Her sex—already sensitive and swollen—pulsed at his low, rough command as she hastened to obey.
He sat on the bench in front of the small dressing table and removed his new boots with a few rough jerks, throwing them to the floor with loud thunks before pushing down his stockings and standing.
Their eyes locked as he undid the closures on his fall and then quickly flicked open the four buttons beneath. His movements were practiced yet sensual—as if he’d disrobed in front of women countless times and was comfortable displaying his body.
Martha didn’t want to think about how many lovers he must have had to gain such confidence and competence in the bedchamber.
He shoved down his breeches and drawers in one graceful motion and when he stood, his erection jutted long and thick from his narrow hips.
She knew her mouth was open but couldn’t make herself close it.
Hugo strode toward her, his shaft bobbing, and reached for the hem of her nightgown. Martha lifted her hips without being told and he raised the garment up over her head, throwing it to join the other clothing.
His eyes glittered as they traveled down her body, lingering on her stiff nipples. “So bloody beautiful,” he murmured as he climbed up on the bed. “Lie on your back, Martha.”
When she complied, he nudged her thighs apart and knelt between her legs. “You do this to me,” he said, sliding his palm around his erection, his tone almost contemplative. They both looked down as he pumped himself, a bead of moisture appearing at the very tip.
Martha was frightened of his size, but her body craved him—desperately—and she ached with need.
His lips curved into tiniest, smuggest of smiles—as if he could see the contents of her wicked mind. He ran his other hand, hot and calloused, up the inside of her thigh, delving into her curls when he reached the top. He traced her lips, his stroking too maddeningly light.
As she’d done the other night, Martha opened her legs wider and lifted her hips in silent entreaty.
He groaned, released himself, and gracefully lowered his torso, shoving her legs even wider to accommodate his wide shoulders. “You’re driving me mad,” he muttered, and then opened her with his thumbs, the tip of his tongue peeking between his lips. He made a noise that sounded like he was in pain and then lowered his mouth over her.
She squeezed her eyes shut at the unbearable bliss of his hot, wet mouth and caressing tongue. His forearms kept her thighs pinned and spread while he ruthlessly worked her toward her climax.
Martha bucked and thrust and writhed, shameless in her passion.
And then he pushed his tongue inside her.
“Hugo,” she cried out, shocked and aroused in equal measures at the erotic invasion.
He didn’t pause, the primitive rhythm of his thrusting a promise of what was to come.
The second orgasm was upon her before she knew what was happening. Unlike the headlong rush of the first, this was a brutal punch of intense pleasure that shattered her.
He slid a finger inside her and she gasped as her inner muscles contracted around him.
“Mmm.” He kissed and nibbled the tender skin where her thigh joined her sex and then moved up beside her, until they were hip to hip, and claimed her mouth.
Martha gasped; that was herself she tasted on his tongue.
“Sweet, aren’t you?” He sucked her lower lip into his mouth as he rubbed his erection against her hip. “Touch me, Martha.”
Martha had been dreaming of touching him for weeks—never had she expected the astounding silky softness of his skin. Or the heat of him.
He closed his hand around hers and gave a low growl of approval. “Just like that, darling—tight.” He released her hand and palmed her mound, gently squeezing her sex. “Mine.” He pushed two fingers inside her, working her with languid pumps. “All mine.”
With each stroke of her hand, she spread more and more moisture down his shaft, until he was slick with it. He grunted and thrusted his hips, pushing into her tight, wet fist.
It was challenging to ignore her own pleasure and concentrate on bringing him to his release, but she wanted to see him come apart.
“So good,” he muttered. And then he did something to her with his thumb, and a blissful sensation ambushed her yet again.
Martha bucked and cried out. “Hugo.”
He groaned. “Oh, Martha. I wish you could see how beautiful you look right now,” he said in a husky voice, his hand stilling while she shuddered, boneless with ecstasy.
He waited until she came back to herself before removing her limp hand from his erection, making her realize that she had stopped stroking him.
Martha reached for him again. “I want—”
“No.” His jaws were tight enough that she could see the muscles and sinews beneath the skin “I can’t wait any longer to get inside you.” He positioned his body over hers and cut her a quick, concerned look. “It will only hurt for a moment, darling, and then I promise I’ll make you feel wonderful.” His slick, hot crown pressed against her entrance, hard and insistent. “Do you want me, Martha?”
“Yes … please, Hugo,” she begged, as if some wanton had gained control of her mouth.
He breached her with a quick, firm thrust and she cried out, more in surprise than pain, although there was considerable discomfort.
He was panting, like he’d been running, his pupils huge. “Mmmm, Martha. So wet and tight for me,” he growled against her temple, his biceps bulging as he held himself still.
Martha squirmed beneath his far larger body as she stretched to accommodate him. He was big and it hurt more than she’d expected. But she wanted him—wanted this—no matter how uncomfortable it was.
“Can you take the rest of me?” he asked in a strained voice.
She bit her lip and tilted her hips.
“Good girl, open yourself for me,” he praised as her knees spread wider.
He gave her his length slowly, entering her inch by inch, not stopping until the ridged muscles of his abdomen pressed against her stomach and it felt like he was poking her spine.
