Page 48 of The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons 1)

Margaret had never felt so powerful. So seductive. When she laid her head on the ridges of his abdomen and took hold of both sides of his trousers, Welles trembled beneath her cheek. Tugging as hard as she could, they fell from his hips.

Welles moved back and stepped gracefully out of his trousers, kicking them aside. He stood before her, his hands tugging at the braid of her hair until the dark strands fell over her shoulders.

Margaret was intimately aware of a piece of his anatomy directly in front of her. Without thinking she reached out and wrapped her fingers around the hard length, wondering how she should proceed.

“Maggie,” he breathed, placing one hand over hers, “are you very sure?”

“Yes. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

He pushed her back against the cushions and nudged her legs apart before settling between them, claiming her mouth for another kiss. His lips held an urgency, a possessive heat that sent her heart racing. Where before he had asked for her surrender, now Welles demanded it, running his tongue along her bottom lip before moving his mouth to trail down the slope of her neck.

Margaret welcomed his possession. She rocked her hips up against him, her fingers clutching at the muscles of his back. When his hips shifted and the heavy thick heat of him pressed into her, Margaret’s legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

“Slow, Maggie. I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice was strained.

She whimpered and lifted her knees forcing him deeper. Welles was being infinitely patient and careful in destroying her virtue, making her heart yearn for him even more, if that were possible. Margaret pushed her hips up again, begging him to take her.

In response, Welles pulled back. His hand cupped her cheek, eyes full of heat and desire mixed with worry over the physical pain of their joining. “I’m sorry.” He captured her mouth in a deep kiss, stealing the cry from her lips as he thrust forward, imbedding himself.

Margaret’s eyes widened at the sudden invasion. Her body, so much smaller, struggled to accommodate his. The sensation of being stretched and full wasdifferent, but she otherwise felt little pain at the destruction of her maidenhead. The loss of her virtue amounted to little more than a sting, no worse than a pinch on her arm from her aunt. And having Welles inside of her was…wonderful.

His breathing was ragged as he kissed the slope of her neck, his body taut and still.

He’s afraid to hurt me.Margaret’s heart thudded dully in her chest.

And Welles was repeating something, like a poem or a prayer, the words low and muffled.

“What are you saying?” her fingers cupped his chin.

In response, Welles smiled and laced her fingers with his, raising her arms above her head. He started to move, each stroke bringing him deeper inside her as if he was trying to merge his much larger form with hers.

Margaret found the feeling pleasurable, although not as lovely as what he’d done before.

He hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, angling the lower half of his body.

“Oh.” A sharp prick of heat rolled up inside her again. Perhaps she’d been mistaken.

“There?”

“Yes, I—” The rest of her words dissolved into a moan. Each thrust brought her closer to the pleasure she’d experienced before, but this time it was different. The music of Welles sank into her bones echoing through the surface of her skin. Their bodies moved together in a beautiful duet, a perfect harmony of her and Welles. The muscles in the lower half of her body tightened as her release approached, urging him deeper.

He grunted in satisfaction and increased his pace. When his teeth sunk gently into her shoulder, the sting of his bite mixing with the intense pleasure, Margaret shattered, the music of Welles the only thing she could hear. She arched against him, marveling at the stars as her eyes closed. A cacophony of every shade of blue sparkled beneath her eyelids.

Welles thrust into her twice more, swearing softly before pulling out. A spray of hot liquid ran across her belly and between her legs. His breathing was uneven and heavy as he fell against her to press a kiss to her forehead. “Maggie.”

Margaret knew what he’d done. Harriette Wilson’s book had covered withdrawal as a way to prevent conceiving a child. Welles didn’t want children. Her arms tightened around him. She should have been glad of his consideration, but instead, his actions pained her. A tear ran down her cheek though she tried to blink it away. She had come to Elysium with no illusions regarding Welles, nor any expectations. Welles bore her some affection, as evidenced by his tender regard tonight, and for that, Margaret was grateful. But their physical relationship couldn’t progress past this one night, not when Margaret had to secure her future.

Welles kissed her and got up, padding naked to the other side of the room.

She closed her eyes, listening to the crackle of the fire and Welles moving about. In a moment the chaise dipped as he sat next to her. A wet cloth gently wiped at her stomach before pressing between her legs. Her eyes fluttered open to see him watching her, a tender expression on his handsome face as he carefully cleaned her.

Another tear escaped her eyes and she brushed it away lest Welles see it. Was this how all rakes behaved when deflowering virgins? Her heart beat hard within her chest.

“Don’t worry, my Maggie. You are safe for the time being from my lecherous advances. Did I hurt you?” His brow wrinkled in concern. “You’re so much smaller than me, and I—”

“No,” she assured him, placing a hand on his stomach. “You didn’t hurt me.”

He nodded, running the cloth along the inside of her thighs, more gentle than she could have imagined a notorious despoiler of women would be. “So beautiful.” He pressed his mouth to her stomach.

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