The Care and Feeding of Your Captive Earl (What Happens In Scotland Book 3) (13 page)

As he broke the kiss, his warm breath washed over her lips and cheek. His tongue found the shell of her ear, and he licked the lobe, pulling it into his mouth—sucking gently. Twisting her head to the side, she thrust her breast up in a silent bid for his attentions. He obliged by dipping his head and taking her beaded nipple between his teeth.

Pain mingled with pleasure, causing her to let out a startled gasp. He paused, no doubt fearing he’d injured her—but she curled her hand around his nape and prevented him from pulling away.

“If you stop, I shall scream,” she breathed.

He growled—actually
growled
—at her declaration, and the sound provoked the swelling urgency within her. She simply could not get enough of him, of the feel of him thrusting inside her as he devoured her breast. It was impossibly intoxicating. There was nothing in the world more glorious than this moment—here, with Matthias, completely lost in each other. Society, the world, had all melted away.

“Christ, Gwen, you feel like paradise,” he whispered, flicking her nipple with his tongue. “I will not last long.”

“Mmmm.” Eyes closed, head tilted back, she could do nothing but
feel
. Sensation engulfed her, drenching her in pleasure.

“Look at me. I want to look into your eyes as I spill inside you.”

Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she opened her eyes. Their gazes collided as he surged into her, impossibly deep, then stilled with her name on his lips—just a whisper, but he said it again and again as he released inside her.

Long seconds passed like that, with him inside her, his breathing rough, his eyes locked on hers. At length, he kissed her lips and rolled to the side, gathering her into his arms as he went.

“Dear God, Gwen.” He brushed his thumb up and down her arm. “I would take you again were it not for the waiting coach.”

Rising up onto her elbow, she smiled down at him. “Matthias Hart, one of London’s most accomplished rogues, has been thwarted by a coach, of all things.”

With a low growl, he rose up and flipped over, pinning her to the mattress. “Are you calling my honor as a husband into question, my lady?” he teased.

“Not your honor, sir, but certainly your prowess in the bedchamber.”

“I cannot allow such an accusation to stand,” he said, shifting into the cradle of her thighs. “I must restore my reputation.”

A laugh escaped her. “And how, sir, do you plan on doing that?”

He rocked his hips forward, rubbing her in precisely the right way. Her body came alive all over again as his hot mouth skimmed down her neck, to her collarbone. Tingles swept through her, every inch of her body humming under his expert tongue.

“People are waiting on us,” she said in a drunken haze of pleasure.

One hand came up to grope her breast, his thumb flicking her nipple. “The world can wait.”

Yes, it can.
Never before had she felt that way. In London, one never shirked responsibility. It was a matter of pride, a matter of honor. But lying here with her
husband,
she didn’t care a whit about all that. None of it mattered.

In this moment, all that mattered was
them
.

Shifting slightly, he flipped onto his back, taking her with him so that she was now straddling his waist. Hands gripping her hips, he lifted her until she was poised just above him, the head of his shaft nudging her entrance. Slowly, he guided her down so that he was impaling her. Pain rippled through her as he stretched her wide. Tears wetted her eyes, but she struggled to keep them at bay—because despite the pain, her body craved his. If he knew he’d cause her pain, he would pull away.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked, tension in his voice.

She drew in a fortifying breath and shook her head. “I am fine.”

But perhaps he sensed the tension in her body, because when he moved, it was a slow and languorous as though he were allowing her body adapt to the size of him. Gradually, the pain began to ease—it was never quite absent, but soon that now familiar sense of urgency was building up inside her again, prevailing over the discomfort.

Bracing her hands on either side of his head, she allowed her hips to move independently, instinctively finding a steady, even pace. His fingertips dug into the flesh of her hips, urging her on. Head thrown back, she relished the feeling of being on top and in control. She could stop, or change tempo at her own discretion. It was a heady feeling.

“Look at me, Gwen.”

She lowered her gaze to his, taking in the sight of him—his face drawn, tormented…beautiful.

