Love Me Once (The Infamous Forresters Book 3)

by Eliza Lloyd

  She caressed his cheek. “We’ve waited so long. We don’t need to wait another moment.”

  He kissed her again, but she felt his embrace loosen as if he meant to set her aside.

  Shelene wasn’t having it. They’d said their vows, and she would bind him to her in a permanent way—that of husband and wife.

  “No. You say you are an honorable man. Then honor me as you promised in our vows.”

  “Shelene. Please.”

  She copied his earlier kiss, pressing her lips to his then opening her mouth and using her tongue to entice him. Slow swipes and little teasing thrusts. Wine was on his tongue, and the intimate taste of him, part of the whole. One more piece to the puzzle of Roman Forrester. And she must know. She must.

  He might be saying no, but she knew he was affected, as was she. How long could he resist? How long would she have the advantage before he remembered he’d made some ridiculous pledge?

  While she kissed, she flicked a few more of her bodice buttons. Against her hip, she felt the proof of his desire, so she squirmed a little, pressuring his manhood.

  “I want you,” she whispered against his lips.

  “Not here,” he said, his voice strained.

  His hand cupped her mostly-covered breast and squeezed. His thumb brushed her skin.

  Breathless herself, she was still in her right mind though and she had her sights focused on consummation. Mother had hinted about what Shelene’s marital duty would entail, but she was still none the wiser about the details.

  Well, she had heard a few things. From one of her married cousins in Madrid and from the lady’s maid she’d had who occasionally assisted Martina.

  But she wanted the details.

  All the details.

  And there was no man better at details than Roman, infuriating as it had been during their early courtship. She let out her breath. Hadn’t they married to bring each other mutual comfort, to smooth each other’s flaws and to heal hurts? Not to mention the less obvious and more deeply held emotions of love and trust.

  “I’ll meet you in your room.”

  “No. Joaquin is there.”

  “He’s downstairs, eating dinner with his mother.”

  Roman pressed his lips to her neck, then swiped his tongue along her exposed collarbone.

  “Your room is empty,” she added.

  “Hmm.” He trailed his mouth and tongue further, across the round globe of her exposed breast. She gasped. She grabbed his hand as it slid over her thigh, then jumped to her feet, pulling him willingly to his.

  “I’ll meet you there. Follow me in five minutes.” She grabbed her fichu and pin, covering her private display. At the door, she said. “Five minutes.”

  “Shelene,” he said, then cleared his throat.

  “I’ll be without clothing. I’ll be most embarrassed and angry if you do not arrive on time. Or if Joaquin arrives instead.”

  Shelene didn’t look back; she couldn’t bear to see his features harden in determination. And denial. Two weeks was an eternity.

  And she’d waited long enough.

  * * * * *

  The list of Roman’s responsibilities and promises was lengthy, and it seemed that each vow and commitment rubbed against the other.

  The commodore. Oliver. The Crown. Belgrano.

  And now the greatest and most important responsibility, Shelene, to whom he’d promised even more. He’d promised her the world.

  His hand, poised over the door latch, froze in indecision. Paradise lay on the other side. There were so many reasons to charge into the room, throw her upon the bed and have his way. A way in which she completely agreed.

  How often he’d dreamed of being with Shelene. Since he’d met her, he’d wanted her. The desire was both innocent and sinful. They belonged together, and yet there was still this barrier to happiness.

  And what about those reasons to abstain? Nothing had changed. His decision to postpone consummation was still the smartest, most practical thing to do, considering the potential danger ahead.

  But he’d passed the point of no return.

  He was going in the room to be with his wife. He’d already instructed Joaquin to find another trundle for sleep, throwing him a coin with the instruction. When Joaquin wanted to ask why, his mother directed him in Spanish, putting an end to his curiosity and causing Roman to hold back a smile.

  So why did Roman delay now?

  She was his tell. His strength and his weakness.

  Roman tapped lightly on the door. Perhaps she’d fallen asleep.

