He had never imagined this—could never have imagined this with Harry. As he lowered his head to kiss her, he cried out into her mouth. She may have been innocent, but she did not touch him like a woman who had never known a man before.
After just two minutes, he pulled away.
“Did I do it wrong?” she whispered in desperation, in panic.
Monty smiled as his voice shook. “No—Harry, that was…too good. I need to get you warmed up first, and it’s not fair if I get all the attention. Lie still.”
They had given orders to each other as children, and now as adults, exploring the pleasure of each other’s bodies, Harry didn’t move.
If Monty had not had such great self-control, he would have taken her right there and then, she was so beautiful, so trusting of him, so vulnerable, so fierce.
But she needed to know pleasure, to know he could give it to her. He wanted to see the whites of her eyes as she exploded around him, needed to know he was the one who made her cry out.
Lying beside her, Monty reached out one hand to those heavenly breasts. He wanted to watch this, wanted to see her body shudder and jerk as he brought her closer and closer to ecstasy, but those lips were too damn tempting, and as his other hand moved toward her hips, he crushed his lips against hers and lost himself in her pleasure.
“Monty!”
Harry cried out as his finger gently brushed over her clit, and Monty silenced her with a deeper kiss. She was so tight, so wet, so ready for him. He could bring her to pleasure twice, perhaps three times before he took his fill of her.
Well, why not?
Allowing his fingers to work in tandem, Monty built a slow but steady rhythm with her breasts and secret place, all the while paying attention to her kisses, which turned into moans as he gently increased the rhythm.
“Monty,” she said breathlessly, her bright eyes staring as though he was the only safety in a storm. “I feel—I feel—”
“Let it happen,” he said quietly before kissing her deeply.
As his tongue ravaged her mouth, his fingers jerked into rapid motion, and she was pushed over the edge, clutching at him as her body rocked around the pleasure she had never known before.
Monty almost came himself; it was so beautiful. Sharing this with her—it was something pure, something he had never felt before.
Harry’s eyelashes were fluttering, and her breathing was shallow.
“Monty,” she breathed.
He had managed to stay away from her this long, but hearing his name on her lips was enough to break him.
“Harry.”
Before they knew what was happening, Monty had moved and nestled himself between her legs, gently entering her while the memory of pleasure was still in her body.
Her eyes widened as he groaned with pleasure, but she brought her arms around him, lifting her head for another kiss.
“Monty, I—I need to tell you—”
“Don’t talk,” said Monty, “just feel.”
As his movements into her became faster, and Harry’s moans of desire and delight were muttered into his ear, Monty eventually lost control and pounded into her, hearing her come to ecstasy as he emptied himself into her, and collapsed into her arms, where he knew he belonged.
Chapter Ten
Harry had never noticed the ceiling had a slight crack halfway across. She had never noticed it, of course, because it was Monty’s ceiling. Her eyelashes fluttered, her eyes barely able to stay open. Was this a dream? Had she thought so desperately about Monty after that almost-kiss moment in Hyde Park earlier today, that she had tricked her mind into thinking this was real?
Had she drifted off to sleep in her own bed, and her imagination had gifted her this experience to fulfill her wildest dreams?
The ridiculous idea she could crawl into Monty’s bedchamber and make love to him had been whirling around her mind for over a week. Could her sleeping mind have tricked her into thinking she had done it, when she was safely tucked up like a good young lady should be, in bed at home?
No. Her body aching with pleasure was enough evidence for her to believe this incredible moment was real.
Monty shifted, and she tightened her arms around him. This was definitely real. No matter how desperately she wanted him, there was absolutely no way she would have been able to imagine such things. The way his skin felt on hers. The scratch of his stubble on her chest. The things he could do with his tongue…
Harry smiled into the darkness. She had done it. No matter her fears, she had done it. She had seduced Montague Cavendish, the Duke of Devonshire, one of the most eligible men in town.
Her best friend.
Yawning, Monty pulled himself out of her arms, but he did not go far, turning to lie on his back next to her in the bed. She shot a quick glance at him and saw with relief he was smiling.
And only then did the realization of her nakedness strike her.
She was lying here, utterly exposed. It had been easy not to think when he had been giving her such pleasure—impossible to think.
Now Harry could not stop thinking. Her hands moved to pull the sheet ups to cover herself.
Monty sighed heavily, reaching down to remove the preservative, which he threw into the wastepaper bin beside his bed.
That sigh. It made Harry’s heart sink faster than a leak in a rowing boat.
She had known she would not be an adequate partner for Monty. When Monty had returned from the Grand Tour, he had been suddenly more adult-like, more knowledgeable. More aware of the world.
Monty sighed again as he lit a match and a small candle. The best thing she could do was to leave—say nothing and escape back to her own bed and safety.
“Well,” said Monty heavily, leaning over and kissing her shoulder. “That was incredible.”
Harry’s rapidly sinking heart paused as she glanced at him with a quizzical frown on her face.
