“Sink down on me.”
“Will you fit?” she asked.
Christ, she was adorable. And vexing.
“I did before,” he reminded her. “Nothing different now, save our positions. I would gladly fuck you into tomorrow, but my ribs ain’t too happy with me now, love.”
“Your ribs?”
The alarm in her voice told him he should not have mentioned his injury. Damn it.
“They’re fine, but better with you on top,” he explained through gritted teeth.
She nodded. “Yes, of course.”
With the hand gripping her waist, he urged her downward, his straining cock at the ready. “Now, Octavia.”
In the next moment, she sank down on him, taking him fully.
“Oh my,” she said, breathless.
He would have repeated the sentiment had he been capable of speech. As it was, no chance of that. Instead, he urged her on, showing her how to move. How to ride him. She required precious little guidance. Within moments, she was taking him deep and then withdrawing, only to sink down on his cock again, searching for her own pleasure.
She was beautiful.
Wild.
Trouble.
His.
The pain in his ribs was agonizing but bearable, just for the sight of her alone, wild and glorious atop him. But the sensation—the tight grip of her cunny on his cock, the slick dew of her rendering each slide more erotic and pleasurable than the last—was almost more than he could bear. Everything inside him was coming undone. He was a searing mess of agony and pleasure, ribs aching with every movement and yet desperate for her to fuck him anyway. He set his teeth on edge to keep his fulfillment at bay for as long as possible.
Too good.
Too exquisite.
She pumped faster, sucking him deep, her inner muscles clenching so tightly he feared he might explode, fill her with his seed. And that was something he was determined not to do. He already had two children he had never planned for. The possibility of another was terrifying. Yet…
Yet, the thought of spending inside her, pouring himself into her, was so damned erotic that, once it had wormed its way into his mind, it would not be removed. She sank on his cock once more, her breasts bouncing, and he longed to suck her nipples. Those stiff buds were begging for his mouth. He shifted, moving with a hiss of pain, until he was victorious. He suckled her, rewarded by a rush of wetness in her cunny, making her so slippery. So hot.
His groan of pain turned into one of helpless need. She was making tiny, breathy sounds, so feminine and dainty. Were all ladies this polite in bed? He never would find out. This was the only one he ever wanted.
Quicker still, she moved, greedily taking him deep, lodging his cock high in her silken heat again and again until the pleasure was too much. He released one breast and sought the other, catching the stiff peak in his teeth and giving it a light nibble. He wanted to consume her. To keep her in this bed forever and fuck her a hundred—nay, a thousand—different ways.
Suddenly, she stiffened, sinking down on his cock, hard. Her sheath clamped on him with so much force, he had to release her breast and fall back against the pillows. He closed his eyes for a moment, regardless of how determined he was to not miss a second of her wild surrender. As tremors rolled through her, the last thread of his control snapped.
His release roared through him with the fury of a powerful storm. He was everything and nothing, the pleasure so intense that he cried out, his hips thrusting from the bed as he buried himself even deeper inside her.
There was no time, no consideration for withdrawal. Instead, he lost himself, spending with furious abandon. And she rode him as he did, her body seemingly determined to drain his mettle until there was not a drop remaining. Until he was limp and sated beneath her, humming with the effects of his release.
Panting, wrapped in a hazy combination of pleasure and pain, he helped her to disengage and fall to the bed at his side. She was as breathless as he was, facing him, flushed and prettier than he had seen her yet.
“Oh,” she said again.
He kissed the tip of her nose, that queer tightening in his chest returning. “Oh indeed, minx.”
Chapter 11
Octavia folded herself into a chair between Anne and Elizabeth in the nursery, the abecedarium she had acquired in hand. She had never taught a child to read before, and she was not altogether certain she would succeed. However, she was willing to try. Jasper’s daughters had very quickly won over her heart, and she wished for them to live prosperous lives in the future. Learning to read and write and becoming educated was an important requirement in all such endeavors.