Dipping her head, she took his lips in a bold kiss. Never would she have believed she could be so forward, but with Matthias, it felt natural. It felt right.
So
right.

Rocking her hips forward and back, she raced toward the abyss—that sweet, chaotic feeling that surged inside her, threatening to rip her apart. And then, all at once, it did, clawing at her violently from the inside out. She screamed Matthias’s name, uncaring who heard her. In that moment, it didn’t signify. She couldn’t have stopped herself even if she’d wanted to.

As her body shook with release, Matthias gripped her hips and thrust upward, groaning as he murmured her name. She lowered her head and looked into his eyes as he spent inside her. His blue, expressive eyes were black with torment and pleasure and need. “Gwen, Gwen,
Christ
.”

At length, when she could no longer support her own weight, she collapsed on top of him, her breath coming heavy and quick. With her face pressed to his neck, she inhaled his scent—that intoxicating mixture of musk and man—and sighed.

This was heaven. This—right here—with him was everything she’d ever wanted. And she knew right then that she would give this man anything—her very soul, if only he asked. The connection between them was powerful—she just prayed it would not come to destroy them both.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The journey back to London was just as exhausting as she remembered the trip to Scotland to have been. Days spent in the cramped compartment, together with the jostling of the carriage on the muddied roads, made the trip rather unbearable.

When they arrived in Town, it was late—past midnight—and the streets were all but empty. Gas streetlamps illuminated the deserted streets like beacons amid a blanket of haze.

The carriage came to a stop and seconds later, the driver wrenched open the door, allowing a gust of cold air to sweep into the compartment. Gwen shivered, and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders tighter as Matthias helped her alight. Glancing up at the elegant white brick building, she halted mid-step.

“You’ve brought me to your town house.”

“Certainly,” he said, speaking as though it were only logical.

“This is your home, not mine,” she said.

Something in his manner shifted—his eyes going dark. Was he angry with her? “You are my wife, Gwen. My home is now your home.”

Of course he was right. She had no argument against that statement and now that he was her husband, he had the right to do whatever he wished with her. So she used the only argument she could conjure.

“My father will be anxious to see me.”

She would argue that her father would be beside himself with worry, but that wasn’t the case and she knew it. Her father couldn’t care less about her safety.

“There’s no need to disturb him at this hour. We will call on him in the morning.”

Heavens. She could only imagine her father’s reaction when she waltzed into his house after a week’s absence, informing him that she was now married to one of London’s most accomplished rakes. Though Matthias did have a title and fortune to recommend him, she doubted her father would be pleased with her method of securing him—even if he only knew a small portion of the truth.

Matthias took a step toward the house, holding his hand out to her. “Come. It’s cold out and if we stand out here much longer, you’ll catch a chill. I won’t risk your health for the sake of an argument.”

She placed her hand in his and he tugged her up the stairs. Just as he reached the top step, the door sprang open, as though the butler had been expecting them. Matthias had likely sent a message ahead, warning his staff of their arrival.

“Langley,” Matthias acknowledged. “I hope we didn’t keep you waiting up too late.” Once they were inside, Matthias turned to Gwen. “This is my bride, Gwendolyn. Please see that she has full access to my accounts.”

“Yes, my
lord
.”

Matthias helped Gwen off with her coat and doffed his as well, handing them to Langley. “So you’ve heard.”

“Indeed. I believe you would be hard pressed to find anyone in Town who has
not
heard the news, my lord.”

“Yes, the papers would have worked out the succession as soon as my great-uncle’s heir was buried.”

With a stiff bow of acknowledgment, Langley disappeared outside to see to their luggage.

Matthias turned to Gwen, and her heart skipped a beat. She didn’t know why it should. She’d been alone with Matthias for nearly a week.

And yet…Her heart still fluttered in his presence.

It was almost worse now knowing how readily he could awaken her desire. Her body, her needs, her pleasures…were all at his whim.

Matthias leaned in and whispered in her ear, “What do you say, Lady Hastings, shall I show you your new bedchamber?”

