For Desire Alone (21 page)

“John,” she whispered as she turned her head on the pillow and squeezed her eyes shut at the gathering sensation.

“I’ve always been amazed at how responsive you remain,” he murmured as he lowered his head to her breast.

Through the chemise, he blew a gust of hot air that stimulated her even further. She gripped the bedsheets with both fists and gasped out her approval of his attentions.

In response, he sucked her nipple hard between his lips, swirling his tongue around the fabric of her chemise until it was translucent and she was hardly breathing from pleasure.

“Like that,” he chuckled as he withdrew. “I could almost make you come that way. And you’re not even naked.”

She opened her eyes and smiled at him. “If anyone could, it would be you. All that wicked energy focused on me…I hardly know what to do with it.”

“Oh, you know,” he growled and placed both hands on her thighs.

He locked gazes with her and slid his hands upward. Her flimsy chemise glided up over her skin, revealing her sex, revealing her belly and finally he let it gather just below the breasts he had been lavishing with his attention a moment before.

“But if I want to make you come,” he said, his gaze still locked with hers, “I know a way.”

She opened her legs. He hadn’t asked her to, but she had to. She needed him so badly that her body was weeping, her knees were shaking, and the only way to obtain her desire was to give herself over to him. Tonight, she would let him pleasure her. She would let her own needs trump anything else, because he allowed her, nay expected her, to do so.

And who was she to deny him?

He finally broke their gaze and looked down at her sex, presented to him now slick and hot. He shuddered before he pressed a finger against her clitoris and rubbed a circle around the delicate, sensitive nub of nerves.

Mariah cried out as a shocking burst of pleasure cascaded from the place he touched her through her sex, through her limbs, to everyplace that was sensitive and raw on her body.
 

“Yes,
that
is how I’ll make you come,” he said, his voice rough. “But not yet. Not yet.”

He removed his finger and her body ached in response, lifting toward him of its own accord and causing her to whimper most plaintively.

“When?” she whispered.

He chuckled and lowered himself between those same legs. As he spread her sex open, he breathed a hot steam of air against her wet sex.

“Soon,” he promised and then stroked his tongue over her entrance.
 

Although he pointedly avoided her clitoris, that did not mean that he did not pleasure her. With every lick, he seemed to light her on fire. With each stroke he had her rolling her hips to find more pleasure, to demand more of his tongue and his fingers and his body.

She had been pleasured so many times before, but tonight it felt different. Perhaps because of the fear from earlier in the evening. Perhaps because she was too exhausted and injured to try to offer as much pleasure as she gave.

Or perhaps because this was a man she loved and he was giving her something to comfort her. To please her. Something that required no reciprocity.

“John,” she whispered, her voice broken by emotion and pleasure.

He lifted his gaze and met her eyes from between her legs. His sensual, self-satisfied expression made her shiver at the edge of orgasm.

“I want you…inside of me,” she whispered. “Now.”

“No more of this?” he questioned, his tongue darting out and finally stroking her clitoris.

She let out a strangled moan, but shook her head. “You. Just you.”

His expression softened, but he obliged, rising up over her to cover her with his warmth and protection. She put her arms around him and closed her eyes as he glided deep within her in one slick stroke. She came almost instantly, and with a power that took her off guard. She had no control over the lift of her hips, the squeeze of her pussy against his cock. Her cries echoed in the air and the nails of her uninjured hand dug into his shoulder as she rode out the quick, hot, powerful orgasm he had created and now dragged out with each long, satisfying stroke.

And he seemed no more immune to her than she was to him. As her orgasm faded, his strokes increased, becoming erratic, becoming wild until he grunted her name and poured his seed deep into her body.

John smiled as Mariah settled back against the pillows, her face glowing from release and pleasure. At least he could give her that. A small trade off considering all she’d lost thanks to him. Thanks to his father.

He slid away from the bed and retrieved his robe. As he tied it, she sat up, lifting the sheets to cover her bare breasts.

“You are leaving?” she asked, a lilt of panic to her tone.

He turned at her desperate voice and shook his head. “No. No, I’m only going to make the arrangements for your gown.” She relaxed a bit, but he could see she was still on edge. Fearful.

She needed him. And he was damn well going to be here this time.

“Rest,” he said softly. “I’ll join you in just a moment. And tomorrow…
tomorrow
we will talk more about what to do now that you know the truth about how deep a threat my father is to you.”

She hesitated a moment, but then nodded. He turned to go to the door, but her voice stopped him.

“John?” she said. When he looked at her, she smiled. “I don’t blame you.”

He nodded and continued toward the door. As he rang for the servant, he heard her yawn behind him, and by the time he looked at her, she had rested her head onto the pillows and was already drifting off to sleep.

She might not blame him
yet
. But after tomorrow, she might very well feel differently. Especially if the plan he was now formulating to keep her safe was the only one his mind could conceive.

Chapter Seventeen

John looked up as the door to the breakfast room opened and Mariah slipped inside, wearing the gown that had been delivered in the middle of the night.

He caught his breath at the sight of her, despite his attempts not to react. The bruising to her face had grown worse since last night and her hand was swollen beneath the bandages as she held it against her stomach.

She had been smiling upon her entry, but his reaction made her expression fall.

“We did the best we could to cover the worst of it,” she whispered as her cheeks darkened with embarassment. “I know I look a fright.”

