The Rogue Not Taken
Page 105
He repeated the motion.
Good Lord.
“King, don’t stop.”
He didn’t, instead pressing deeper, rocking into her, stretching her gently before he stopped and said her name. Her gaze flew to his. “You’re so tight, love. Is it all right?”
It was strange and unsettling, and somehow wicked and wonderful. She nodded. “Is there more?”
He laughed, catching her lips in a long kiss. “There is.”
“More, please.”
And he gave it to her, rocking deeper and deeper until she was filled beyond anything she’d ever experienced. And he was so close to her. They were together for this one moment, for this one night. She’d never forget this moment. When she took her last breath, it would be this moment she remembered. The moment when King was hers. Forever.
Tears came, unbidden, and he stilled. “No. Christ. No.” He began to pull out of her. “Sophie, love. I’m sorry.”
“No!” she cried, tightening her thighs around him. “No. Don’t stop.”
“I’m hurting you.”
“You’re not.” There was nothing near pain in the way he touched her. Nothing close to it.
“Love, I can see it,” he said. “I can see the tears.”
She shook her head. “You’re not hurting me. It feels rather wonderful.”
He kissed her, holding her still, staring deep into her eyes. “What then?”
This hurts me. This moment. The truth of it.
That this is all I’ll ever have of you.
She couldn’t tell him any of that, of course. So, instead, she told him the only thing that mattered. “I love you.”
He kissed her again, reaching between them, stroking the tender, sensitive spot above the place where they were joined. “I could listen to you say that forever,” he said, running his thumb around and around the straining part of her. “I am going to make you say it tonight, again and again. I am going to make you say it when you come. I am going to watch the words on your lips as you fall apart in my arms, and as I put you back together.”
She would tell him whenever he liked. The words had freed her, and she whispered them over and over like a prayer as he lifted himself over her, rocking against her, long and slow, wreaking havoc on her body and mind. His thumb moved faster and faster in small tight circles, playing over that glorious place, sensation building, making good on all his promises. She was drawn tight as a bow, desperate for release, and she opened her eyes, meeting his, aching for the pleasure only he could give her.
“I love you,” she whispered, and the words rocketed through them both, tipping her over the edge as his movements came deeper, faster, more powerful, making her forget everything but his name, but the feel of him against her, but the way she loved him.
“Look at me, Sophie. I want to see it.”
She did, crying out as the crest came again, and she threw herself into the pleasure, the sound of her name on his lips, as he tumbled into it with her.
It was magnificent.
He rolled away from her, clutching her to him, careful of her bandage, his fingers trailing over her good shoulder. “Sophie . . .” he said, letting her name trail off, curl around them in this warm, dark room.
He was magnificent.
She sighed, curling closer to him, and he kissed the top of her head, the soft caress tempting her nearly as much as the rest of the interlude had.
They were magnificent together.
But they would never be together.
And with that insidious thought, she was returned to reality, to the arms of the man she loved, who would never love her. Who had another plan for his life. A plan that did not include love.
Perhaps she could have lived without love before tonight. Before her confession. Before knowing that she’d never be able to be with him without quite desperately wanting him to love her in return.
But she couldn’t. And so she would leave. Tonight. Escape in the dark, and hang her family and their wild plan to trap the Marquess of Eversley into marriage. She didn’t want him trapped.
The only way she wanted to marry the Marquess of Eversley was in a love match. And that would never happen. So she would find her way away from here and spend her life with the memory of tonight.
With the memory of his pleasure when she told him the truth.
When she confessed her love.
The memory would be enough.
What a lie that was.
She slid out of his arms, to the edge of the bed.
It would be enough, she told herself, ignoring the truth.
It had to be.
Chapter 20
KING CONQUERED!
He was going to marry her.
Indeed, he likely should have told her so before he made love to her, here in his bed. Before he ruined her, quite thoroughly. But there was something tremendous about making love to her, knowing that she was willing to give everything to him, without the promise of a title.
Knowing she didn’t care about the promise of a title.
Knowing she wanted him for him, and not his name, and not his fortune.
Knowing she loved him.
She loved him.
The moment she’d said it, he’d known their fate. He’d known that he would take her here, in this bed, against the cool linen sheets where he’d fought to find sleep and instead found visions of her. He’d known he’d take her virginity, and with it, her future.
He’d known they would marry.
She loved him.
He wanted her to say it again, as though she hadn’t said it a dozen times already. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of hearing her say the words. Of knowing the truth of them. Sophie Talbot loved him.
