The Stranger I Married

by Sylvia Day

  “Selfish bastard.”

  Tossing his leg over her hips, he rolled and came over her, straddling her. His beautiful mouth was hard, his face flushed and eyes glazed. “A man is not required to pleasure his mistress.”

  “So you accept the arrangement,” she bit out, her teeth clenched together. She was in control, regardless of how he might wish it otherwise.

  As his hands began to rub his seed into her skin, his smile was cold and tight. “If you have a wish to make a devil’s bargain, so be it.” He caught her nipples between damp fingertips and rolled them.

  Isabel slapped at him. “Enough!”

  “I should allow you to leave, all angry and hot and wet. Maybe then you would feel a little of what I do.”

  “Spare me,” she scoffed. “You had your pleasure.”

  He hummed a soft chastising sound. “Do you truly believe I could be sated while you are not?”

  “Do I misunderstand the semen on my stomach?”

  Gray leaned back to give her an unhindered view of the hard length of his cock. The sight of it was nearly too much for her overheated body. Even his arrogant smile did nothing to dampen her desire. He was built for a woman’s pleasure, and he damn well knew it.

  “I believe we have already established your stamina, Grayson.”

  His gaze narrowed, which aroused her suspicions. She could see his mind at work. Considering something devious, no doubt. “Any man kneeling over your creamy cunt would be ready to rut in it.”

  “How poetic,” she murmured dryly. “Be still my heart.”

  “I save my poetry for my wife.” He slid downward, his smile wicked enough to make her tense in apprehension. “If it were she in my bed, I would not leave her so distressed.”

  “I am not distressed.”

  He licked the edge of skin that prefaced the damp curls of her sex. She gasped.

  “Of course not,” he said, grinning. “Mistresses do not expect orgasms.”

  “I always have.”

  Ignoring her, he dipped his head and swiped his tongue through the lips of her sex. Her hips arched involuntarily. “I would tell my wife how I love the taste of her and the feel of her petal soft skin. How the scent of our combined lust arouses me further, and keeps me hard despite the many times I come on her.”

  She watched his strong hands with their neatly trimmed nails and unfashionable calluses press her legs open wider. The sight of his dark skin against her paler flesh was erotic, as was the lock of dark hair that fell over his brow and tickled her inner thighs.

  “I would tell her how much I love the color of her hair here, the rich chocolate with glints of fire. It is like a beacon that lures me to her, promising untold delights and hours of pleasure.” Gray pressed a kiss against her clitoris, and when she keened softly, he suckled, stroking his tongue leisurely back and forth across it.

  Releasing the counterpane she held so tightly, she reached for him, her fingertips sliding through the thick silk of his hair to caress the sweat-dampened roots. He made that noise she adored, a cross between an arrogant grunt and a groan of encouragement, and then he rewarded her with faster licks.

  Draping her legs over his shoulders, she tugged him closer, lifting her hips to swivel against his expert mouth. Any moment she expected him to stop, to tease her cruelly by leaving her wanting. Desperate to come, she begged, “Please…Gray…”

  He mumbled reassurance, his large hands gentling her as he brought her to orgasm with the gentle fucking of his tongue. She froze, every muscle and sinew locked with the pleasure that unfurled slowly and increased in intensity until she shivered uncontrollably.

  “I love that,” he murmured, shrugging carefully out from under her and crawling up the length of her body. “Almost as much as I love this.” He surged into her spasming depths with a growl.

  “Oh my God!” She could not open her eyes, even to look at him, something she enjoyed so much she often stared. She was drunk on him—the smell of him, the feel of him.

  The sight of him would ruin her.

  “Yes,” he hissed, sinking deep, his cock as hard as stone and hot enough to melt her. Curling his arms beneath her shoulders, Gray embraced her from head to toe. His mouth to her ear he whispered, “I would tell my wife how she feels to me, so hot and drenched, like dipping my cock into warm honey.”

  She felt the tight roping of his abdomen flex against her belly as he withdrew in a slow, torturous glide and then pumped back inside.

