Page 63 of Loving a Beast of a Marquess
She wasn’t certain she cared.
The pressure in her body that she had been denying for months had finally risen to the surface, and she could deny it no longer. He may have the self-control to stop, but there could be no stopping now. This had been put into motion—shehad put it in motion—and all she could do now was follow it through.
And oh, offer herself to the flame.
Zachary’s hands moved to her backside, pressing her closer to him so that his length could better rub against her. His breath grew heavy and hot against her neck, and her own pleasure built in response.
If he had not touched her there before, she would never have believed any part of her body could feel so much. Pleasure pooled in her core, growing with every shift of her hips against him.
Zachary ran one hand along her legs until he found the hem of her dress. That hand slid up along her calf to the crease of her knee, questing fingers exploring, until he reached her inner thigh. It almost tickled, but as she shuddered against him, he found his way to the slickness between her legs.
“Evangeline,” he muttered against her mouth. “You’re so ready for me.”
In answer, she ground against his fingers, urging him on. He was so close to doing what he had done before, to make her feel as he had made her feel once before.
She needed him to do it again.
The carriage lurched to a stop.
Zachary pulled away from her, his cheeks red and his hair mussed from where she had run her hands through it. He removed his hand from between her legs, and she saw the precise moment reason once again returned to him.
“Excellent timing,” he said, taking hold of her and easing himself back. This time, she allowed him; in a second, a footman would open the door, and they would have to pretend nothing had happened.
“I hope you have no evening plans,” she said breathlessly.
He chuckled darkly. “Oh, I have plans.”
The footman opened the door, and Zachary descended, dismissing the man with a curt nod. Evangeline expected to accept his hand, but as she leaned forward to exit the carriage, he scooped her up into his arms.
“You are my wife,” he told her as he strode up the steps to the front door which the butler held promptly open. “And I have every intention of carrying you across the threshold.”
Evangeline wrapped her arms around his neck as he carried her over the threshold. This man—Zachary Ranson, Marquess of Harley, was her husband, and he was carrying her into the house they now shared.
Her every dream had come true with a suddenness that took her breath away and made her toes curl with excitement, and the night was not yet over.
Nor, Evangeline hoped, would it be over for quite some time yet.
Epilogue
It seemed Zachary was not content merely bearing Evangeline over the threshold. Holding her as though she were weightless, he carried her past the curious faces of the servants and up the stairs.
Later, she was certain, she would be introduced to the staff and would speak with the housekeeper about the practical running of the house. For now, though, she had no wish for any of them to see the way her hair was already falling from its pins or the way her stocking—just visible from the way he was carrying her—had wrinkled around her ankles from his caresses.
No, she wanted no one to see her in the depths of her depravity; she wanted no one there but Zachary, his strong arms underneath her as they finally reached his bedchamber.
And oh, what a bedchamber.
Evangeline cared for little except the large bed he laid her on, but beyond the canopy above them, she had glimpsed exquisite carvings in the ceiling with blue and golden coving on the walls. It was not just the bedchamber of a man; it was the bedchamber of a king.
And she was the queen.
“You will sleep with me,” he told her as he laid her on the bed and gazed down at her with all the satisfaction of a man supremely pleased with what he saw. “I have a room made up for you, but you will be spending your nights here with me.”
Although there was nothing more she could have wished for, she raised an eyebrow. “And if I change my mind?” she challenged.
“I shall endeavor to change it back,” he said, a growl in his voice as he bent down to kiss her.
“I hope you will never stop endeavoring to please me,” she said between kisses, even as her fingers raked at his clothes. She wanted them off, so she could see him properly. She wanted to learn the secrets of his body as deeply as he appeared to know the secrets of hers.