Good Lord.
“King, don’t stop.”
He didn’t, instead pressing deeper, rocking into her, stretching her gently before he stopped and said her name. Her gaze flew to his. “You’re so tight, love. Is it all right?”
It was strange and unsettling, and somehow wicked and wonderful. She nodded. “Is there more?”
He laughed, catching her lips in a long kiss. “There is.”
“More, please.”
And he gave it to her, rocking deeper and deeper until she was filled beyond anything she’d ever experienced. And he was so close to her. They were together for this one moment, for this one night. She’d never forget this moment. When she took her last breath, it would be this moment she remembered. The moment when King was hers. Forever.
Tears came, unbidden, and he stilled. “No. Christ. No.” He began to pull out of her. “Sophie, love. I’m sorry.”
“No!” she cried, tightening her thighs around him. “No. Don’t stop.”
“I’m hurting you.”
“You’re not.” There was nothing near pain in the way he touched her. Nothing close to it.
“Love, I can see it,” he said. “I can see the tears.”
She shook her head. “You’re not hurting me. It feels rather wonderful.”
He kissed her, holding her still, staring deep into her eyes. “What then?”
This hurts me. This moment. The truth of it.
That this is all I’ll ever have of you.
She couldn’t tell him any of that, of course. So, instead, she told him the only thing that mattered. “I love you.”
He kissed her again, reaching between them, stroking the tender, sensitive spot above the place where they were joined. “I could listen to you say that forever,” he said, running his thumb around and around the straining part of her. “I am going to make you say it tonight, again and again. I am going to make you say it when you come. I am going to watch the words on your lips as you fall apart in my arms, and as I put you back together.”
She would tell him whenever he liked. The words had freed her, and she whispered them over and over like a prayer as he lifted himself over her, rocking against her, long and slow, wreaking havoc on her body and mind. His thumb moved faster and faster in small tight circles, playing over that glorious place, sensation building, making good on all his promises. She was drawn tight as a bow, desperate for release, and she opened her eyes, meeting his, aching for the pleasure only he could give her.
“I love you,” she whispered, and the words rocketed through them both, tipping her over the edge as his movements came deeper, faster, more powerful, making her forget everything but his name, but the feel of him against her, but the way she loved him.
“Look at me, Sophie. I want to see it.”
She did, crying out as the crest came again, and she threw herself into the pleasure, the sound of her name on his lips, as he tumbled into it with her.
It was magnificent.
He rolled away from her, clutching her to him, careful of her bandage, his fingers trailing over her good shoulder. “Sophie . . .” he said, letting her name trail off, curl around them in this warm, dark room.
He was magnificent.
She sighed, curling closer to him, and he kissed the top of her head, the soft caress tempting her nearly as much as the rest of the interlude had.
They were magnificent together.
But they would never be together.
And with that insidious thought, she was returned to reality, to the arms of the man she loved, who would never love her. Who had another plan for his life. A plan that did not include love.
Perhaps she could have lived without love before tonight. Before her confession. Before knowing that she’d never be able to be with him without quite desperately wanting him to love her in return.
But she couldn’t. And so she would leave. Tonight. Escape in the dark, and hang her family and their wild plan to trap the Marquess of Eversley into marriage. She didn’t want him trapped.
The only way she wanted to marry the Marquess of Eversley was in a love match. And that would never happen. So she would find her way away from here and spend her life with the memory of tonight.
With the memory of his pleasure when she told him the truth.
When she confessed her love.
The memory would be enough.
What a lie that was.
She slid out of his arms, to the edge of the bed.
It would be enough, she told herself, ignoring the truth.
It had to be.
Chapter 20
KING CONQUERED!
He was going to marry her.
Indeed, he likely should have told her so before he made love to her, here in his bed. Before he ruined her, quite thoroughly. But there was something tremendous about making love to her, knowing that she was willing to give everything to him, without the promise of a title.
Knowing she didn’t care about the promise of a title.
Knowing she wanted him for him, and not his name, and not his fortune.
Knowing she loved him.
She loved him.
The moment she’d said it, he’d known their fate. He’d known that he would take her here, in this bed, against the cool linen sheets where he’d fought to find sleep and instead found visions of her. He’d known he’d take her virginity, and with it, her future.
He’d known they would marry.
She loved him.
He wanted her to say it again, as though she hadn’t said it a dozen times already. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of hearing her say the words. Of knowing the truth of them. Sophie Talbot loved him.