“What do you suppose I have here?” she asked the girls, hoping to intrigue them in what was sure to be a boring subject.
Why spend all day learning one’s letters, when one could wander about The Sinner’s Palace, finding all their aunts’ clean stockings and tying them in knots? It had not taken Octavia long to discover the twins’ impish sides. Poor Pen and Lily had been most displeased when they discovered what the girls had done.
“A book,” Anne said.
“Ain’t a secret,” Elizabeth added with an indelicate snort. “We can see it in your ‘ands.”
So much for her attempts at intrigue.
“Of course it is a book,” she agreed, careful to keep her tone bright and laden with cheer. “Elizabeth, do try to make certain to pronounce your words fully, as we discussed. The letter h is an aspiration. Also, it truly does wonders to keep in mind one’s manners.”
The poor dears had precious little experience with the latter, she knew. Their mother had often locked them in a room while she had seen to her gentlemen callers, according to the twins. They had invented games and their own language to entertain themselves. Octavia hated what they must have endured, and she was heartily glad the woman had surrendered them to Jasper. Neither Elizabeth nor Anne spoke of their mother with fondness, which was quite troubling for children their age and also telling of the relationship they must have shared with her.
“Sorry, my lady,” Elizabeth said, her brow furrowing. “I’s trying my best.”
“Of course you are.” Octavia gave the girl an encouraging smile and chose not to correct her questionable grammar just then. Plenty of time for more lessons of that variety later. For now, it was time to teach them their letters. “This is not just any book, my dears. This is called an abecedarium.”
“An abby what?” Anne asked.
“An abecedarium, or a book of letters,” she explained, before opening the volume to a page prominently featuring the letters A and B. “It is filled with lovely engravings and rhymes, all to help you learn the alphabet, that you may then learn how to read.”
Elizabeth crossed her small arms and fixed Octavia with a mulish look. “Don’t like rhymes much.”
Perhaps she ought to have expected her charges to be reluctant. Somehow, Octavia had not. Instead, she had been thinking of the raptures which had delighted her when she had been capable of reading books and transporting herself to other worlds. How many times had she lost herself within the pages of an entrancing story? Too many to count.
“Do you know what rhymes are, my dear?” she asked Elizabeth gently.
“Reckon it ain’t anything we can eat.”
“Not inside a book, silly,” Anne said.
“I’m wearing the bands, I am,” Elizabeth grumbled.
Octavia supposed that meant Elizabeth was hungry. Correcting their penchant for using cant would take some time. A lot of it.
“First, we shall read through the abecedarium together,” she said, “and then, we shall see if the chef has any seed cakes to spare. What say you?”
“Why can’t we ‘ave seedcakes first?” Elizabeth queried, apparently unimpressed by Octavia’s attempt at encouraging their scholarly endeavors with a reward.
“Because first we must learn our letters.” Octavia decided it would be best to commence, lest Elizabeth distract her al
l day with more questions. “And now, we shall read. A said to B come here to me. Look at how the young lads in the engraving are spelling out the letters with their fingers. Do you see?” The boys in the engraving were each showing how to represent the letters using their fingers alone. Octavia made the same gestures, first showing Anne and Elizabeth an A and then a B. “Try it with me now, girls.”
While she had been concerned Elizabeth, who was clearly the least enthused with the notion of spending time learning the alphabet, would object, Octavia was pleasantly surprised when both girls arranged their hands as shown in the engravings.
“Excellent work, my dears.” She could not contain her smile as she turned to the next page. “And we will go and call on C,” she read. “Do try to make a C with me now.”
The three of them used their thumbs and forefingers to represent the C, and a rush of emotion so strong and fierce hit Octavia that for a moment, she was breathless. Not just pride at the manner in which these girls were willing to try learning, but love, too.
She loved these girls as if they were her own. And in fact, since she had married their father, they were her own, weren’t they?
Emotion rising in her throat, she turned to the next page where D was featured. Without being prompted, Anne and Elizabeth held their hands together to form the letter D, saying it aloud.
