hidden nub with renewed intent, thrusting into her at the same time, rocking her back against the bed.

“Gavin,” she gasped.

“Give in,” he said, with another thrust. “Come for me.”

She wasn’t the obedient sort, but she couldn’t resist — he was too overwhelming, and her body refused to fight. She hung suspended for a moment longer, until another thrust pushed her over the edge. Her whole body shuddered; her head flung itself back as she choked on something that might have been a scream. Her nails dug into his back, just as he’d said they would.

The intensity of it was too much. He was the sea breaking over her, drowning her. He thrust into her again. She felt him pulsing within her, and his low groan matched the scream she’d done her best to dampen.

He collapsed on top of her. This, perhaps even more than the physical act they had shared, was too sharp in its wonder. She felt safe, secure — not just sated from lovemaking, but completely connected to him in a way she’d never felt before.

In a way she would never feel again.

She turned her face away from him, staring sightlessly at the grand, velvet-hung headboard. He rolled off of her eventually, onto his side next to her, pulling her into his arms so that her back was pressed against his chest. He kissed her hair, but he made no move to touch her inappropriately — instead, he curled his hand over hers, holding it against her heart.

They stayed there for minutes, or hours — Callie couldn’t tell the time, preoccupied as she was with how her heart was slowly breaking like an infinite number of cracks spreading across a frozen pond. It was long enough for their breaths to return to normal. Long enough that she thought she could trust her voice when it was time to speak.

Finally, she could take no more. She left the bed and found her chemise, slipping it over her head. Thorington must have fallen asleep, because it took him longer than she expected to sit up and look at her.

“Thank you for the lesson,” she said brightly.

He frowned. “Are you feeling well? Did I hurt you?”

“No, you were splendid.”

She was overdoing it. She fastened her stays. Thorington’s frown deepened. “You are remarkably calm.”

Callie shrugged. “As you said, I wasn’t ruined. And you were good. More than good. Quite satisfactory. But I should go to bed before I’m caught with you. Wouldn’t want to have to explain this, would we?”

She was babbling. He stood up and pulled on his trousers, but he didn’t bother with the buttons. He grabbed her shoulders instead, stopping her before she could put on her dress. “Callista. What’s wrong?”

She waved a hand. “Oh, nothing at all. I see your concern about business arrangements and love matches now — truly, I do. But I must sleep if I’m to find a new match in the morning. Shall we discuss the possibilities during the day, when we’re both less overwrought?”

“
Overwrought
?” he repeated. He stared at her as though she had sprouted another head. “Are you upset because I haven’t offered to marry you?”

Trust Thorington to cut to the heart. He was definitely Thorington again — ready to assess and conquer.

She laughed, even though it cost her everything. “Don’t trouble yourself over marriage. I didn’t let you seduce me because I planned to trap you at the end of it. This was just a bit of fun between two adults. Wasn’t it?”

The question hung in the air — flippantly given, but demanding a real answer, one that would determine both their lives.

He weighed the options in silence. But she knew him well enough now to know that his head would always overrule his heart.

“It was fun, wasn’t it?” he said coolly, as she knew he would.

She patted him on the chest, over his heart — the heart she could never win, because he could never give it. If she’d thought she could win it, perhaps she would have acted differently.

But she had traveled half the world while her mother had tried, and failed, to change Tiberius. Thorington would never change unless Thorington wanted to change. And there was no sense in dashing her own life upon the rocks in an effort to save him from himself.

“Thank you,” she said, stroking over his heart one last time.

If Gavin was trapped inside somewhere, he didn’t acknowledge her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

She had made it back to her room the night before without being caught. She’d slept a bit, still wearing her evening dress — Thorington had done up her buttons to make her look presentable before she’d left the Tudor wing, and she couldn’t unbutton them again without summoning Mrs. Jennings. Her maid would have guessed immediately what she had done.

But Mrs. Jennings had probably guessed anyway. She didn’t lecture. She merely sighed, then brought Callie a compress for her tired eyes and strong coffee instead of her usual tea.

She had thought of telling Mrs. Jennings everything. But for all that they’d shared over the last two decades, Mrs. Jennings was her servant, not her confidante. Callie wasn’t accustomed to sharing everything with her, just as she knew nothing about Mrs. Jennings’ private thoughts.

For perhaps the first time in her life, she wished she had someone she could confide in. Her heart, after spending the small hours of the night trying to cope alone, felt like it would burst if she didn’t scream out how she felt.

But there was no one to tell. The only person at Maidenstone she trusted was Thorington — the architect of her heartbreak.

And she couldn’t tell him that she’d made the mistake of falling in love with him.

So when a footman arrived with a summons to join Lucretia after breakfast, Callie had accepted. Not that talking to Lucretia was a desirable task, but it was better than staring at the walls and remembering every excruciating detail of the night before.

She made her way to Lucretia’s private sitting room — a small, secluded sanctuary attached to Lucretia’s bedchamber. She was surprised to have been invited there. Lucretia had barely spoken to her after Callie had spurned Lucretia’s offer to give up her chance at the inheritance. This was far more intimate than Callie would have guessed.

But Callie wasn’t the only person invited to this little
tête-à-tête
. Octavia stood by the window, looking out over the lawns. And Lady Maidenstone sat next to a tea service, preparing to pour.