  “Roman?” A quick snick and the door opened, Shelene peeping between the crack and the jamb. Her hair was down and cascaded over her shoulder, but he could still see the temptation of bare skin. It was too much to hope she had changed her mind about this legitimate rendezvous.

  “Why did you open the door without confirming who was standing outside?”

  “I knew it was you. Am I supposed to be as suspicious as you in my everyday life?” She stepped away and he slid through the opening. Holding together the edges of the lightweight robe, she peered at him. Lord, what an innocent! Her eyes were round with expectation. And distress, though she tried to hide it.

  Only one candle burned along with a small fire in the hearth.

  “It wouldn’t hurt to be less trusting. Get in bed. You shouldn’t be about in your bare feet.”

  She glanced down. “Oh, I forgot my slippers.”

  He stepped closer. Instead of arguing, he bent and swept her up. She gasped but wrapped her arms about his neck.

  “So, you haven’t changed your mind?” he asked.

  “In five minutes? No. I’m not some flighty English girl.” Her finger passed over his ear.

  “You keep reminding me of that.”

  At the edge of the bed, he held her for a moment until she glanced at him. Their noses were nearly touching, and he could feel the warmth of her breath against his neck. The covers were neatly turned down and he lowered her to the lumpy-looking mattress.

  She gripped his jacket lapel and pulled him in for a kiss. She meant for it to be sweet, but he was past the point of gentle teasing. He braced his hands on each side of her, and opened his mouth, taking hers in a shocking display of dominance. Maybe he meant to give her one last chance to change her mind.

  Or maybe he meant to prove to himself that this was a very bad idea.

  He didn’t know what faced them. Hardship, certainly. Danger, probably.

  Happiness? Hopefully.

  Joy? With Shelene, always.

  When he pulled away, he noticed her eyes were a little misty and her lips moist and swollen. Was it an honor to be wanted so thoroughly by such a woman?

  “I love you so much,” she said.

  He let out his breath, then pushed to his full height. Her gaze still followed him as he turned to lock the door then work at his cravat. Each piece of his clothing came off easily. It had been years since he’d had a valet.

  When he was down to his open shirt, trousers and boots, he sat on the bed and placed his hand on her thigh. “Would you consider a final appeal to wait?”

  She sat up and crossed her legs before addressing him. He couldn’t believe he even got the words out of his mouth. The candle on the bed stand revealed the soft curve of breast and waist. It wasn’t vulgar, just a teasing, tempting view.

  “You are mine and I am yours,” she said.

  He nodded, unable to deny her again. “And you are my heart.”

  He lifted his shirt away; her gaze took him in. When he leaned to pry off his boots, her hand stroked down his back. Such an innocent touch should not make him quiver like a reed in a storm.

  “I never knew men could be so beautiful.” She sighed, then leaned back, an angelic vision in her soft, white robe. She should be cushioned in a fine bed with multiple pillows and fragrant sheets, not this simple lodging house.

  “We aren’t. We are crude beasts at best.” He ignored his trousers for the moment and crawled
in the bed beside her. He braced on his elbow and stared down at her. Her black hair was slightly wavy from being held captive in a tight bun all day. A soft curl lay against her breast.

  “We men are nothing compared to the allure of a supple woman in the dark of night.” He brushed his fingers along her bare collarbone and eased the light robe down her arm. The round of her shoulder begged kissing and he pressed his lips there. She sighed or gasped or whimpered—a sound of surrender and expectation. Whatever she experienced, she eased her lids closed and turned away from him, taking a few urgent breaths.

  He cupped the side of her face, then pressed his lips to her brow, her closed eyelids, her nose. And her lips. Already pliable, already aroused, Shelene seemed on the verge of combustion, shaking as she was.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You won’t,” she whispered.

  Virginity! What a horrible way to start a marriage. Pain and blood. And it was his performance that would set the tone for their future satisfaction.

  He crumpled the skirt of her robe and slowly lifted.

  “Tell me what to do?” she said.