He chuckled. “You do not believe me?”
“I…” Harry swallowed. How could she talk normally to him—after what they had shared? She had been so certain it would not change things, or at least only change them for the better—but this casual conversation? “I am finding it hard to believe anything about this, in all honesty.”
Monty grinned. “This was certainly not something I could have predicted.”
They were lying side by side in the bed. Did she dare move closer? Or did he want to keep his distance, prevent any confusion between them?
Harry swallowed. There were so many things she wanted to say, wanted to ask, but they all needed to be overcome by the words she knew she must say. Even if she did not want to say them. Even if all she wanted to do was kiss him again.
Mrs. Bryant’s words rang in her ears.
None who were present could possibly deny the sparks flying between the two friends who are unlikely to remain friends for much longer…
“Monty,” she said softly, and her stomach lurched as he smiled. “Monty, we…we have to promise each other we will not tell anyone else about this?”
Monty raised an eyebrow. “Was there anyone you had in mind you were going to tell?”
“No, this is a secret I want to keep to myself,” Harry admitted. The idea of sharing this with anyone—anyone who was not Monty, anyway—was absurd.
He nodded and stretched out his arms to place them behind his head. “I did not have any intention of telling a soul either. There are some things, Harry, that you do not share with the world. I mean, who would believe us?”
Harry nudged him, hardly able to believe her daring. “Plenty would! Especially after that dratted article. ’Tis hard for many people in our social circles, and beyond in society, to realize…a gentleman and a lady can be friends. Best friends.”
He laughed. “I think, at this point, friends is not the word for us.”
He did not elaborate. Something fluttered painfully in her heart, like a bird struggling against a cage.
Could this be it—is this when Monty finally r
ealized he is…in love with her?
She tried to ignore the thought, but it caught hold of her imagination and simply would not let go. After so many years of waiting, of longing, of wanting to reach out and touch him, and be touched by him, had her daring brought her what she so desperately longed for?
Would he propose? Now they had shared what a husband and wife shared, would he realize she was all he wanted?
Would the darkest hopes of her heart finally be answered?
Monty was still looking at the ceiling, and he chuckled again under his breath. “I have no idea what we are to each other. Something different than best friends, sure enough.”
Trying not to make a sound, Harry shifted so she could get a clearer look at Monty’s face. Was he happy or sad at the way their relationship had changed?
His jaw tightened. “God, I am getting hard again just thinking about you, Harry, and that is no way to treat your best friend.”
Her eyes widened, and by the light of the solitary candle, she glanced down. Her cheeks heated. He was absolutely right, and it was one of the most flattering things he had ever done for her.
She did have quite an effect on him.
“If you are up for a second round of the ring later,” she said as lightheartedly as she could manage, “I…I would not be opposed to it.”
Monty smiled, and for the first time since they had made love, looked concerned.
He turned onto his side and looked at her seriously. “Then…then you experienced pleasure, Harry? Because you do not have to say you enjoyed it for my sake. There is nothing more important to me than your pleasure.”
Harry’s whole body shivered with remembered ecstasy, and she tried not to think about how ridiculously overwhelming it had been. Tried not to think about his lips on her body, his tongue, the way his manhood reached a part of her she had not even known existed.
Tried not to think about how her body had actually exploded with pleasure.
“I am going to give you such pleasure, you will never want another man.”
“It was good,” she said quietly, unable to hold his gaze. “I did experience pleasure. And—and you did?”
She raised her eyes quickly and saw Monty was grinning devilishly.
“Far better than I thought it was going to be,” he said honestly. “And I had high hopes, you understand, as soon as you dropped that robe, you absolute minx. I had no idea you had it in you!”
Harry laughed under her breath. “Well, in that case, I have no qualms about saying you are the best I have ever had.”
She had meant it as a joke, but as Monty’s gray eyes widened, she saw he had misunderstood.
“How—how many others have…” he began in a rather strangled voice.
“Monty! You have little right to be concerned with whether I was a virgin or not—not after what you have done to me!”
A smile crept over his face as he relaxed. “I suppose not, though, in truth, I am still struggling to believe you are here at all. I mean, here in my bed. Utterly naked.”
His hand reached out carefully and pinched the edge of the sheet. His gray eyes remained focused on hers, and Harry found she could not look away from them as her breathing became more jagged.
“I do not know why you hide,” Monty breathed. “Not when you are so beautiful.”
Without looking away, he gently pulled the sheet away, revealing first her breasts, then her stomach, and then her most secret place along with her hips and thighs.
The feeling of the sheet being gradually pulled away was nothing to the heat she experienced as Monty’s gaze left her eyes and traveled slowly down her body.
“So beautiful,” he murmured.
Harry’s eyelashes fluttered again. His gaze was so heavy on her skin, she could feel it, as though his fingers were lightly moving across her, touching her, worshipping her.
Her mouth was open, and out of it poured the words she had promised herself she would not admit.
