Page 52 of The Virtuoso
He knew she was stalling, nervous and uncertain, but she’d warned him that had she too much time to think, she’d deny them their pleasures. That, he would not allow. Could not.
Holding his gaze, Ellen shifted back, careful to keep her legs together when she turned on her seat and scooted across the bed. Val joined her in one movement, lifting the old worn quilt and the sheet beneath it to drape over her legs.
“We need rules of surrender here,” Val said, sitting cross-legged on his side of the bed. He wasn’t bothering with the covers, and Ellen had to notice his erection, enormously swollen where it arced up against his belly.
“Rules of surrender?” Ellen repeated, her gaze taking him in with an expression of trepidation.
“Ellen.” Val’s smile disappeared. “I won’t hurt you.”
Her gaze dipped to his groin then back up to his face, and he prayed he hadn’t lied. She’d been without a man for five damned years, and Val was… he was well endowed, and he knew this for a fact. Tagging along with Nick on this or that debauch, having four older brothers, spending a couple years at public school then several more at university… Val had seen enough to know his equipment was in proportion to the rest of him.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said again, holding her gaze. “Because our first rule is you tell me if you don’t like something. Promise?”
She nodded once, but her gaze drifted back to his groin.
“If you can’t find your voice, then pinch me,” Val went on. “Pinch me hard, understand?”
“Pinch you,” Ellen repeated. “Hard.”
“Hard enough to bruise,” Val clarified. “And my arse doesn’t count, because when I’m in a certain mood, I like that.”
“Dear heavens.”
He smiled at her blush. “Rule number two.” He reached over and stroked a finger down her jaw. “We avoid conception by every reasonable means, but if there’s a child, you must tell me.” She grimaced, and Val wanted to curse, because at least one shadow had found them.
“I’ll tell you,” she said slowly, “but…”
“But?” Val waited patiently, because to him, to Ellen, to anyone, this should be important.
“It’s hard for me to conceive. If I do, I won’t do anything to harm the child. You promise you won’t ask it of me. Nothing to harm the child, no matter what.”
“I promise I will not ask you to do anything to harm our child.” The words were unhesitating and firm, the easiest promise he’d ever given. “I promise I will take such good care of you, no possible harm could come to our child.”
Ellen shook her head and pressed two fingers to his lips. “Don’t say such things.”
“I mean them,” Val rejoined, drawing her fingers from his lips. “I am not in this bed for a casual romp, Ellen. You matter to me, and any child of ours would matter to me very much.”
“That’s… good.” Ellen nodded, heaving a deep breath. “To me, as well.”
Val regarded her at some length, sitting beside him with the sheet tucked primly under her arms, her cinnamon hair down her back in a tidy braid. This discussion of children had to touch sensitive nerves for her, for she’d quite plainly considered the lack of a Markham heir her failing. He’d love to give her a child, to prove to her the shortcoming had not been hers.
But children deserved legitimacy, and that meant asking Ellen to tie herself not just to a man with a disability but to a man who came with a parent who thought nothing of bribing mistresses to conceive or footmen to spy on their masters. The Duke of Moreland considered such measures excused by his need to protect and control his children—not in that order. And His Grace considered grandchildren more than reason enough to force marriages where they ought not to be forced, no matter how much Val might wish to have Ellen for his own.
So, there would be no children. Another shadow, but one that haunted every coupling outside a marriage bed and probably many within one, as well.
“Any more rules?” Ellen asked, drawing her knees up to her chest.
Val shot her a bemused smile. “One.”
“And that would be?”
“You tell me what youdolike. I can read your body to some extent, and will delight in doing so, but I cannot read your mind.”
“What I like?” Ellen’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think I understand this rule.”
“Do you want to be on the bottom, or would you rather ride me? Do you want my mouth or my hand, and would you ever want to use your mouth on me? Are your nipples more sensitive, or your lovely derriere? And what of toys, bindings, spanking?”
The look she gave him was such a combination of confusion, fascination, and bewilderment, Val realized if she didn’t have the vocabulary, she likely lacked the experience, as well.