  “I would love her body the way a husband should, with care for her comfort and an eye toward her pleasure.”

  Her hands caressed the curve of his spine, cupping his steely buttocks. She moaned as they clenched on a perfect stroke. “Keep doing that,” she whispered, her head falling to the side.

  “This?” He withdrew, and then, circling his hips, screwed back into her.

  “Mmmm…A little harder.”

  The next pump of his hips struck deep. Delicious.

  “You are a demanding mistress.” As his mouth followed the curve of her cheekbone, he chuckled.

  “I know what I want.”

  “Yes.” His hand stroked her side, cupped her hip, and angled her perfectly for his measured thrusts. “Me.”

  “Gray.” Her arms tightened, her body awash in lustful longing.

  “Say my name,” he urged hoarsely, his cock shafting her cunt in long, rhythmic plunges.

  Isabel forced her heavy eyelids to open, and met his gaze. The request was not frivolous. His handsome features were open, boyish, stripped of their usual arrogant assurance. A mistress would not use his name. Neither would most wives. The intimacy was telling. And with his body riding hers with unfailing skill, devastating.

  “Say it.” Now it was a command.

  “Gerard,” she cried, as he made her come in a white hot flare of heat.

  And he held her, and made love to her, and crooned praise to her.

  Just as a husband would.

  Chapter 11

  “What have I done?”

  Although he heard Pel’s whisper, Gerard remained still with his eyes closed, feigning sleep. Her head rested on his bicep and the soft curve of her ass pressed against his hip. The air around them was redolent of sex and exotic flowers, and he felt like he was in heaven.

  But obviously, his wife did not.

  She heaved a forlorn sigh, and pressed her lips to his skin. The urge to roll and embrace her tightly was nearly overwhelming, but he resisted it. Somehow, he needed to puzzle her out. There was a key to her, if only he could find it.

  To bargain with him for his fidelity…That was what she had done. He was flattered and touched, but decidedly curious as to her motives. Why not simply ask him to be true to her? Why go to such lengths—threatening to leave him—to accomplish her aim?

  Constancy toward one woman was unknown to him. His needs were sometimes violent as they had been today, and while some women served such a purpose, others, such as his wife, were made for lovemaking. Opening his eyes was not required to know that Isabel’s body was bruised by his ardor. If he subjected her to such treatment often she would grow to fear him, and that was something he could not bear.

  But for now, she was his and promised to his bed. That would bide him some time to do a bit of research. He needed to learn more about her, so he could understand her. With understanding would come the ability to keep her happy. Or so he hoped.

  Gerard waited until Pel was asleep before leaving the bed. Despite how he wished to linger, it was time to find Spencer and attempt to explain. Perhaps Spencer would understand, perhaps he would not, but Gerard could not allow the situation between them to remain as it was for a moment longer.

  He blew out his breath. A temper was something he was still becoming accustomed to. Prior to four years ago, he had never felt deeply enough about anything to become angry over it.

  Walking past the full-length mirror, Gerard paused, having caught a glimpse of himself as he passed by. He turned, and stared at his ref
lection, noting the bite mark on his chest. Swiveling at the hips, he perused his back and the scratches that laced either side of his spine. Just above his buttocks, two round shadows hinted at bruises to come, marks left by his wife’s heels as she spurred him on.

  “I’ll be damned,” he breathed, his eyes wide. He looked nigh as bad as Pel. No passive lover was she. He was well met.

  Something wondrous tingled in his chest, and then burst forth as a low chuckle.

  “You are an odd creature,” came the sleep-husky voice behind him. “Laughing is not the first thing I think of doing when I see you naked.”

  Heat rushed over his skin. He moved back toward the bed, and as he did so, he could not help but notice the marks of his teeth on her neck. His blood heated and rushed at the sight. He was a primitive beast, but at least he knew it. “What is the first thing, then?”