“Very good,” she managed.
Working together, they made it through the alphabet, the girls growing more enthusiastic with each passing page. It did not take them long to find their way to Z.
“And thus, when all together met,” she read, “in what is called the alphabet, we, like so many pretty toys, will please good little girls and boys; till by our means, they shall with speed, both elegantly spell and read.”
As the rhyme concluded, Anne and Elizabeth clapped. But their applause was joined by another. Octavia’s head snapped up to find Jasper leaning a hip against the doorjamb of the nursery. He was dressed simply and without fanfare, yet he exuded such confidence and power that he could easily outshine any gentleman in a drawing room. The smile curving his lips enhanced the effect, of course. As did that hazel gaze of his, burning with warmth.
“What a lovely rhyme,” he said softly.
She felt his praise all the way to her toes. Not because of the words. She knew his applause was not for the abecedarium, clever and engaging though it was. Rather, it was meant for her. He appreciated her. And she, in turn, appreciated him.
“Thank you,” she told him, smiling back at him.
“Papa,” Elizabeth exclaimed, her girlish voice sparkling with excitement, “Mama is teaching us in an abbysudsarium.”
Although she had taken great care to enunciate the word, Elizabeth had still managed to butcher it quite mightily. But Octavia did not mind. Jasper’s daughter had just referred to her as Mama. Her heart felt as if it would burst through her stays and gown and flit about the nursery.
Jasper pushed away from the door and strode toward them. “I’ve no notion what the devil you just said, my girl, but I’m pleased you’re working with Mama to learn your letters.”
“Do you mind if we was to call you Mama now that you and Papa are in the parson’s mousetrap?” Anne asked shyly, drawing Octavia’s attention from their father.
She smiled past the swift rush of emotion even as she wondered where in heaven’s name the girl had heard the phrase parson’s mousetrap. “I would be honored to be your mama, girls.”
And she meant those words. More than she ever could have imagined. She had always loved children but had never supposed to have any of her own. Her niece and nephews had filled her heart, but there was room for more. A space just for Anne and Elizabeth.
And maybe for their father as well.
Jasper reached her side and settled himself in another of the child-sized chairs outfitting the room. Watching him fold his large body into the tiny piece of furniture was comical indeed. She could not contain her smile. But it was not merely humor that had her lips curving. It was that he was here. She had not seen him in the nursery before. He spent much of his days and nights absorbed in the running of the gaming hell.
“Do you dare to laugh at me, Mrs. Sutton?” he demanded with mock outrage.
When he grinned like that, he looked younger. Less weighed down by the many responsibilities of his world. She liked how carefree he appeared, how joyful.
“I would never laugh at you,” she promised, unable to quell her smile. “But the sight of such a big man on such a small chair is worthy of comment, perhaps.”
“Careful you don’t break our chairs, Papa,” Anne said solemnly.
“If I do, I’ll buy you another.” He gave his daughter’s dark head an affectionate pat. “I’ve come to spend the rest of the afternoon with the three of you. If I don’t sit here, where shall I go?”
He wanted to spend time with the girls? And her, outside of the bedchamber? This was most definitely a new side of him. Over the last few days, their lives had settled into one of comfortable routine. No more unexpected visits from ladybirds. Hugh ceased refusing her entrée to Jasper’s office. She spent her days with Anne and Elizabeth and her nights with her husband. But today marked the first time he had ventured to the nursery on his own.
Was it her imagination, or was Jasper softening?
“Truly?” Elizabeth asked. “You’re staying the afternoon?”
He cast a glance in Octavia’s direction, his gaze searching. “If I’m not too much distraction.”
Him? Distraction?
Always.
“Of course you shan’t be,” she lied, doing her best not to look at his lips and hands or think about all the clever pleasures they could give her.
“Perfect,” he purred.
She felt that lone word in her core.
Octavia swallowed. “Did you have anything planned?”
