The Iron Duke (39 page)

 

Sleep wouldn’t come. Mina lay against Trahaearn’s chest,
listening to the slow, heavy beat of his heart. She’d returned to her stateroom nothing like she’d left it. Then, she’d been content, warm. The day they’d spent here had been punctuated by fear as he’d taken her close to orgasm, over and over—but there hadn’t been frustration. Just need, and laughter, and then she’d dozed in his arms through the heat of the afternoon.

Now, it was almost just as hot, and she couldn’t doze. And instead of contentment, terror lurked close. She could only think of Andrew, on a ship with zombies and a cruel master in Hunt. Could only think of
Endeavour
bringing death closer and closer to everything she knew and loved and had sworn to protect.

She spoke into the dark. “What if we miss seeing the
Terror
in the night?”

“Yasmeen won’t.”

He sounded so certain of it. If Mina had been standing over a dead body, she might have spoken with as much confidence. She knew her job. Now she had to trust that he knew his.

He’d been right, all those days ago, when he’d said that she’d lived beneath the Horde for too long. It was difficult to trust that someone with the power to hurt her would choose not to.

But there were those she did trust: her family, and the friends she’d come to know. Did she know him well enough?

He held her now. And though he knew her emotions were in turmoil, he wasn’t taking advantage of her; he was taking care of her. She couldn’t understand all that drove him, but Mina knew that for certain: He took care of what was his.

She
was
his. Maybe not always. For now. And so she turned to him.

Resting, Trahaearn had closed his eyes, but at her movement he opened them. His steady gaze met hers—patient, but not indifferent. His hunger burned, a man who’d wait for a taste of what lay before him . . . but anticipating every bite.

Mina slipped her leg over his abdomen until she lay atop him, her thighs alongside his flanks. He met her kiss, letting her lead but not letting her go, his hands delving into her hair. Coils of heat began to wind through her. She drew away before they screwed deep.

His face sharp with need, Trahaearn watched her again. When she moved off the bed, he sat up, his stomach flexing. “Mina—”

“Where are the sheaths?”

She turned toward the bureau. His things had been brought in from the cabin he and Scarsdale had shared, but she had no idea where something like that would be stowed.

After a silence, his answer came from a voice gone low and rough. “In the wardrobe. On the shelf.”

Nerves made her fumble with the wardrobe’s door, but she finally opened it. No mistaking the purpose of the small ebony box tucked behind her pants and stockings; the black wood was inlaid with carved ivory figures that would have put roses in the cheeks of a Manhattan City miss. Clutching it tightly to conceal the unsteadiness of her hands, Mina brought it to the bed and stopped beside it. Wearing only his drawers, Trahaearn was sitting up with his back against the headboard. Not making a move toward her.

Letting her take control, she realized. He’d done so earlier that day, too—urged her to touch herself, to take control of her need, to be its source. But this would be taking control of
him
. Would it be difficult for him? How many women had straddled him, used him? Mina didn’t want to be one of them. Not to prove something.

He didn’t miss her hesitation. “What is it that you’re thinking?”

If she told him, he’d say that it wouldn’t matter. That it wouldn’t affect him. Lie or not, she wouldn’t know—but she didn’t want to use him, anyway. And so she gave him motive, not truth.

“Earlier today, when we were . . . I didn’t want to panic. So when it became too much, I tried to stop feeling everything.”

“That didn’t work.” Amusement deepened his voice. “Not when my tongue was inside you.”

Her face warmed. No, it hadn’t worked. She’d felt that. Could
still
feel it, the memory moving through her like liquid heat. “I thought now that I’d just take you inside me. Because that’s what I want. When you’re touching me, I ache. And I thought: I could have you before I feel too much, before I ache . . . before I panic.”

“You can have me like that, Mina. But you wouldn’t enjoy having me inside you without needing it, too.”

“Yes. I know.” Despite the panic, so much pleasure came from that ache, that need. Without it, she might as well be sitting on her billy club, or using the contraptions sold by the Blacksmith. Feeling lost, she stared down at him, her fingers tracing the ivory carvings. “I couldn’t fight the Horde then. So I tried to fight what they were making me feel. And I still am—except I’m fighting myself instead of them. I don’t want to.”