  Pel pushed herself up to a seated position. Disheveled and flushed, she looked ravished and it was an air of satiation that would linger around her throughout the evening, an unspoken claim.

  “I think your ass is divine, and I wish to bite it.”

  “Bite it?” He blinked. “My ass?”

  “Yes.” She tucked the sheet beneath her arms, her face devoid of the humor that would have revealed she was teasing.

  “Why on earth would you wish to do such a thing?”

  “Because it looks taut and firm. Like a peach.” Licking her lips, she arched a challenging brow. “I wish to see if it’s as hard when clenched between my teeth.”

  His hands moved without volition to cover his rear. “You’re serious.”

  “Quite.”

  “Quite.” Gerard studied his wife with a narrowed glance. It never occurred to him that Isabel might also have some…quirks in the bedroom. Since she had indulged his anomalous cravings, he supposed it was only fair that he indulge hers, even if his flesh did tighten warily at the thought.

  Her amber eyes darkened and heated, a sensual invitation to dally, and he could not refuse. Not when her capitulation was so fresh. He had wanted this, wanted her willing, and if that meant allowing her to bite his ass, he would bear it. It would only take a moment. Then he would dress and speak to Spencer.

  “Odd, this,” he muttered, lying facedown beside her.

  “I did not suggest this very moment,” she said dryly. “Or even that I wished to make the thought a reality. I simply answered your question.”

  He heaved out a relieved breath. “Thank God.” But when he moved to leave the bed, she dropped the sheet and bared her breasts. Groaning, he asked, “How in hell is a man expected to go about his business when you tempt him so?”

  “He isn’t.” Wiggling her courtesan’s body out from under his sheets, she stunned him with her beauty so that he lost the sense to move as she crawled over him. “Or are you comfortable only when you are the biter?”

  Isabel straddled his back in reverse—her feet by his hands, her hips at his shoulders, her breasts at the small of his back. The lush feel of her curves and the seductive heat of her sleep-warmed body made him hard again.

  And he had thought himself spent for a while.

  Encircling her ankles with an apprehensive grip, Gerard waited. Then he felt her hands, so tiny and soft, stroking along the curve of his buttocks before squeezing gently. That he could not see her actions only increased the surprising eroticism of the act. Ridiculous though it was, the thought of her admiring another man in such a manner unnerved him.

  “Have you always had this fascination?”

  “No. You have a singular ass.”

  He waited for more, but she said nothing further. Instead she began to hum a soft appreciative sound, and his cock grew so hard it hurt to be prone. The tips of her fingers kneaded his flesh, rubbing and pressing in a way that made every hair on his body stand at attention. Gooseflesh dotted his skin. Closing his eyes, he buried his face in the bed.

  A soft touch followed the crease where his buttocks met his thighs. Then he felt the heat of her breath gust across his skin. He tensed all over—starting at his rear and then spreading outward. The wait was endless.

  And then she kissed him.

  First one cheek, and then the other. Soft, open-mouthed kisses. He felt her nipples grow stiff against his back, and took some comfort knowing he was not alone in this. Whatever this was.

  Then his wife bit him, ever so gently, and his toes curled.

  His bloody toes curled!

  “Christ, Isabel,” he said hoarsely, his hips moving restlessly, pressing his aching cock into the bed. He knew for a certainty that no other woman could bite his ass and actually arouse him unbearably while doing so. He was positive that if another female were to take Pel’s place he would be laughing now. But this was no laughing matter. This was torture of the most sensual kind.

  Something hot and wet slid across his skin, and he jerked. “Did you lick me?”

  “Shhh,” she murmured. “Relax. I won’t hurt you.”

  “You are killing me!”

  “Should I cease?”

  Gerard grit his teeth and considered. Then said, “Only if you wish to stop. Otherwise, no. However, I feel I should remind you that my body is yours to take whenever you desire.”

  “I desire it now.”

  He grinned at the steel that laced her bedroom voice. “Then by all means.”