“Relax your muscles and let your body adjust. You’ll be fine in a moment,” he soothed, kissing her temple. “And breathe, darling, breathe.”
Martha took a deep breath, and then another. He was right: the initial pain was gone; what remained was only a vague ache and the sensation of fullness. Regardless of the discomfort, she reveled in their joining; this is what both their bodies had been designed to do. She felt more like a wife right then than she had earlier that day, when she’d spoken her vows.
He kissed her brow again. “Better?”
“It’s lovely.” And it was.
He smiled and his shaft flexed inside her.
Martha’s lips parted. “Did you do that?”
“Who else would be doing it, darling?” He flexed again and again, jerking against her swollen sheath.
Martha tightened her inner muscles, the action sending ripples of pleasure through her body.
Hugo groaned. “You’re a fast learner, sweetheart. Are you trying to break me in two?”
“Did I hurt you?”
“Only in the most delicious way. I’m going to move in you, now.”
Martha could breathe more easily when he withdrew, but she immediately missed him.
He slid back in, faster this time, burying himself to the hilt.
“So good,” he muttered. And then he began to move, his strokes slow and measured, each one leaving more pleasure in its wake than the one before. The long, lean muscles of his flank bunched beneath her hands as he filled her again and again, his body angled in such a way that he grazed her core with each thrust.
“Come once more, for your husband,” he said, and then reached between their bodies and drove her toward yet another climax.
He moaned when she contracted around him, his thrusts becoming less controlled, until his hips pounded into her with the unrestrained force of a winter storm.
Martha
forced her heavy eyelids up, desperate to watch as he gave in to his climax.
His jaws clenched and his dark eyes locked with hers. “Going to come,” he growled, and then rammed himself deep, holding her in a punishing embrace while he kept her full and impaled, his shaft pulsing and thickening as he flooded her with a hot rush of seed.
Martha drifted for a moment, reveling in the feel of his hard, hot body on top of her and inside her. A body which gradually became heavier and heavier, until he was no longer supporting his weight on his arms. Instead, he crushed her into the mattress, his breathing deep and even.
He’d fallen asleep.
She smiled and slid her arms around him, reveling in a moment of complete happiness.
“I love you, Hugo,” she whispered.
◆◆◆
Hugo shifted to get more comfortable and something beneath him groaned.
He opened his eyes and stared directly into the sky-blue eyes of his wife.
“Did I fall asleep on top of you?” he mumbled thickly as he rolled aside.
“Just for a minute. It was … nice.”
Her voice was breathy and high—nothing like the Martha he knew.
That’s because this wasn’t just a fuck for her, you dunce. It was her first time; you need to act like a lover.
Hugo scowled; how the hell did a person act like a lover?
Talk to her, comfort her … make sure you didn’t hurt her.
It was that last thought that woke him from his stupor.
Hugo turned on his side and pushed up onto his elbow. Her face was turned away from him, so he took her chin and turned her back. “Martha?”
She was blushing fierily, but she smiled, too. “Hugo?” she said in a mocking tone.
If she was smiling and teasing him, it couldn’t have been too bad.
Could it?
“Did I hurt you? I meant to go slower, to be more—”
“No, you didn’t hurt me—except for a moment or two at the beginning.”
He supposed it was too much to hope that she might have enjoyed it. Did virgins enjoy their first time? Virgins were not a subject he had much experience with.
“Regrets?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Good. Because you can’t undo it.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Good,” he said again, because he could think of nothing else.
She yawned. “I’m so sorry,” she said, flushing. “That’s rather rude.”
“I’ll forgive you. This time.”
“I don’t know why I’m so tired.”
“Because I wore you out, darling. I’m going to take it as a compliment.” He pulled the blankets up around her.
“Mmm. Thank you, Hugo.” She turned onto her side and snuggled down into the covers, pushing her bottom against his groin.
“Get some sleep, sweetheart.”
He waited until her breathing became regular and then rolled onto his back and stared at the yellowed plaster ceiling.
His jaw tightened as he recalled what he’d done: he’d spent inside her. He never done that before, at least not inside a woman. It had been careless, no matter that they were married.
Why? You’re married. That’s what married people do: have children.
Married. Children. Hugo swallowed a hysterical laugh. Bloody hell. He couldn’t wrap his mind around having a wife yet, and he sure as hell couldn’t wrap his mind around having a brat.
You’d better start wrapping because she’ll want them. A lot of them.
Those had been her words.
His half-hard cock twitched at the thought of putting a baby inside her. Hugo snorted; well, at least one part of his body was thrilled.
Shame flooded him at the snide, unworthy thought.
Children were necessary for Martha’s happiness and he’d already vowed to do everything in his power to ensure she never regretted her decision to marry him. That meant children.
Besides, while it was true that he’d not wanted children in the past, he could imagine having them with Martha. He might lack the ability to love, but he could support and care for children and bloody well make sure that no child of his ever felt unwanted. And Martha would be such a wonderful mother that she’d make up for his emotional deficiencies.
