Page 62 of The Damsel
“That’s it,” he whispered, tugging at her nipples with gentle insistence, his cock steadily stroking right against the sweet spot inside her. “Let go, Cass …”
She was so close, panting and shaking as the building pressure within her seem to reach its zenith. The exquisite pleasure of his fingers pinching tight to her nipples stabbed through her and she spent with a shrill cry, collapsing on top of him and clinging tight as it washed through her with ten times the power of her previous one. Robert kept his up his pace, wrapping his arms around her and thrusting through her finish, strengthening each wave of her climax. He buried her faced in his neck and gave herself over to it, the strength leaving her limbs as her insides clenched and rippled around him, the intensity of it stealing the air from her lungs.
Finally, she came back down, her breath coming out in a rush as the pounding spasms within dulled to deep twinges she felt to the far reaches of her body.
Robert was right behind her, seeming to try to dig deeper with each surge of his hips.
“Cass, I … I’m going to …”
She forced herself off him before he could spill inside her, crawling down his body and taking his cock in hand. He gasped when she sucked him into her mouth, drawing him deep and swirling her tongue around his head. Then, his fingers were tangled in her hair as he thrust into her mouth and released, his entire body trembling with the force of it. She accepted it all, her palate bathed with the taste of both him and her at once.
When he’d gone still beneath her, his rough groans melting away into harsh, ragged breaths, she released him from her mouth.
Her own body surrendered to fatigue, the events of the day as well as their vigorous coupling taking their toll. She managed to crawl up beside him before she fell onto the bed with a heavy sigh, her eyes drifting closed.
For a long moment, there was only the heat radiating off him and the grating sound of his rapid breaths mingling with her own. Then, she registered movement, felt his arms coming around her and the coverlet drifting over her naked body. Instead of retreating from the shelter of his body, she sank into it, letting herself enjoy the press of his chest against her back, the tangle of his legs with hers.
Tomorrow, she’d have to fight again. Tonight, she was exhausted, worn thin, her walls cracked and crumbled due to the man who how held her in his arms.
He nuzzled her neck as she began drifting off to sleep, his breath now slow and steady against her ear, the thump of his heartbeat against her back now returned to normal.
“I love you, Cass,” he mumbled before pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
She stiffened in his hold, prepared to roll away from him, to leave the room altogether and run back to Suffolk on foot if she had to. Anything to be away from him, from the words that had the power to break through the last of her defenses.
He tightened his hold as if he’d expected such a reaction. She squirmed in his grip, but could not break it—a stunning reminder that he’d always been strong enough to subdue her if he’d wished, to hurt her if it were in his nature.
“Shh, it’s all right,” he whispered. “You can go back to running from me tomorrow if you like. Just know that I don’t intend to stop chasing you. I love you, and it won’t be any less true in the morning than it is right now. Now, sleep … I know you haven’t been resting.”
She hadn’t been, and didn’t even possess the strength to wiggle out of his hold. So, she relaxed in his arms and allowed him to nestle her even tighter against him, the softened length of his cock pressed against her arse. He’d be hard again before long, the organ in the perfect position to enter her from behind. But, even that did not worry her. Robert had earned her trust, and she could sleep secure in the knowledge that he would never take advantage of her vulnerability. She was as safe as she’d ever been at that moment.
Closing her eyes, she relaxed against him. Within moments, she’d drifted into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.
ROBERT SATon the edge of the bed in Cassandra’s hotel room, staring down at the mask in his hands. She had distracted him this morning, shifting his focus from confronting her over her identity as the Masked Menace, to making certain she understood he could not be chased off. He’d faced her anger, taken on her pain as his own, and melted with her into a pool of heated ecstasy. He’d slept in her bed, holding her in his arms and reveling in how it felt to be allowed such closeness.
He had roused before her, the bright light of the late afternoon sun shining through the window facing the front courtyard. Instead of awakening her, he’d lain there and drunk in the sight of her, still and peaceful in sleep. Her beauty seemed different when she was at rest, her face completely still, the defensive expression she often wore wiped away. Even with dark circles showing beneath her eyes from lack of sleep, she was a dream, soft and warm and entirely his.
But, once he’d left the bed to get dressed, he began to steel himself for the fight ahead. For, fight him she would. Now that he’d dared to ferret out her secrets, now that he’d confessed his love for her, she would battle him like never before. He was prepared to stand his ground—not just for her love, but for her life, which would be forfeit if she carried on with her dangerous vendetta.
He hadn’t realized how deep and dark the pit of rage and revenge she’d buried herself in actually was. As it turned out, this thing with Sir Downing represented only a fraction of Cassandra’s deeds. He was not making something out of nothing—a person who rode about on horseback alone with a mask and domino in her possession proved a likely suspect. When he thought over what he knew of the victims, and that the attacks had not begun until after Bertram’s trial, the evidence seen to point vaguely in Cassandra’s direction.
She needed him far more than she would admit, more than even he had realized. No matter how she tried to convince him she did not require saving, Robert believed otherwise.
She needed to be saved from her anger, from the deadly noose of vengeance, from herself.
He turned to find her stirring, a deep sigh rushing through her nose as she stretched before rubbing her eyes. Remaining silent and still to allow her to come to full wakefulness, he observed the phenomenon of her transformation. Her soft expression hardened by degrees, eyes going shuttered and mouth tightening, as if upon awakening she’d found the world to still be as dark and miserable as ever.
Blinking, she turned her head to find him sitting there, then lowered her gaze to the mask in his hands.
“Good afternoon,” he murmured, drawing her gaze back up to his face.
Having settled Felix in lodgings of his own with instructions to await his return, Robert had brought only a valise with a few essentials. Thankfully, she hadn’t destroyed his breeches, and he’d had the foresight to pack a fresh shirt and waistcoat. He was now as decent as he was like to get, his hair falling in disarray without Felix’s pomades to arrange it into their signature tousle. He hadn’t bothered to shave either, two days’ worth of stubble prickling along his jaw.
“I thought to wake you and send for a meal, but you slept so peacefully I didn’t wish to wake you,” he said as she sat up in bed and tossed the coverlet aside.
She found her discarded shirt on the floor and bent to pick it up. Once she donned it, she turned to face him, the garment hanging to her thighs. Its buttons remained open, offering a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage. It slipped to expose one shoulder as she sat in a chair facing the bed, hands folded in her lap as she stared him down.
“Well, I suppose I cannot be rid of you, can I?”
