“Or what?” He stubbornly held her gaze. “You’re mine to protect and to love. Mine. Not Nasser’s. Mine. And don’t you ever bloody forget it. Now get into this bed before I put you in it.”
“Stop trying to control me and get the fuck out!” she boomed in a thundering voice that exploded from the depths of everything that had ever been contained within her prim façade.
Derek was too astounded to do anything more than breathe. Aside from the fact he never thought her capable of raising her voice at all, he most certainly didn’t think she even knew words like ‘fuck’ given she didn’t even know what ‘fuck’ meant until a few days ago.
It was the first time that cool façade had ever given him so much…intensity.
If only she could apply it to him and his bed, they’d actually get somewhere. Staring her down, he hit the pillow again. Only harder. “If you ‘fuck’ me,” he drawled, mimicking her earlier choice of words, “maybe I’ll get the fuck out.”
She hitched up her skirts to her knees, climbed onto the bed, picked up a pillow, and thwacked him with it. Hard. Hard. Hard. Hard.
He rumbled out a laugh and snapped a hand up against the pillow bouncing against his head. “Clementine— What— It’s a pillow. If you plan on hurting me, I suggest you use a vase or something.”
She thwacked him again and glared. “You think it’s funny that you’re riling me?! You think it’s funny that you’re—”
He rumbled out another laugh as the pillow kept bouncing off his head. “If your father could see this, he’d probably give me another three million.”
She gasped, whipped aside the pillow, sending it across the room and fell back, a choked breath escaping her. She cradled her hands against her chest as if it hurt and let out a deep, aching sob that penetrated Derek’s chest.
Jesus. Taking hold of her shoulders, he gently pushed her down onto her side of the bed and used his body to pin her in place against the mattress, both their breaths coming at each other hard.
He stared down at her as her unraveled black hair lay in waves across her shoulders and the pillow. He smoothed her face, brushing away tears. “Darling. Don’t…what— I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to— Please don’t cry.”
Her chest rose and fell heavily beneath him, her face, throat, and cleavage flushed. She swiped away her tears with trembling hands.
It was like he’d let a Siberian tiger out of its iron cage when he’d thought he’d been dealing with a mouse all along. “Don’t cry,” he murmured, still hanging over her and smoothing her unbound hair away from the sides of her face. “I’m here.”
Her lips quivered as she intently searched his face, her chest still heavily rising and falling. “I knew it. I…I knew it.”
He pinned her against the bed with the mass of his body, trying to understand. “What? What do you know?”
Those full lips parted as her entire face flushed to a deeper red. “Our marriage is already turning into a mess.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “This is supposed to be a happy night. Not…not this.”
His throat tightened. He had made her cry. On their wedding night. Not knowing what he should do, he did the first thing that came to mind. Something his father always did with his mother whenever she was upset or crying. “My dearest dearest,” he sang softly to her in a husky, soothing tone, “who is so civil in her carriage, this song is sent to you to be happy in your marriage. Try before you cry, be merry and consenting, and above all thank the Lord that your husband is repenting.”
Her expression stilled. “That was…beautiful.”
He swallowed. He’d never sung for anyone before. “If it will keep you from crying, I’ll…I’ll sing all night.”
A breath escaped her. To his surprise, her hands jumped to his face and yanked him down toward her lips hard. Her mouth fully molded against his as she forcefully nudged his lips apart and slid her tongue deep inside his mouth, moving and rolling her tongue against his.
He couldn’t breathe knowing she was trying to seduce him.
It was so wrong for him to want it and to love it and to need it in that moment.
But he’d been waiting for her to seduce him since they first met.
He kissed her back, his cock hardening.
Her hands slid into his hair and fiercely gripped its length as if she were fighting a need she couldn’t contain. Her velvet tongue pushed deeper and harder toward the back of his tongue. It moved against his as if she had been tonguing him all her life.
It was like the cool and calm Clementine he knew was no more. He was being introduced to the real thing. A woman with enough bite to remind him of every gingered candy he had ever swallowed.
His hands rigidly slid down her arms toward her full breasts as he worked his probing tongue harder against hers, willing her to feel and taste and want what he also wanted: passion. He feverishly used his tongue to graze her teeth and lips. He angled his head to gain better access to her mouth, pushing his tongue deeper and angled his head again, pressing harder.
He ground the rigid length of his cock, which was still buried in his trousers, against her bundled chemise and thighs, willing her to give him more than just her body, but also her soul. He kissed her harder, tugging down on her corset. His hands pushed out the softness of those breasts from her corset as he kept kissing and kissing her.
Seven years of unbridled fantasies were coming true.
They were more than husband and wife.
They were twisting their passions into each other.
He released her mouth, the moist taste of her lingering on his lips and opened his eyes. He slid down her body so his mouth could explore her exposed breasts whose nipples had hardened to rough peaks. “Clementine,” he whispered. “When are you going to realize that you need me as much as I need you?” He sucked on her nipple hard, taking that peak in deep against his tongue and felt as if his body and his cock were going to burst.
She gasped and arched against him, her hands gripping his bare shoulders.