  “This time, nothing.”

  “But—”

  He laughed a little. “Touch me then.”

  “Anywhere?”

  “Everywhere.”

  Shelene smiled at that, then rested her open hand against his chest. He caressed her bare thigh, wondering how fast he should proceed.

  He was already hard. Pressing his covered erection against her hip provided a bit of relief.

  There was no rose oil to ease his passage. He had no idea how wet she was and thought he might shock her sensibilities to slip his fingers between the folds hiding her sheath.

  Shelene searched along the contours of his arms. “You are very wrong, Lord Roman,” she said. “Men are very beautiful. Almost like sculptures. Now I understand why Michelangelo is considered a master. You might have been one of his models, in another life.”

  He’d been a lot of things, none of them too complimentary. Being worshiped was a new experience. Even in her innocence, she adored him wholly. Her gaze approved, her touch encouraged, and her tongue explored.

  Shelene was a creative, delving into her art when she was troubled or alone. Maybe she could see him and the world in a different light.

  His was all darkness; hers was ethereal, pure and calm.

  Rolling to his side, he worked at his trouser falls. In anticipation, she dropped her arms to the bed and took a deep breath. “I am ready,” she said.

  “Don’t be afraid.”

  How many times had he dreamed of this? Sexual pursuit in all its goodness and steeped in debaucheries? His real dilemma was whether he would ever enjoy Shelene as a lover. Roman had placed her on a pedestal of virtue. To remove her was to bring her to his level.

  He rolled and knelt between her legs, braced lightly over her. Heat billowed between them where his bare erection nestled against her thighs, cushioned by the downy hair of her soft mons. He gripped her leg and wrapped it about his waist, settling, ready for penetration.

  Shelene had closed her eyes and whispered, “Dios mío.”

  Kissing her again was nothing more than a distraction. He wanted to plunge into her and finish the deed. He fought his base desires.

  He wanted it to be tender and fulfilling for her. Was it possible that she might find satisfaction the first time? Did she even know there was pleasure for a woman?

  He was overthinking it, just like he overthought every scheme in which he was a principal. That’s why he survived.

  Best just get it over with.

  She returned his kiss with a frantic need, her hands finally working again as they caressed his neck. With just a slight arch of his back, his cock fell into the soft, wet folds. He reached between them, grabbed the root to direct his movements and found the hidden entrance.

  After a few swipes, and deciding she was as ready as she was going to be, he…

  He wasn’t free. The flotsam of his career choices hung to him like barnacles and seaweed, sharp and slippery.

  He rolled from her, the mattress groaning, and he draped his arm over his forehead.

  “Roman, what is it?” She lay there for a moment, surprised, then shoved her robe down and sat up. “Roman?” She took his wrist and lifted his arm, peering down at him.

  He wasn’t a coward and met her gaze full on.

  Hell, he was practically counting off the things he should do to have intercourse with his wife. All nice and neat. And rote and boring. Instincts were accurate, his especially, and he should have listened when it came to Shelene.

  “Accusing you of regret would be childish of me. I doubt you live with any sort of regret, for it must make your work impossible if you did,” she said. “But with me, why?”

  She curled beside him, then reclined over his chest.

  “I have regrets,” he said slowly.

  “Since I’m your wife now, you ought to tell me. We shouldn’t have secrets.”

  He toyed with a loose wave of her black hair, shiny in the light of the lone candle.

  “It’s not about you.”

  * * * * *

  Except Shelene knew that it was.

  “I know,” she said, lying to him and to herself. “But you promised me a wedding night.”

  All those reasons which had prevented them from marrying before, came to life in the darkened corners of their small room. Nothing had changed for him. Not really. She’d caught him in a moment of weakness, and desire.

  Shelene went to her knees, then boldly straddled him, allowing some instinct to guide her. I can do this, she thought, because I have changed.

  She could be the wife that exceeded his expectations, that provided for him physically and intellectually. To provide a welcoming home and fine children. She’d been taught duty and honor and she would fulfill every requirement demanded of a Spanish wife.