A shiver rolled down her spine, heating her blood. How was it possible for an entirely ordinary sentence to sound so, so wicked?

“I am rather
tired
after such a long journey.” She flashed him a cheeky smile. “A soft,
warm
bed sounds divine.”

“Oh, my dear wife, I can assure you I will personally see to your comfort and,” he smiled down at her, “
warmth
.”

Worrying her bottom lip, she followed him up the grand oak staircase—her hand gliding up the smooth, polished wood bannister. The house was rather large, and as such, it was cold. His hand was wrapped around hers as he tugged her up the stairs and down the corridor.

Matthias swept her up into his arms before reaching the door and carried her into the bedchamber, placing her on a large stately bed. Candles were already lit, and a generous fire burned in the hearth. Despite the room’s grand size, it was warm—perhaps a little too warm. Was the heat due to Matthias’s presence? Or the fevered blood rushing through her veins?

With quick hands, he removed his clothes—every last stitch—until he was standing before her naked.
Gloriously
naked. His body was all hard granite, from his muscular arms to the ropes of muscle lining his stomach. He was all hardened, virile male—and her channel moistened at the sight of his shaft, hard and swollen—reaching out to her.

He took a step toward the bed, flicking his chin upward. “Come here.”

She swallowed, suddenly unsure of herself. She hadn’t the faintest idea why. They’d done this twice before—each time more intense, more thrilling. But there was something in his look now—something in his hard, unyielding gaze that spiked her blood with fear.

Not real fear, surely. She knew he would never hurt her physically. But there was certainly something about him—a hard edge of darkness that she hadn’t appreciated before their trip to Scotland.

“Come. Here,” he commanded again.

Swallowing, she slid off the bed and walked over to him, stopping an arm’s length away.

“Turn around.” Another command. None of the gentleness she’d known in Scotland. The man in front of her was hard, commanding. In complete control. She could see why so many women had fallen for him. It was more than his pretty face. It was his confidence. His authority.

Turning around, she drew in a sharp breath as he tugged at the tapes at her back. With Emily missing, Matthias had taken up the role of lady’s maid. Quite admirably.

Now, he unraveled his careful knots, tugging on the ribbons impatiently. Once the ties were finally free, he tugged her gown down roughly, then slid off her shoes and stockings. He turned her to face him and took a step back, regarding her as one would regard a painting.

“Take it off,” he said brusquely. “I want to see all of you.”

“You are quite dictatorial this evening.”

There was no amusement in his look. “Take it off,” he repeated.

This domineering side of Matthias was exciting…
invigorating.

Doing as she was asked, she slid her gown down slowly, until she was standing in her chemise.

His ardent gaze traveled down her body, then up again. Appreciation glinted in his eyes, and she stood stalkstill, her heart pounding, her cheeks flushed as she awaited her next instruction.

Matthias stepped forward, his body dangerously close to hers. Reaching out, he brushed his fingertip along the line of her collarbone, then down farther, until his finger reached the low neckline of her chemise.

With his free hand, he reached up and tore the delicate fabric. Startled, she sucked in a breath. “W-what are you doing.”

“I told you,
all of it
. I want to see every inch of you.”

The torn remnants of her chemise floated to the floor, leaving her completely naked—vulnerable. With great difficulty, she resisted the urge to cover herself.

Reaching out again, he traced her nipple with the tip of his finger—as though he were beholding a work of art for the first time. “All these years, this is what you’ve been concealing under all those damned layers of fabric.”

The way he looked at her…It was thrilling. Never before had a man looked at her this way. With such intensity, such desire. It was electrifying.

At length, she found her voice. “I can hardly walk down the street naked, now can I?”

“That’s enough cheek.” He pinched her nipple, and she yelped. “Perhaps I will keep you in this room, naked, a slave to my every desire. My own rare treasure.”

She smiled at his imaginings, fairly certain they weren’t meant to sound enticing. But indeed, being a slave to his desires sounded rather enjoyable.

His finger continued downward, brushing down her sternum to her belly button.

“I am the new Earl of Hastings,” he said. “You know what that means.”