His dark gaze searched her face. “Then fight me.”

“What?”

“You couldn’t fight the Horde, so you fought what they did to you.” With a predatory smile, he rose from the bed. He slowly stalked her. “But I’m making you feel it now. So fight me, instead. Hit me, push me away. But don’t stop yourself from feeling. Let that happen.”

Uncertain, Mina backed toward the wardrobe. “I don’t want to fight you.”

“But you do anyway, because you’re trapped into fighting yourself. So you panic and push me away. This time, you’ll control it from the first.”

“And immediately fail. You wouldn’t force me. As soon as I hit you, you’d stop.”

“No. I often trade one need for another. You need to fight; you need to be fucked. You panic now because you couldn’t fight during the Frenzy. Maybe you’ll separate them, put that panic where it belongs when you fight me. If you can do that, Mina, I’ll take anything that you lay on me. Because
I
need to fuck you, but more than that—I need to see that you’re not afraid. And even if you hit me, I’ll know you want me inside you. So I’d only stop if you’re truly afraid.”

He was right. It wouldn’t be force, no matter how hard she pushed him away. “If I’m fighting you, how would you know if I’m truly afraid?”

“Use the Horde language.”

She frowned her displeasure. “I never speak that.”

“Then I’ll know it’s real.”

Real.
And inescapable, these emotions. Mina stared at him, the ebony box clutched over her heart like a shield. “From the very first, I knew you’d be dangerous to me. I should have run.”

“I’d have caught you.” He did, swinging her up and letting her feel him, thick and hard against her belly. When she gasped, he said, “I can still just put my cock inside you.”

Laughing, she shook her head.
Far too late for that.
She was already aching for him, a need that burned hotter as his lips took hers. His tongue stroked and she moaned, kissing him deeper. Trahaearn’s arms tightened around her waist. Without lifting his head, he carried her to the bedside and set her feet on the floor. With efficient tugs, he stripped the nightshirt over her shoulders, down her hips.

He took the ebony box and tossed it onto the mattress. “Lie back and spread your legs.”

Her lips parted. Anticipation slipped through her like rivulets of fire. She sank back onto the mattress and let her knees fall wide open.

His gaze was hot and amused. “That’s not fighting me.”

“I know,” she said on a laugh, feeling light and breathless—and panic very far away. She didn’t know why it was. Maybe because she trusted him. Maybe by knowing that she
could
fight him, she didn’t need to. Mina couldn’t be certain. But she wouldn’t fight the ease with which she could offer herself to him.

“Good.” He braced his hands beside her hips, and bent his head between her legs. “Because I want this.”

He covered her sex all at once, open-mouthed and hungry. Mina cried out, stiffening, and let herself feel it all. Each hot lick. The scratch of his jaw against her inner thighs, and his hoarse groans of pleasure. His grip on her knee as he pushed her open wider, his fingers tightening as he savored her flesh. Her hips writhed. The flick of his tongue whipped her into a frenzy, and she screamed, clawing the sheets, letting it shatter through her.

When she came back together and looked down, Trahaearn was staring up at her with astonishment. It slowly transformed into heated intent.

He moved up, kissing her belly, her nipples, her jaw. Settling beside her, he cupped his hand between her thighs, his middle finger sliding through her wet folds. His gaze on her face, he pushed inside her. Bigger, thicker than his tongue—and unyielding. Mina bit her lip, moving against him, trying to ease the pain of his intrusion.

He closed his eyes. “You’re tight. Gripping me. I’ll hurt you.”

Yes.
But she couldn’t avoid that. And if they did it right, she’d only hurt the once. With a deep breath, she tried to focus past the need. Not denying it. Trying to separate it from the coming pain.

“Mina, I can feel . . . you’re still a virgin.”

“No.” She’d been with Felicity. “But I’m still intact—and if you rupture my hymen now, it’ll be easier for me than with your penis. But we’ll have to wait afterward, or the nanoagents will heal me, and I’ll tear again when I take you inside.”