  Time passed and he lost track of it, lost in the sultry scent of his wife and the masculine satisfaction derived from being so thoroughly admired. Eventually, she moved away from his rear and moved onto his legs. When she reached his feet, he laughed at her soft ticklish touch. When she reached his shoulders and her hair drifted over his back, he sighed.

  One morning, not too long ago, he had sat on the short stone wall that surrounded one of his terraces and tried to remember what it felt like to smile with true contentment. What a godsend it was to have found that here, in his home. With Pel.

  Then Isabel urged him to roll over, straddled his hips, and took him inside her, slowly. She was burning hot and drenched, and he watched, shaking, as his cock was engulfed inch by throbbing inch between the flushed, glistening lips of her sex.

  “Oh God…” she breathed, her thighs trembling, her eyes heavy-lidded and locked with his. The soft whimper turned into rapid pants. That she enjoyed his cock to the extreme was not only obvious, but more than enough to make his balls crawl into his body.

  “I won’t last,” he warned, his hands tugging her downward impatiently. He’d taken her several times now, but never had she taken him, and she was a mature woman with a comfortable understanding of her own desires. From the moment they had been introduced, he’d admired her poise and confidence. Now he found it both mesmerizing and satisfying to share the control of their bedsport with her. “I am ready to blow.”

  “But you won’t.”

  And he didn’t. Fear for her held him back, because she was his wife—his to please, his to enjoy, his to protect. He would not lose her like he lost Em.

  His. She was his.

  Now he need only convince her of that.

  When Gerard finally found the strength of will to leave his bed, he went directly to Spencer’s rooms, but did not find him there. A cursory search of the house turned up nothing. It was then he discovered his brother had departed soon after their row. To say he was worried would be an understatement. He had no notion of what Spencer had overheard the night before or who had spoken the words that so angered him.

  I will not tolerate the disparagement of our name…I will do what is necessary.

  Growling, Gerard went to his office and penned two quick notes. One waited for Isabel, while the other was dispatched immediately. He had planned to escort his wife to whatever events she had agreed to attend, and he’d looked forward to both her company and the chance to dispel the rumors that plagued them. Now he was forced to scour clubs, brothels, and taverns to be certain Spencer did not land firmly into a puddle of trouble, as their mother claimed was his wont to do. />
  Damn and blast, he thought, as he waited for his horse to be saddled and brought around. An entire afternoon of physical exertion had made him somewhat jellied in the legs and should the need come for fisticuffs, he was certain he would not be at his best. Because of this, he prayed Spencer was not pursuing a fight, but simply drinking or whoring. And of those two choices, Gerard preferred the latter. Sated, perhaps, his brother would be more amenable to listening to reason.

  Vaulting into the saddle, he urged his mount away from the house that was now a home and wondered how many more decisions of his past would hurt those he cared for.

  “What are you doing here, Rhys?” Isabel asked as she entered the parlor. Try as she might, she could not hide the irritated note in her voice. To wake up without Gray was bad enough; to read his curt and vague missive only compounded her disgruntlement.

  I must see to Spencer.

  Yours,

  Grayson

  She knew how men related to one another—they argued, and then made up over ale and women. Well acquainted with her husband’s stamina, she could not put the indulgence past him.

  Her brother rose from his seat on the blue velvet settee and sketched a quick bow. Dashingly dressed in evening black, he was a remarkable sight. “I am at your service, madam,” he intoned in a comical imitation of an upper servant.

  “My service?” She frowned. “Whatever am I supposed to need you for?”

  “Grayson sent for me. He wrote that he was unable to accompany you this evening and suggested I might like to. For if I did, surely I would be too weary to meet him in the rings at Remington’s in the morning. And in his gratitude for my escort, he would excuse me. Indefinitely.”

  Her eyes widened. “He threatened you?”

  “I warned you he would give me a thrashing for taking you away from him yesterday.”

  “Ridiculous,” she muttered.

  “I agree,” he said dryly. “However, fortuituously I had plans to attend the Hammond ball regardless, as Lady Margaret Crenshaw will be there.”