His grin faded, making it apparent he did not. “What activities did your father engage in with you, when you were a child?”
She thought. And thought. And thought.
“None.”
“Ah,” was all he said.
“Mama told us we could ‘ave seed cakes if we went through the entire abbsysarium,” Elizabeth offered helpfully, her evisceration of the word even more pronounced now.
Octavia bit her lip to stifle a smile. “Indeed I did. Perhaps you would care to join us?”
Jasper’s easy grin returned. “I’m bloody famished. Plummy idea.”
Oh dear. She had quite a road ahead of her when it came to teaching the girls manners. First, she would have to begin with their father.
She rose, placing the small leather-bound volume on a low table for later use. “Come then, and let us see what delicacies we may find.”
“I’ve one in mind,” Jasper said, giving her a pointed stare. “But it ain’t seed cakes.”
She knew precisely what it was.
Her.
“What is it?” Anne asked innocently.
Jasper gave Octavia a heated look that was enough to make her heart trip over itself. “Pudding.”
Pudding indeed.
She was suffused in warmth, from head to toe, and the ache in her belly that seemed to present itself whenever he was near returned with a vengeance. When Jasper Sutton chose to be charming, the man was utterly irresistible.
But he was still a scoundrel at heart.
Was he not?
The hour was despicably late by even the standards of the fashionable peers who gambled away their dwindling family coffers every night. Indeed, there was only a small handful of dedicated lords yet about the tables, desperate to regain their luck and their fortunes both. Fortunately, Lord Beaumont had been caught cheating and had not dared to make a return.
Jasper made a quick tour of the public rooms, making certain wine was being replenished swiftly and there were no signs of belligerence from the patrons, some who had spent the equivalent of a working man’s day within the carefully shrouded windows of The Sinner�
��s Palace. One could never be too careful. Polite society, when on the edge of its own hallowed territory and fortified by spirits, could often be less than polite.
On those occasions, he always attempted to calm the irate patron and see him nicely escorted to the door. Very rarely, a man—usually deep in his cups and light in the purse—attempted to cause trouble. That was when the guards or his brothers Rafe, Hart, and Wolf stepped in. Once, removing a drunken second son of a duke had required all his brothers and three of his men. It had not been a proud day for The Sinner’s Palace, but fortunately, the young lord had risen the next day in shame and had not attempted to ruin the good name of the Sutton establishment.
The quality certainly cared a whole hell of a lot about what everyone else thought about them. Reputation was paramount, almost a religion in itself, a secondary god they worshiped and praised. That was where a businessman and lords and ladies were not so different. Both required their reputations to remain intact to continue carrying on as they wished.
He had taken that choice away from Octavia. He had threatened her reputation such that she’d had no choice but to marry him to protect what mattered most to her. Not herself, but her family.
Selfish arsehole.
Jasper performed a final turn about the public rooms. He was growing weary. And though he preferred to oversee the hell with an iron rule, his wife was awaiting him. He ought to go to bed. Just a few more tasks to busy himself with before he retired.
He retreated into the private quarters, intent upon seeking out his office, thoughts still whirling and heavy. He settled in at his desk to consult some expenses Lily, who was a dab hand at arithmetic and tallied all their accounts, had left for him.
Somehow, in the course of spending a generous portion of his day with his wife and daughters, Jasper had made an astounding realization. A realization he was still unwilling to admit aloud, but one he could own to himself only now, when he sat alone in his office, nothing and no one to distract him. Nothing but the quiet of his own thoughts.
Once, his life had been nothing but The Sinner’s Palace and his determination to make his family’s gaming hell the best known, the most exclusive, and the most lucrative. Now, his life contained so much more. He had a family of his own. A wife who was gentle and giving and caring and beautiful, who had devoted herself to his children with the same single-minded persistence he had shown The Sinner’s Palace. Twin daughters who were so damn much like him he knew he ought to fret over their futures. Heaven help their husbands one day.
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