Page 62 of The Virgin Duchess

Frederick worked faster and faster, tangling his lips with hers as he explored her with his tongue, playfully biting her lip on occasion. Charlotte cried out, unable to keep herself quiet as her husband took her to a new realm of passion, his fingers digging into her hips as he anchored himself.

“That’s it, darling. Sing for me.”

Abruptly, Frederick scooped his arm underneath Charlotte to haul her up onto his lap, still keeping himself pressed inside her. She straddled him, his length reaching deeper than anything had, and she did exactly as he’d asked—she sang.

“Ugh! Oh God, Frederick!” Her head fell back, and her husband reached up to take her breast in his hand, gripping her tightly—claiming her as his.

She couldn’t believe what they were doing, imagining the depraved sight they painted out here in the garden at night. As much as she couldn’t wholly understand it, it ignited her passion all the more.

“Charlotte,” Frederick’s words were a plea, a desperate need for her. “You are perfection. God, the feel of you.”

The feeling of her circling her hips, rubbing herself against Frederick, was incredible. He took her hips once more, helping to move her up and down on the length of his shaft in a maddening rhythm. He would pause every so often, alternating between deep penetrations and brusquely taking her.

Charlotte writhed beneath Frederick’s touch, and her moans were unending as her husband’s incredible skills shoved all other thoughts from her mind.

“Frederick…I…oh, God…I’m…”

“Yes. Yes, Charlotte, fall apart for me.”

Charlotte’s legs quivered, and Frederick grasped her breast with one hand as he thrust up into her forcefully. The sensations tipped over that familiar edge, and Charlotte flew off into the stars as it all crescendoed.

She trembled and moaned as her release dragged on, wetness warming her as Frederick continued to claim her. His erection seemed to surge within her, and Charlotte remembered the way it had felt when he’d found his climax from her tongue.

The frantic energy rose, and then Frederick pulsed inside her, that feeling of warmth growing exponentially. He filled her with his release, the power of it bold and so very drawn out. They rode out the wave for several moments before Frederick finally stilled.

As things settled down, Frederick allowed himself to slide free, and then helped Charlotte to sit on the bench next to him. Exhaustion blanketed her, and Charlotte dropped her head onto Frederick’s chest as he put his arm around her. They were quiet, only the sound of their breaths standing out against the fountain’s falling water.

“You are perfection, darling,” Frederick whispered into her ear, her heartbeat hammering against her ribs.

Looking up at him with sleepy eyes, Charlotte’s breaths rushed in and out of her, and she had to chuckle at the sight she likely was. Frederick reached for her, begrudgingly repositioning the layers of her top so that she was no longer exposed.

Charlotte felt so profoundly undone, and it was such a beautiful feeling. Frederick held her close, neither of them making a move to leave the bench and return inside. They had time, and she would take every moment of it she could, enjoying this blissful afterward that followed.

She was no longer a virgin. She had given herself entirely to her husband, to Frederick. While some nerves over the future lingered, Charlotte could not deny that she was terribly happy. And if she stayed here all night in his arms, she knew she would wake that way as well.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Warmth was still pressed to her on all sides as Charlotte woke up. She had remained in Frederick’s arms just as suspected, and truly, her heart was so light when she began to crack open her lids against the brightening sunrise that even that celestial orb stood no chance against the illumination of her joy.

Frederick still slept, his eyes gently closed as he breathed in a slow, deep rhythm. She watched him, running over his form with her eyes and admiring the steady presence he offered. He was so different asleep, so calm.

While he never seemed overly frantic or aggressive to her, Frederick was constantly dogged by the concern over the Baron. Now, however, as he dreamed next to her, his bare chest rising and falling, Frederick was serene, the weight of his worries and responsibilities absent.

Charlotte’s heart was so remarkably full, and she stared down at his face, desperate to kiss him but utterly unwilling to breakthe spell of slumber and peace that held him. She wouldn’t dare disturb him like that. Charlotte cared too much about him to even steal a moment of his sleep.

In the quiet of the room, it hit her, and Charlotte pulled back slightly, her stare going down.

I care so much about him…I…love him.

Nervousness and excitement tumbled through her chest in a spinning whirl. It was chaos and purpose. It was new and familiar at once, and Charlotte felt too small to contain it all. How had she so thoroughly missed the signs? She’d fallen in love with Frederick somewhere in the midst of their toiling and bickering. Cordelia had been right. She did love her husband, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do about that.

“Hmm,” Frederick hummed, stretching the bed and turning toward her. “Good morning. You’re awake first, I see.”

Charlotte smiled; the look of him waking, his hair mussed as the sheet bunched up around him in a wrinkled mess, was too adorable. She leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“I was, yes.” Charlotte ducked her head before facing Frederick again, keeping herself draped over his arm. “I’ve just been lying here, enjoying the morning.”

“And a fine morning it is.” Frederick smiled sleepily at her, rolling further onto his side so that he could pull Charlotte against his chest.

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