Whether her dispassionate speech amused him, she couldn’t tell. He looked at her for a long moment before nodding. Mina braced herself, trying not to tremble as he slipped another finger inside. Swiftly, he scissored them apart. Stiffening against the tearing pain, she fought not to cry. He murmured an apology and kissed her temple before resting his forehead against hers, his fingers still inside her.

The pain faded to a faint stinging, and the intrusion of his fingers became an intriguing fullness. Mina wanted to move on him, to squeeze tighter around him, but forced herself to wait. She cast her mind about for a distraction.

“Once, I assisted my father on a surgical visit—a woman whose husband finished so quickly that she always healed afterward. So she tried to rupture her hymen with a candlestick and then wait, so that it wouldn’t tear every time. But the candlestick was metal—pewter, I think—and the bugs treated it like a prosthetic tool. And so when she bled, they began grafting the candlestick inside of her, and she couldn’t pull it out.”

Trahaearn’s big body was shaking against her. The corners of his mouth were tight, as if he were struggling hard not to laugh. He lifted his head.

“This is what you think of when you’re with me?”

She grinned, and then he dove and his mouth captured her nipple. She arched up with a gasp.
Oh, blue heavens.
Biting her lip, her hands fisting in linen, she turned her head to the side. The box of sheaths lay beside her, and on its face, a woman of ivory knelt in front of a man.

Imagining the same with Trahaearn came easily. “Would you like me to do that to you?”

Releasing her nipple, he moved to her right breast. “Do what?”

“Like shown in this picture—I could shag you with my mouth.”

He lifted his head, eyes narrowing on the image. “Yes. Later.”

Pleased, she turned the box over, and had to tell him, “This one shows a woman with two men. We could invite Scarsdale in later, too.”

“No good. I’d hate to kill him for ignoring you.”

“Oh, and this one has two women . . . on a box for male sheaths.” She frowned. “How odd. What use would a sheath have then?”

Laughing against her neck, Trahaearn didn’t—or couldn’t—answer.

“I could ask Yasmeen to join me,” Mina suggested. “But I suppose she bites.”

With a sudden growl, Trahaearn snatched the box and pulled out a handful of square parchment envelopes before tossing it aside.

“That box gives you too many ideas that don’t include me.” He dropped the sheaths to the mattress. His gaze returned to her face, and his fingers pumped gently inside her. Her laugh became a gasp. No pain now. Only pleasure, only need. “Are you all right, then?”

With a soft moan, she lifted her hips and pushed against his hand. He bent and kissed her, openmouthed and hot, his tongue thrusting and his fingers moving deep inside her until she was wet and aching, her breaths coming in ragged pants. His lips left her then, and she shook her head, trying to draw him down to her again. Resisting, he sat back on his heels, knees spread and digging into the mattress.

Hands lowering to his waist, he began loosening his drawers. His gaze moved from her face to the spill of sheaths beside her.

“Do you want to put it on me?”

She did. Heart pounding, Mina picked up the crinkling parchment and broke the red wax seal. Inside, the lambskin sheath was thin and pliable—and slippery, prepared with light oil.

And his cock was nothing like a billy club. Though thick and blunt, his smooth, heated skin felt delicate under her hands. He guided her, showed her how the sheath worked, groaning as she rolled it down over his length. Small strings secured the sheath at the base of his shaft, above the full hang of his cods. Mina’s knuckles pressed into the heavy sac as she fastened the ties, and she looked up as he hissed an indrawn breath.

“Too tight?”

“No.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “Come here now.”

With his hands beneath her bottom, he hefted her against his chest until she was spread wide against him, sitting almost cross-legged around him. Her inner thighs clenched his sides, feeling the hard muscle over his ribs. She twined her arms around his neck, her face just above level with his. His kiss was soft and slow as he lowered her, until the thick tip of him lodged against her entrance.

Shuddering, she broke the kiss. “Now. Please, now.”

Trahaearn didn’t have to move. He slowly released her weight and pressure built just inside her. Mina whimpered and tried to swivel her hips, tried to ease it. But it only grew, pushing deeper and deeper. Gasping, she looked down. Inside her. He was
inside
her. But only half his length. She wanted him all.