Knowing she was letting him do whatever he wanted with her body, he flicked his tongue against her other breast, his hands dragging and dragging across the softness of whatever skin of hers he could touch. Her neck, her shoulders, her arms, her hands. All his. Every inch of her. He shoved up her chemise exposing her lower half.
He lifted his hips to make room between them, still straddling her, and dragged her hands down toward the flap of his trousers, forcing her slim fingers to unbutton it.
Their chests heaved uncontrollably against each other as she freed him.
Heatedly holding her gaze, he molded her soft hands against the hard corded length of his cock and forced her palms and fingers to trail down and up. Slow at first. Then more and more determined. Muscle straining sensations rippled through his entire body as he let the rhythm of their breaths control the rhythm of his physical pleasure. He used her hands to jerk himself off faster, groaning in need.
Every rational thought from his head ceased to exist except for one: that she was his.
More and more overpowering sensations spiked through the length of his cock and up his chest, tightening his core until every muscle in his body tensed. He wanted to spurt all over her so that she understood that every inch of her belonged to him and only him. He dragged himself higher up her body and raised himself above her so his cock was positioned close to her fully exposed breasts.
Using her hands to stroke himself harder and faster, he tightened his jaw and pushed and rolled his hips against those hands, feeling his core going beyond what he could bear. “Watch me,” he raggedly urged. “I did this to myself for years waiting for you. Years.”
She stared up at him through parted lips reddened from his kisses. Her half-naked body and those large breasts shook with each jarring movement he forced her to make, taunting him into wanting to physically shatter.
Pushing back her hands, he shoved open her legs and positioning himself at her wet entrance thrust into her hard.
&nbs
p; They both gasped.
He gripped her hair, winding silken strands around his fists and pounded and pounded into her hot tightness, seething out breath after breath as he pushed his cock closer to his own climax. Nothing in that moment mattered but releasing every emotion she had ever made him feel. No more chasing the untouchable. This was his and it was staying his.
Knowing he was about spill, he pulled out and kneeled over her.
He released a quaking breath that bucked his hips as he pumped himself with his own hand. He yelled as his cock spurted thick seed all over her breasts.
She startled.
He yelled out again, the last of his senses shuddering and dragged in uneven breaths, trying to regain control of his body and his mind. His chest heaved as he staggered and stared down at her and his now sated cock. They both continued to breathe hard.
He lowered himself back onto her half-naked body. Using the linens of the bed, he wiped his seed from the curve of her breasts.
She didn’t move. She only silently eyed him as if waiting for the clean up to end.
He paused, realizing he’d only pleasured himself. He was such an idiot. He shifted against her and dragged his hand toward her gown. “Come here, love. Let me—”
“No.” Her voice rose an octave. “I’m done. I’m sorry.”
He gently pushed up her gown. “No, we’re not done. Let me—”
Her hands came down hard against his own, hitting his wrists. “No. What I made us do was wrong. I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have—”
“Clementine, it wasn’t wrong. Getting seduced by you was rather nice for a change. Hell, I’d love to see more of it. I just—”
“Cover me. Please!”
He swallowed, nudged up her corset back over her breasts and pulled her chemise down. Holding her gaze, he kissed her exposed shoulder. Twice. “For God’s sake, you can’t keep doing this. Half the time, I don’t even know what you want from me. One moment you’re using words I didn’t think you knew and telling me to leave, and the next you’re seducing me. You’re acting crazy.”
A shaky breath escaped her. “Maybe I am crazy.”
He released her and rolled to his side of the bed, flopping himself back onto the pillow. He raked back his hair from his face and squeezed his eyes shut, letting his hands drop to his sides. Fuck. He’d said the wrong thing. He dragged in a ragged breath, trying to steady his mind and his body. “You’re not crazy,” he confided in an uneven tone. He puffed out a breath and re-opened his eyes, buttoning the flap on his trousers. “Clementine. I’m worried about you. You can’t—”
“Understand that I can’t even breathe or think around you,” she rasped. “You keep pushing and pushing for me to be physical with you when I’m trying to create something more meaningful between us. And…I…I’m done for tonight. I need to be alone. Please.”
It was like no matter what he did, she refused to acknowledge that he was trying. How was he supposed to— He sat up and pushed off the bed, setting both feet onto the floor. From the moment they’d met, she’d been pushing him away. And there was only so much of it he could swallow. “I’ll let you sleep because it looks like we’re both done here.” He walked across the room in four long strides. Opening the door, he stepped out and shut the door.
A shaky breath escaped him as he quietly set himself against the nearest wall in disbelief. A part of him waited for her to come out and tell him everything and that she didn’t mean to throw him out. He waited.
He could hear her winding and winding and winding her music box in between sobs before padding her way back into bed. The golden candlelight that faintly fingered its way from beneath the door faded to black. The tinkering of music played on as she sobbed. The door remained closed.
He wanted to go in but knew she would only push him back out.
For the first time in his life, despite always having a firm sense of direction of knowing exactly what he needed to do, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. It was obvious she needed him but he was confused as to what she needed from him. Even worse, something muttered to him that this Nasser knew far more about her than he did.