  More so, she would find the secrets that would entice Roman to bond with her and conclude his fealty to an unappreciative and cruel mistress.

  When his hands slid up her thighs, she knew she was doing something right.

  She squirmed a little and felt the unfamiliar hardness between her legs.

  “Tell me if I’m doing it wrong. Help me,” she whispered.

  “It’s impossible to do wrong.” He laughed, then let out a deep breath. He cupped her face. “You know why we shouldn’t do this. It is for your benefit I resist.”

  “No. This will bind us together. Forever, as we swore in our vows.”

  “Shelene, we were bound together before we ever said those vows in front of the priest. Long, long before.”

  She pressed a finger to his lips. “Show me.”

  His eyes, seductive and dark on an average afternoon, looked positively wicked in the light of one candle. Long lashes swept low as he squinted up at her. Black brows creased, his examination thorough.

  He soothed one hand over her covered breast and eased the material down her arm, then plied the same treatment to her other arm, divesting her of what little protection she had. Then he lifted the remaining light rail and tossed it aside.

  She wanted to hide her breasts; instead she braced her hands against his wide, hard chest. The tickle of hair between her fingers was as sexual as the firmness between her legs. He stroked her legs again, up the inside of her thigh and then around to her bum. He squeezed.

  For a moment, she wanted to hide.

  His hands explored, up her back, down her arms, then…

  He slipped his fingers between her legs and caressed the soft, wet folds. She gasped and clenched her thighs. Air escaped in a harsh, unnerving gust. She stared at the bed canopy overhead, gasping for breath. All the while, he kept at the steady stroking. She shivered with the chill of the illicit touch.

  Whatever was happening to her, she wanted more. Rocking against his manhood alleviated some of the devastating need but prevented him from playing with the sensitive nub.

&n
bsp; There was more and she wanted it.

  Roman grasped her about the waist, rolled her and was on top once again. Something had changed in him. Desire burned in his gaze. His skin blazed with heat. There was no further hesitation. He was past his denials.

  With one quick, unexpected thrust, he’d entered her.

  She gasped but felt no pain, only the pressure of fullness.

  He lowered his head, took a breath, then stared into her eyes. “There’s no going back now.”

  “Never,” she said, always knowing this was how it should be.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked, this time gritting his teeth.

  She shook her head. Cupping one hand against the side of his face, she smiled.

  Roman moved his hips, a slow in-and-out that caused Shelene to realize one thing: she knew nothing.

  She slipped her fingers into his silky hair and pulled hard. Her breath came in burning gasps. Roman’s face was buried in that hollow between her shoulder and neck. He groaned with each push, losing himself. Finally forgetting about those things that demanded his time and attention and devotion.

  The change was palpable, and she reveled in his manly nature.

  She surged against Roman, hip to hip, meeting his thrusts, relaxing as he pulled out.

  Shelene’s moans vibrated through her. Whatever it was between her and Roman was alive with power and urgency. “Yes, Roman. Yes.”

  His hand slipped up her thigh, gripped it and wrapped her leg about him, opening her farther for his complete penetration. He thrust, taking her wholly. The veins in his neck stood out; his expression stark and full of dark needs she was only beginning to understand.

  Pleasure crept through her body. First, at the small of her back. She squirmed against the strange ache. He bent his head over her exposed breast and sucked at her nipple. Exquisite and embarrassing as it was, she liked it. She wanted more.

  His hand crept up her side and cupped her other breast, thumbing the nipple, bringing with it unbearable torment.

  His groans, his thrusts grew more intense. Between her legs, she felt the length and strength of him filling her. The slippery feel changed—each withdrawal a torment of friction. His firm member against her swollen sheath.

  She was caught up, swept to some higher plane where her body wasn’t her own. Holding her breath, a new paroxysm took hold. A beautiful, sweeping pleasure rooted at their joining. Did he feel it too? Could she stay, riding this wave with him?