Page 50 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
He rubbed a finger, moistening it with her dewy response, then slipped it within her slight virginal passage. She flinched at the intrusion, then relaxed as if recalling the last time he had touched her. That time there had been no pain, only new pleasure. He hoped that this evening would be the same. He slid two fingers within her, preparing her, testing her readiness for him. He felt like he had been waiting for her his entire life.
Devona shifted in his embrace opening herself more to him. A growl of frustration rumbled in his throat while he stroked and playfully nipped the gift she offered. Her body tensed, awaiting the release his wife was just beginning to understand. His fingers plunged deeper, encouraging the release he craved to give her.
“Ahh!” she cried out, her fingernails digging into his shoulders, then slackening when the fiery surges of her release came to completion.
Rayne pulled back, wiping the wetness on his face with the back of his hand. Fierce possessiveness ran through him with the knowledge that he was the only one who had ever given her such ecstasy. He picked up a towel and wrapped her trembling body.
She bent down, pressing her cheek to his. To his delight, she laughed, the sound a closing fist around his heart. “I do not think I can take a single step,” she confessed.
Rayne stood. Devona had yet to look him directly in the eye, a shyness having settled in her demeanor. The different dimensions to her character fascinated him. He smiled, contemplating the ways he could lure the wanton back. Scooping her up, he carried her to the bed.
“I think your breeches are ruined.”
He hid his smile with a kiss to her temple. “Still worrying about my clothes?” He placed her reverently on the bed. “I guess I will have to humor you and remove them.” His hand reached for the buttons at his waist. One by one he undid the flap, his gaze never straying from hers.
“The candles?” Her voice had a wispy quality as she watched him push his breeches down, revealing his very aroused state.
“Leave them lit. I want to see us together.”
She nodded, her eyes now focused on his jutting cock. He could see the uncertainty, the unspoken fears any gently bred lady would have. He would be a gentleman for her. He would handle her delicately, guiding himself slowly into her, no matter how much it would kill him to do so. She deserved this. He tried to think of some way to assure her that he was not some kind of beast that would leap upon her and rut until the madness had been purged from his brain and his seed had been spent. Even if that was how he was feeling at the moment. “If you will not trust your husband, you can trust my medical expertise as a surgeon. This sort of union has been successful since the dawn of mankind.”
She surprised him again by giggling. Before he could question her on the source of her amusement, she coyly admitted, “It was not the science I questioned, Husband. Rather it was the size of your”—she glanced down pointedly at his cock, which twitched at her brazen appraisal—“that I… uh, marveled at.”
Rayne choked on his strangled laughter. He had never met a woman who could push him to the brink of pain and laughter at the same time. She aroused all elements of passion within him. “I insist you take full measure of it, Wife.” She was still laughing when he kicked aside his breeches and climbed into the bed beside her.
His closeness sobered her but did not diminish the brilliance in her eyes. He tugged on the towel under her to bring her closer. Devona tilted her chin up in the defiant manner she had, as if challenging him to take her. He did. He lowered his face to hers and plundered her mouth. Her lips were full and pliant against his, returning the kiss. Covering her with his body, he coaxed her mouth open by gently squeezing her jaw. When she complied, he deepened the kiss. She stiffened at the intrusion of his tongue.
“Like this.”
He licked her lips, then teased her tongue to mimic his movements. After an experimental flick or two of her tongue against his, she became enthusiastically caught up in the sensuality of the seemingly never-ending kiss. Together lips brushed, tongues licked, explored, and claimed. Her kiss-swollen mouth and the way her breasts rubbed against his chest were testing the limits of his control. His cock, hot, velvet steel, was already pressing against the wet nest of curls, demanding entry.
Devona pulled back from the kiss. “I cannot take a breath,” she gasped. Her eyes dilated from passion had a glazelike quality to them.
He slipped a hand between them and parted the soft hidden folds, readying her for his entry. “Look at me, Devona. I want you to see what you do to me when I make you mine.”
Her eyes still had a dreamy haze to them, focused on his. What he saw there sapped the last of his control. She trusted him. Whether it was her body, her heart, or both he did not care. Rayne surged into her, with one definitive thrust. She automatically arched beneath him, a small sound escaping her lips. He stilled, his body viciously warring against the primitive instinctive need to pump until completion and the concern that he had hurt her.
“Is there pain?” he asked as if the question had been ripped from his throat. Needs were riding him too harshly for polite conversation.
“N-not exactly.” She lifted her hips, trying to adjust to him being inside her. “Now I can understand why you never hear of this part discussed in the ladies’ retiring room.”
Her movements made him slide deeper within her. He groaned. “Don’t you dare make me laugh, madam. Some events deserve veneration.” He pulled out slowly, enjoying the way the muscles of her passage resisted his withdrawal. In a fluid motion with his hips, he filled her. This time her arching gasp was of appreciation.
“I would not dream of ruining your adoration,” Devona said, giving him a sultry look that had what little blood he had left in his brain draining to his nether regions. “Pray continue, my lord.”
Rayne had never imagined his wife was capable of such an expression. A man would sell his soul to have a beautiful woman stare at him in that manner. He only had to die and lose everything to have her. It seemed a small price now. “Put your hands on me, beloved,” he murmured, increasing the tempo of his thrusts.
Devona’s slender fingers clutched his upper arms as he moved, her body accepting his pressing weight. He could feel the sweat pool and run down his back as his exertions brought him closer to his release. Her eyes were closed now. She breathed through her mouth as he did, her breath as labored as his own. The bountiful wetness of her arousal assured him that she was more than enduring his insatiable penetration.
The tempo quickened, rising to yet another level of feverish need. Her hips lifted in a counter rhythm. Rayne gritted his teeth, a tingling at the base of his cock warning him that he could no longer prevent the impending release. One hand cupped her buttocks, bringing her closer. Devona stiffened and cried out, but he was too caught up in his own explosive release to barely notice. He ground his pelvis into her, the head of his cock buried deep as he pumped his seed into her womb.
A blissful calm eased into his being. The tempestuous whirlwind of lust that had been tearing at him since he had first met her had abated. But not for long. He grinned to himself. Rayne eased out of her. He rolled onto his back, taking her with him. She curled up at his side, resting her head on the curve of his shoulder. Neither spoke. Words were not needed. His arm secured her to his side, a blatant act of possession. Listening to the lulling drone of insects outdoors, he fell asleep.
***
Devona retied the bow on her bonnet for the twelfth time in the last two hours. This was their second day in the coach. Although she had yet to issue a complaint, she felt she would go mad from the boredom. Tipton, preoccupied with his own thoughts, had silently stared out the coach’s window. Each hour that brought them closer to his family estate, Foxenclover, the more dour his visage had become.
She knew nothing of his family. Tipton was rather closemouthed about the subject. If the rumors were true, his grandmother had died of heart failure the minute she laid eyes on him. Not long after, the Wymans tossed their second son off the family lands. His infamous resurrection had terrified the parish, and what could a family do but side with public opinion? Her mouth quirked into a mischievous grin. She would wager her monthly allowance that Tipton had enjoyed tormenting the entire lot.