Shoving himself away from the wall, he stalked down the corridor. They were married and she still wasn’t his. They were married and she still— Unable to hold in the anger, he veered toward a wall and punched it, jarring his knuckles and arm to the bone. For the first time since laying eyes on her he wondered if maybe, just maybe, he shouldn’t have married her.
The following morning
When deep fears became deep reality, it made a woman realize she had a problem that needed to be addressed. It was terrifying to know she was part of the problem. She had spoken to Derek and acted toward him as she had often heard and seen her own mother acting to her father. In riled passionate tones laced with harsh words and objects smashing hard against floors and walls at night, only to all end with a door slamming shut. A door she would linger outside of as a child in fear of the worst to come as muted, strangled moans and pants and groans drifted through the wood paneling. The governess would grab her and hurry her back to her room, coldly scolding her for not giving her parents their privacy.
She had sworn to never have their relationship.
She had always wanted more for herself.
She had always wanted honey on the moon.
Tears burned her eyes. She had never yelled at anyone before or raised her hand to anyone before. It wasn’t in her nature to do so. Not after having grown up with a mother whose first reaction was to roar.
When she, Clementine, had thrown herself at Derek like an animal in the hopes of drowning out all the noise he was putting into her head, it made her realize she was only making it worse. Because no one knew more than she did that if passion wasn’t properly controlled or guided, it destroyed everything.
She refused to re-live her childhood in adulthood. She refused.
So what path could she take now that she was married?
Only one. Ensuring that her marriage didn’t fall apart.
Clementine carefully added a spoonful of sugar to her tea, feeling the tips of her fingers trembling in an effort to keep sugar from spilling outside the cup. The sound of her silver spoon clinking against the gold-rimmed porcelain sounded almost like a church gong at the breakfast table where she sat across from Derek. She set aside her spoon. She glanced toward him knowing he had waved away every last footman out of the room.
She expected him to say something.
He didn’t. He still silently held the newspaper high enough to cover his face.
It was the only view she had of him in the last five minutes since he sat down at the table with her to have breakfast. He hadn’t bothered with his plate of food or his coffee. Nor had he rustled with the newspaper to turn a new page. It was obvious he’d been staring at the same two pages for the past five minutes.
She knew he was waiting for her to start the conversation. And given she hardly slept, getting up on the half-hour to wind her music box throughout the night to ease her distress, she was done with choking on misery.
She lifted her teacup to her trembling lips, taking a calming warm sip and set it back down onto the saucer. It tipped and spilled, soaking the tablecloth. She winced and used her napkin to address the mess. She eyed Derek.
He continued to stubbornly hold up his newspaper.
Setting her empty cup back onto the saucer, she confided, “I’m sorry about last night. I was…I was overwhelmed.”
His newspaper flopped down. “Is that what you call it?”
An exasperated breath escaped her. “You’re very forceful and passionate in nature, Derek. It leaves very little room for us to get to know each other outside of your passions.”
“Is that how you see it?” Without meeting her gaze, he folded the newspaper and set it aside onto the table beside his plate. His gruff features appeared all the more severe given he was not looking at her. He took up his fork, his gaze still lowered and turned it ba
ck and forth against his fingers. “So are you saying Nasser knows more about you than I do?”
Poor Derek. It was like he didn’t understand what men and women needed to share. “Yes. He knows a lot about me. In fact, he and I talk about everything.” Knowing he needed an explanation she wouldn’t be able to offer him without betraying Nasser’s secret, she quickly added, “I cannot speak for Nasser, given I am sworn to protect his name, but I will give you the name of a man who will be able to at least answer some of your questions. Go to him first and set aside your doubts. His name is Brayton.”
His brown eyes snapped to her face. “Brayton? As in…Lord Brayton?” he echoed. “Doesn’t he live with my brother?”
She nodded. “Yes. He was tasked to investigate your family for the Persian crown.”
His eyes widened, reflecting the horror of knowing that a British aristocrat was working with the Persians and that it had treason slapped all over it. “Does my brother know he has been living with a spy?” he demanded.
“You needn’t worry about Andrew’s safety, Derek. The Persians have no reason to attack England. Not when they are dealing with Russia. And Nasser, although he revels in playing a fierce leader for his father, is far too kind in nature to ever bring harm to anyone.”
Derek fisted the fork he was holding until his large knuckles went white.
Everything grew quiet. So quiet, she could hear herself breathing.
“You speak so highly of him.” His cool tone indicated that he was struggling to keep his voice respectful. “Certainly more highly than me.”
A breath escaped her. “No, Derek. That isn’t true. For heaven’s sake, he and I—”
“Forget it. I’m not looking to argue. I’m done with that.” He tossed the fork onto the table and stood, his chair scraping the hardwood floor. “We aren’t talking about him ever again. Because it’s obvious he means more to you than I do.”
Everything was falling apart. Just as she knew it would. She knew if she stayed and loved him, he would set fire to everything with his damnable passions. The sort of passions she had vowed to avoid all her life after choking on it since childhood.
Night of Pleasure Page 19