He turned to look at her sleeping form, thrilling at the knowledge that she was his wife. He could have her every night, as often as they both liked—and he would use all his skills to make sure that she wanted him often.
He smiled at the thought. Being married wasn’t going to be bad, at all.
You think that now; imagine how wise you’ll feel when she figures out how you make your money.
She won’t; I’ll make sure of it.
Hugo would have cause to remember those words before too long.
Chapter 25
Hugo had to admit that the journey south with his two companions was both amusing and eye-opening. Although he’d not done a great deal of traveling himself, he had seen more of the country than Martha and Cailean combined.
Events and sights that he normally wouldn’t have noticed—an overturned mail coach on the side of the road; a cow pasture filled with hundreds of long-legged white birds; and a village fair, complete with a traveling theatrical troop—all captivated his companions.
Although he’d hired a post chaise—an expenditure that had bothered his frugal wife—the trip had still been long and grueling.
Even his enthusiastic traveling companions were road-weary and exhausted when their carriage finally rolled into London five days later.
Hugo had enjoyed the journey, especially Martha and Cailean’s innocent enjoyment, but his worries about London and what he’d find at Solange’s had never been far from his mind.
But now that he was in London, and closer to discovering what happened with each mile, he couldn’t help wishing that he was still back on Stroma.
Maybe they should just keep going. They could go to Dover, hop a packet, and explore the Continent for a few years. Now that the war was over, plenty of English people were traveling.
Hugo perked up at the thought. Why not? If they went someplace fresh and new, then Martha would never need to know about his past or what he did for a living. He wasn’t wealthy, but he’d squirreled away enough in the bank to last a few years.
If Laura hadn’t managed to somehow steal it.
Hugo gritted his teeth and thrust away the thought. Instead, he returned to the dream-tour of the Continent he’d just been building in his mind’s eye.
One day the money will run out and then you will need to earn more.
His fairy tale image began to flicker and get ragged around the edges.
And you only know one way to make money.
The fantasy shimmered, and then dissipated like a puff of smoke.
There was no escape for a man like him—no running away from who he was. The unavoidable truth was that he could either own a whorehouse or he could work in one.
He needed to stay and fight for what was his. If he could regain control of Solange’s then he wouldn’t have to earn money on his back.
You can just earn it off other people’s backs.
That was true, and Hugo refused to feel bad about it.
Instead of dwelling on Solange’s, he forced himself to enjoy the last bit of their trip, watching Martha’s expressive face as they traversed the city, the streets becoming cleaner, the houses bigger, and the people more affluent with every street they passed.
As they turned off David Street onto Berkeley Square, Martha’s eyes threatened to roll out of her head. “My goodness,” she breathed, cutting Hugo a quick glance. “Surely we aren’t going to be staying—”
The carriage rolled to a gentle stop, cutting off her words.
She gawked out the window. “Who are these friends of yours, Hugo?”
Hugo just smiled.
The front door to Lady Selwood’s monstrous house opened and Joss himself came tro
tting down the front steps.
Hugo hopped out of the carriage without bothering to lower the steps. “Jocelyn my dear boy!” He grabbed Joss’s arm, which was the diameter of a full-grown tree, and pulled him away from the post chaise. “Not a word about my business or Solange’s,” he said through gritted teeth.
Joss, a man who was phlegmatic to the point of resembling a wooden carving rather than a human being, merely cocked one eyebrow and moved toward the carriage. He flipped down the steps while nodding to the postilion who’d dismounted to help unload the baggage. “My servants will take those,” he said, sounding for all the world like a lord of the manor rather than a prizefighter-turned-whore-turned-groom.
Two liveried footmen scurried toward the carriage and began removing their few pieces of luggage.
A charming smile transformed Joss’s harsh, almost brutal, features and he offered Martha a hand. “Hello, you must be Mrs. Buckingham.”
Martha’s cheeks were a fetching shade of pink as Joss handed her from the carriage. She was so blooming and pretty in her sky-blue traveling costume that Hugo could scarcely look at her without wanting to tear off her clothes and mark her as his.
The possessive impulse—one he’d experienced frequently over the past week—rocked him to his core, but he no longer tried to fight it.
“And you must be Mr. Gormley,” Martha said, smiling in a way that exposed that sweet little dimple in her cheek. “Hugo has told me all about you.”
Joss glanced at Hugo and chuckled. “Has he?”
“Only the good things, Joss. It took less than two minutes,” Hugo couldn’t resist adding.
“Hugo,” Martha chided.
“This is Cailean Fergusson,” Hugo said as the enormous young man climbed from the carriage, stretching and yawning.
Joss’s eyes widened and Hugo smirked. He doubted that the huge man had to look up at another person very often.
“Welcome, Mr. Fergusson,” Joss said, the title making Cailean blush just as wildly as Martha. Joss held out his arm to Martha. “May I have the honor?”
“Of course.”
Hugo and Cailean followed them up the marble steps. A servant dressed in the dark, sedate garb of a butler stood on the landing, his expression reserved but welcoming.
Hugo and the Maiden: A Steamy Virgin and Rake Regency Romance (The Seducers Book 3) Page 22
