Page 42 of The Dove
“Breathe,” he commanded.
Her sheath clenched around him at the same time she drew in a deep breath. Then, she was coming apart, her body jerking and shaking under him as her cunt pulsed around him. She clung to him, her fingers tightening in his hair, making his scalp sting and sending even more heat down his spine.
He was unraveling along with her, his thrusts less precise, his chest burning as he found it difficult to breathe. His entire world narrowed to Daphne, tears in her eyes, a flush on her cheeks, lips parted as she moaned her pleasure and chanted his name.
Staring down at her, he imagined her beneath Robert like this, her legs spread and her beautiful body bared for him. Her husband, a man who would make love to her with tenderness and care … and never touch the parts of her that Adam had possessed. He imagined her growing round with his babe, smiling and happy as she rubbed her swollen belly through her gown.
Everything within him rebelled against the notion, his hold on her tightening as his climax loomed near instead of loosening—holding her close instead of pushing away.
“Mine,” he groaned as his bollocks contracted, sending swirls of heat and fire through his cock.
It spewed from him and into her in what felt like a never-ending tide. Hot and wet, he filled her, pumping his hips and wringing himself dry, making sure she took every drop into her open and vulnerable body.
Then, he collapsed on top of her, curling his arms around her and gathering her close, where no one, or nothing, could take her away from him.
CHAPTER NINE
aphne came awake, a sudden change in the atmosphere disturbing her sound sleep. She was not certain what it was, but once her eyes opened, she couldn’t close them again—despite the room still being quite dark. Obviously, she had not slept for long, as the moon loomed outside the nearest window, and she could still feel the effects of Adam’s torment. Her arse throbbed like the devil, her channel swollen and sated from his claiming. Her inner thighs were still slick with his seed.
When he’d finished with her, she hadn’t had the strength to rise from the bed and clean herself up, to put her clothes back on and run as far and fast from him as possible. So, she’d simply lain there and allowed him to maneuver her under the bedclothes. Then, he’d slid in behind her, one arm tight and possessive around her waist as she’d sunk into unconsciousness. For the first time since returning to London, she’d slept soundly, peacefully, without the sorts of dreams that had previously awakened her each morning in a cold sweat.
After all, she did not need to dream of her monster any longer … not when he occupied the same bed as her, his big body curled around her like a shelter against the storm. A storm of his own creation.
She was absolutely mad. That must be the only reason she could lie in his arms and accept the things he’d done, the things he’d said, the threats he’d hurled at her concerning Robert. A normal woman would have been disgusted by his crudeness, alarmed by his claim that he would kill Robert if she wed him. Yet, that part of her … the part she kept hidden in the dark recesses of her soul, had reveled in such primal lust. It stretched like a cat being scratched, arching its back and purring with pleasure at the thought of being wanted to the point of such insanity.
Murder. Adam was willing to commit murder to keep anyone else from having her. Even now, despite the soreness in her body, the signs of her own lust began to rise to the surface—her nipples pebbling into tight buds, her cunt clenching from wanting him back inside her. Her own moisture slicked the way, mingling with what he’d left behind.
Turning onto her back, she issued a deep sigh at the reminder of what he’d done. She had been so out of sorts, she hadn’t even offered a protest when he’d seated himself inside of her and spilled his mettle, flooding her insides with possession and life.
Could she, even now, be with child? The notion terrified her to no end. If she bore his child, then there would be one more thread tying her, Adam, and Bertram together … one new way that she could be exploited by either of them to get back at the other.
Whether she turned out pregnant or not, she needed to get away from them both—away from London and the scorn of theton. The two of them could use it as their battlefield if they wished, but she would be damned if she simply stood in the crossfire and let them obliterate her. Coming to London had only been a good idea when she’d assumed Adam would remain in Dunnottar … that his vendetta against her family had finally come to an end.
Turning over in the bed, she found the space beside her empty. The sheets were no longer warm, though they did still carry Adam’s scent. Sitting up, she gazed around the room and found that a fire had been stoked in the hearth to keep it warm, but saw no sign of him.
Perhaps that was what had awakened her, the shift in the air telling her that the bed beside her was now empty. She ought to go back to sleep, gathering her strength to depart at dawn. She needed to return home and mull over her options, chart her course for the future.
However, something drove her to fling the covers away from her body, to rise from the bed and seek out her clothing. Stepping over the leather braces that Adam had used to punish her buttocks, she shivered, tearing her eyes away from the mesmerizing sight of them curled up against the rug. She had thought nothing could feel more tortuous than his hand cracking against her tender flesh, but last night, he had proved her wrong.
Finding her gown nearby, she swiftly slipped into it, fastening the back as best she could without assistance. Glancing over at the door connecting this room to the master suite, she wrinkled her brow, recalling the events of the night before clearer now that the haze of her rage had abated.
Stay with Olivia … no laudanum.
Had she truly heard him say those words to Niall? Perhaps Olivia was in the next room, and Adam had left her to look in on his sister.
She crossed the small space to the door and slowly turned the knob, carefully pushing the panel open. The soft creak hardly disturbed the quiet of the room beyond, and she knew before she’d even peered through the gap that Adam did not occupy the room. His tangible presence was absent, though the mingling of firelight in the hearth and the moonlight outside illuminated the two forms sharing the bed.
Her heart squeezed painfully at the sight of Niall, shirtless and lying on his back, Olivia’s slight body pulled against his side. Her upper body was sprawled over that massive chest, dark hair splayed out over his shoulder, one strand clinging to the stubble on his jaw.
She looked paler than Daphne remembered, her tiny body even smaller against Niall’s larger one. White strips of linen wrapped around her wrists and forearms had Daphne wrinkling her brow. Had she been hurt? That would explain her presence in London. If she had been injured somehow, then it would make sense that the servants of Dunnottar would want to bring her here, where she could be close to the men who cared for her so well.
Slowly closing the door, she backed away from it and went in the opposite direction, to the one leading out into the corridor. The moment she stepped into the hallway, the sound of music gave away Adam’s present location in the house. On the level below this one, the largest drawing room in the house held the instruments that had often been played when her mother had hosted musicales. It was there she knew she’d find Adam, his hands making that haunting melody with the pianoforte.
She moved quickly to the stairs, the chill in the corridors driving her to seek out the room. If Adam occupied it, then a fire had surely been lit.
Sure enough, when she came to the door hanging ajar, Daphne was drawn into the room by light, warmth, and the lilting notes of an unknown composition. The music made her heart ache and her throat constrict, a thousand unnamed emotions welling up inside her as she heard in it all the things Adam did not say; the things he might never admit to her out loud. His torment. His pain. His grief.
His back stiffened as she approached, his only reaction to her presence. As if he felt her as viscerally as she felt him, noticing the change in the room’s ambiance when she entered or left it. However, he didn’t stop playing, didn’t even turn his head to look at her as she loomed at his shoulder, watching his fingers move over the keys with such lightness and grace.
