Page 45 of Desperate Proposals
“Do you still wish…” he started, his voice hoarse, allowing the question to hang in the air between them.
Evelyn nodded, noting the ache between her legs, the slight dampness of sweat upon her chest and back.Desirous of all of it.
“It might hurt, this time,” he said, a hint of an apology in his voice.
She nodded again, and squeezed her eyes shut. Her fingers dug into the sheets, clutching them in her fists as she concentrated on not bucking her hips upward again.
“Say it,” he groaned, positioning himself agonizingly at her entrance. “I need to hear it.”
“Yes,” she choked.
In that moment she wanted nothing more than to be his wife, in every sense of the word. He belonged to her now, and she to him.
And then he thrust into her, filling her and, for a moment, hurting her as her body yielded to his. He paused, remaining inside her as the pain receded to a dull ache, and then he drew back slowly, delectably.
“All right?” he asked, stroking her hip with one hand as he dug the other into the flesh of her rear.
She failed to respond articulately, but the muddled sound she made must have given him enough peace of mind, for he thrust forth again, aided by her wetness.
“Fuck,” he cursed, kneading her bottom with both hands now. “Your arse,” he explained, and left it at that, too lost in the rhythm he’d settled into to elaborate.
Evelyn felt that ache inside her once more, and she moved against it. But it was not enough to bring her to the same heights again, for he was moving faster, more forcefully. He sputtered out a flurry of speech rife with blue language, then thrust deep into her one final time.
She gasped, out of both pleasure and frustration. How she’d wanted to feel that a second time! And she’d been so tantalizingly close…
Mr. Hartley fell forward, his slick, hard body atop hers, his mouth kissing her sternum, her breast.
“Evelyn,” he whispered.
Panic hit her square in the chest, instantly dousing the fire in her veins, the bliss in her limbs, the agonizing yearning at her core. She felt frozen to the bed.
“What is it?” he asked, still catching his breath.
One hand ran along her side, up to cup her breast.
Gingerly she set her own hand atop it.
It was her fault; she’d forgotten herself. Moving against him. Kissing him so wantonly. Making those…noises.
“Please, ‘Mrs. Hartley’ is perfectly adequate,” she said, with all the hauteur she could manage in her current state.
Mr. Hartley pulled out and off of her, moving away and into a sitting position.
“Perfectly adequate? Ought we make do with ‘perfectly adequate?’”
She could hear the derision in his voice, the implied challenge. But she would not lower herself to such a silly debate. She’d made her preferences known. And although she had forgotten herself in the surprisingly enjoyable act of joining, she would not lose her head again.
“I believe I was clear about my wishes on this matter.”
Steadfastness or nothing.
He scoffed and shifted further away, and she rolled in the opposite direction, over onto her side.
She heard his feet land on the floor, and his footsteps signaled that he moved about the room. The clink of the ewer on her washstand and the slosh of water into the basin told her that he was cleaning himself up. Evelyn found the idea of facing him difficult just now, after that display. She was slick with his spend and some blood; she’d done her wifely duty. Now that she knew what to expect, she would be more reserved, more controlled the next time he came to her bed.
She hoped.
“Well. You have my permission to call me Marcus whenever the fancy strikes.”