He pushed to his feet and moved to the doorway where she lingered. He gently cupped her chin and lifted it so she would look into his eyes.

“I am glad you are alive,” he said. “The bruises will fade, your hand will heal…”

He trailed off because he realized she would probably have an ugly scar on that hand to remind her of last night forever. One more item to add to his list of fault in this situation.

“Now come,” he said with false brightness as he motioned to the table. “Eat. You need your strength.”

She took the hand he offered and the seat he pulled out for her. Once she was settled, he returned to his place beside her and glanced at her. She was staring at her plate, her expression blank and faraway. Blank except for the pain there.

He shifted. He was responsible for all of this. Every time he looked at her, that fact became clearer. And since her situation was his fault, he was the only one who could resolve it.

The servants set a plate of food before her, but she made no move to touch it. He waited until they were alone before he spoke again.

“Mariah, I have thought of what happened to you all night.”

She flinched, but then a false smile tilted her lips. “Not all night, I don’t think. You were rather more pleasantly occupied for a good portion of the evening.”

He sucked in a breath. Mariah had never put on her “mistress” face with him. The one that deterred all true connection, that played off her own feelings or needs in order to bow to the needs of her protector. But he saw her doing it now. And it killed him to know she was trying so hard to make this right for him.

“Mariah, please,” he said, placing a hand over his. “I need to talk to you about this seriously and honestly.”

She jerked her gaze to his in surprise, but then she nodded. “Y-Yes. Of course.”

He cleared his throat, but did not remove his hand from hers. “I did not sleep last night as I went over every way I could think of to protect you. But my father wants to hurt me by hurting you. There is no getting around that. I cannot allow him to do that again, for I fear his attempts against you will only become more violent.”

She snatched her hand away and stared at him. “You think he would pursue me again?”

He nodded. “Yesterday I played into his hand. I panicked. My fear, my desperation, they would have been obvious to anyone who encountered me, including the spies who were no doubt following me as I raced from one home to another, seeking you out. Their reports would have given the old man great pleasure, and more ammunition.”

She shook her head. “But now that we know…”

He raised a hand. “Yes, of course, the knowledge that he is willing to go so far gives us a greater ability to defend ourselves, to defend
you
. But I fear it won’t be enough.”

She stared at him. “You think he would go further than he did last night?”

“I know he would,” John whispered.

“Then you are saying you must end this between us,” she said, turning her face and staring at her rapidly cooling food. “To take away any ammunition our relationship may give him.”

John shifted. “I—I had thought of that, yes. Of course, separating from you would seem to be the best route, but I don’t think that would stop him. He knows that I…that
we
have a deeper connection. Even if we aren’t together, hurting you will hurt me. If we end our affair, all I fear it will succeed in doing is putting you more at risk. Especially once he realizes I
will
bend to him when you are threatened.”

She lifted her gaze and John was shocked to see joy in her expression. “So you aren’t walking away?”

He drew back. In the midst of the most dangerous position she had probably ever been in, Mariah was only thinking of their relationship. That she could take any pleasure in it anymore was a testament to her, and a source of even more guilt for him.

“No,” he said. “I could not now.”

“Then what do you suggest?” she asked.

“I have destroyed your life,” he said. “Your chances at finding another protector have been materially damaged by me and my family. There is but one solution.”

She blinked. “And that is?”

For a flash of a moment, John realized he should get down on one knee for this. That he should be romantic or emotional. He did not do any of those things.

“You shall marry me.”

There was only one explanation Mariah could come to as she stared at John. She had to have been hit harder on the head than she thought and now she was involved in some kind of strange waking dream. One where she got something she had secretly wanted but never admitted to herself until John said those words.

Except she
couldn’t
have that. If this was a dream, it certainly wasn’t the most romantic proposal ever. In truth, he looked quite sick about it. So what was real and what was fantasy?

“M-Marry,” she managed to force herself to say as she shifted in her seat, which was suddenly very uncomfortable. “You cannot mean that. Mistresses do not marry.”

John shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid this state of affairs has gone far beyond mistresses and the empty label of ‘protector’ that men of my status wear when they take on a lover. You need someone to
truly
protect you.”

She swallowed, her tongue thick and dry in her mouth. “And you believe somehow that a marriage between us will allow you to do that.”

He hesitated and that pause spoke volumes about how distasteful he found this suggestion. Still, eventually he nodded.

She pushed to her feet and wobbled slightly. Exhaustion, the events of last night and this final shocking interaction with John had all taken their toll. She balanced herself against the table edge before she paced to the fireplace and stared into the flames. Anything not to look at him and see how little he wanted her.

“How?” she whispered.

“I would be able to protect you financially and physically. In my home, I can provide far better security.”

She shifted. “Then why not simply officially take on a role as my protector rather than marry me?” she asked. “Certainly you could provide financial and physical protection to me as a mistress.”

He shook his head. “It will not be enough. You’ll still be seen as vulnerable. As my wife, you will have my legal protection. It is one thing for my father to attack a…a…”

She blinked. “Whore?”

He flinched. “I do not think of you that way and I never have.”

She shrugged. “But the law sees me as little better.”

He hesitated, but there was nothing he could do but nod. “However, once we are married you take on the role of a gentleman’s wife. Even a man with as much power as my father cannot turn violence on you without recourse.”