Page 14 of The Pureblood Princess
He pushes his trousers down, freeing himself. He’s already hard, and her insides flutter with desire. She wants to feel him inside her, wants him to claim her in every way.
But he seems determined to make her wait.
He starts with his fingers, pressing one into her wetness up to the knuckle, then adding a second. His movements are slow, and he seems to delight in her need for him.
“Theodore,” she whispers.
His name is sweet in her mouth, and her utterance of it makes him harden further. He slides his fingers out of her, takes her by the hips, and thrusts into her.
She cries out, and he brings a hand around her mouth. Groaning against it, she grows wetter as he drives his length into her. His desire is so strong, she can near taste it in the air. He thrusts into her harder, faster, and his fervor makes the tall bookshelf shudder. One book falls to the hardwood floor, landing with a resounding thud, and then another, and another. But he doesn’t cease his pace.
One hand still around her mouth, he reaches with the other to find her throbbing center, and she squeals as he presses his fingertips against it.
“Shh,iubit,” he whispers into her ear. “Someone might hear us.”
It’s glorious torture as he moves his fingers against her. She wants to tell him to go faster, but with his hand clamped over her mouth, she can do little more then let out muffled moans. Closing her eyes, she digs her nails into the wooden shelf, listens to the deliciously wet sounds of him sliding into and out of her.
More books fall from the shelf as his pace quickens. His fingers match that pace, building her up faster, taking her to the peak.
And finally, she holds her breath, feels the wave rising to its breaking point.
She crashes over him, climaxing, her groans slipping through his fingers, her walls clenching his shaft as he drives into her again and again.
It takes but a moment longer for him to reach his peak. He thrusts into her one last time, then pulls out, freeing her mouth as he spills himself onto her bare cheeks.
She gasps, trying to catch her breath as warmth drips down her thighs. There’s a soft rushing in her ears, and it takes a moment for her heart to slow its galloping pace.
Theodore, too, is out of breath, his lips still stained with Nadia’s blood.
Breathing heavily, Nadia straightens up, her skirts slipping back into place, the delicate fabric kissing her slippers. The hardwood floor is littered with books, and still the candles burn.
Theodore shakes his head, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “That was—”
Before he can find his words, Nadia presses her mouth against his, stealing his breath away with a deep kiss. There’s less hunger this time, the need having been replaced with sleepy satisfaction.
Theodore wraps his arms around her, and she surrenders, allowing herself to find solace in his embrace. They remain like that for a short time, their fluttering hearts matching each other in rhythm. As the candles burn, Nadia sighs into Theodore’s warm chest.
“Have I made it up to you, my bride?” he whispers into her hair.
Nadia pulls away and meets his eyes, and though hurt still lingers in her bones, she offers him a small smile.
“For now, my lord. But we’ll see what tomorrow brings.”
Chapter Five
Storm clouds hang heavy overhead,and the pleasant autumn weather seems to have abandoned Graystone for the time being. Rain pattered lightly at the window while Amélie prepared Nadia for the day, and it still falls now, gray and unending, as the family gathers to see the Kazamirs off.
Nadia stands between Contessa and Theodore, a parasol keeping the rain from her dark hair, and worries at her bottom lip as servants scurry about in the damp, packing the Kazamirs’ trunks into the carriages.
After making love with Theodore in the library, she returned to her room and found her heart and mind unsettled. Even now, as she stands with her arm nearly brushing the viscount’s, she finds herself plagued with uncertainty.
Despite Theodore’s assurances that he feels nothing for Honora, the fact that he was supposed to be engaged to her, promised to her long before Nadia even knew his name, makes something vile twist in her gut. And that twisting only intensifies when the footmen open the doors and the Kazamirs appear in force.
Lord and Lady Kazamir offer nothing in way of goodbyes, breezing down the manor steps and into one of the waiting carriages without sharing a word with the Rosettis. Nadia glances at Lady Rosetti and finds her expression neutral andunreadable, but Lord Rosetti’s eyes are narrowed, his forehead pinched just slightly.
Marek and Konrád aren’t quite so impolite as their parents. They thank Lord and Lady Rosetti for accommodating them, smiles on their smooth faces, and then stop before Theodore and Nadia.
“It was a such a pleasure meeting you, Miss Magdalena,” Konrád says, reaching for Nadia’s hand.