“I had wanted this for a while,” she breathed. “Wanted you.”
It was scandalous to admit such things, and yet it did not feel scandalous. How could it be wrong to tell the man you loved you wanted him? Why was it wrong to share her feelings?
“Is it scandalous,” she said, forcing down the impulse to reach out and touch him, “to say such a thing?”
Monty had been watching her carefully, and he cupped her face with his hand.
She almost cried out with joy that he was touching her again, even though it was the most innocent of gestures.
“Not as scandalous as my confession that I cannot understand why I did not see it before—not see you before.” Monty smiled and moved his hand from her face to her neck, stroking it with his fingers. “You are beautiful, Harry. I had always seen the inner beauty, but it has taken me a surprisingly long time to notice the outer beauty.”
Her whole body was on fire, and she fought the impulse to arch her back, or to move his hand to her breasts, where she felt swollen for love of him.
She would die for him, do anything, go anywhere.
All she wanted was to start every day like this. With him. With Monty.
“Christ, Harry,” Monty growled, and in a swift movement, he covered her body, kissing her hard on the lips.
Harry’s arms came around him, pulling him closer, squirming delightfully at the sensation of being utterly possessed by him.
Monty pulled away. “Now, what were you saying about round two?”
Chapter Eleven
It took a few minutes after waking for Monty to realize something was wrong. Very wrong. Exactly what was difficult to identify.
Opening his eyes, he tried to put his finger on what felt uncomfortable and out of place. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, and a soft breeze wafted through the open window.
A quick glance at the side table showed a candle stub totally spent and a box of matches. Nothing strange there, although he had expected a book. Another minute of searching revealed it had fallen to the floor.
Solving that mystery did not remove the knot of discomfort in Monty’s stomach. It was a most unsettling feeling, waking in the knowledge not everything was as it should be.
It was strange, though. No matter how much he looked around his bedchamber, now he was propped against his pillows, he could see nothing out of place.
To be sure, he was not wearing his nightgown, but that often happened on hot nights. One of the most freeing things was to sleep naked, after all, and it was a habit he had found hard to get out of when he returned from the Grand Tour. Parts of Egypt had been absolutely stifling.
His sheets were tangled, but that was not entirely unusual. He moved about a lot when he slept. The lurch in his stomach told him he was getting closer.
There was something wrong. Something missing.
“God, no—Harry, that was…too good. I need to get you warmed up first, and it’s not fair if I get all the attention. Lie still.”
It all came rushing back: the memories of Harry stepping into his bedchamber, revealing that delectable body—inviting him to touch her, to ravish her.
It had taken three preservatives before they had finally collapsed onto the bed—this bed, his bed—with exhaustion, wrapped in each other’s arms.
Monty smiled. It all came crashing back, the memories swirling around his mind, so fresh and vibrant and full of pleasure.
Harry. God knew he had never considered her like that before. She had always been Harry. Just as likely to be caught eating mud pies as racing off with one of her father’s horses.
If he was honest, he had been barely aware of her femininity at all until a few days ago.
He wanted to be the only one who would ever touch her like that. Touch her at all. Have her in his arms, as though she would never have to leave them, know they could be together all the—
Monty sat up abruptly and shook his head as though he had been drowning in his thoughts.
What was he thinking? He had never
considered a woman as a necessary thing, always been perfectly happy with who he was and how his life was.
But all that had changed.
Leaning over the side of the bed, he saw with relief his memory had not been false; they had used precautions. They had been careful, and if God was good to them, there would be no…no lasting consequence of last night.
The image of Harry, round with a child, his child, burst into his mind from a place he had not even known existed. It physically rocked him, causing him to lean back into the pillows and clutch at the sheets as though an earthquake had hit London.
“God’s teeth,” he muttered into the silence. “I am for it now.”
Because no matter what he told himself, no matter what he said to those around him, there had been a small part of him excited about getting married within six months. A wife, a partner. Someone to share life with.
To make love to.
Now that idea was tainted somehow. That unknown and faceless bride would break the connection he had with Harry—a connection he barely understood, and only really valued now that he considered losing it.
Loosening his grip on the sheets, Monty reached out to the place where Harry had fallen asleep beside him.
Where was she now? Why had she left so early, without waking him, without saying a word to him?
Bitter disappointment seared through his heart. She had disappeared in the night as though she had never been here.
Another memory from the night slipped into his mind: the vision of her straddling him, exploring his body as she explored her own, and she rode him like the horsewoman she was.
He had loved every second of it.
As though the memory of Harry had somehow given him energy—for he had used every bit of what he had last night—Monty pulled himself out of bed and stood.
It did not matter Harry had left secretly. She lived next door, and there was much to discuss. How he would say what he felt, he was not sure. He was barely able to absorb so many feelings into his body at once, let alone untangle the confusion of meanings.
Always the Best Friend (Never the Bride Book 4) Page 9
