Bridgerton Collection, Volume 2 - Julia Quinn Page 0,230

to hear?”

“I’m sure,” she said, nibbling on her lower lip. “It does seem the sort of thing you’d brag about while you’re racing horses and playing cards and being competitive for no particular reason.”

He wasn’t sure whether he was shaking with laughter or dismay. “Eloise,” he managed to say, “I assure you—”

“How much is it going to hurt?” she blurted out.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I’ve never been in your position. A little, I imagine. I hope not too much.”

She nodded, seeming to appreciate his candor. “I keep . . .” Her words trailed off.

“Tell me,” he urged.

For several seconds she did nothing but blink, then she said, “I keep getting swept away, like the other day, but then I see you, or I feel you, and I can’t imagine how this will work, and I worry I’ll be torn apart, and I lose it. The magic,” she explained. “I lose the magic.”

And then he decided—to hell with it. Why should he wait? Why should she wait? He leaned down, kissed her quickly on the mouth. “Wait right here,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Before she could ask questions—and she was Eloise, so of course she had questions—he slithered down, and spread her legs wide, the way he’d lain awake imagining at night, and kissed her.

She screamed.

“Good,” he murmured, his words disappearing into the very heart of her. His hands held her firm; he had no choice, she was squirming and bucking like a wild woman. He licked and kissed, and he tasted every inch, every tantalizing crevice. He was voracious, and he devoured her, thinking that this had to be quite simply the best thing he’d ever done in his entire life, and dear God, he was thankful he was a married man now and could do it as often as he liked.

He’d heard other men talk about it, of course, but never ever had he dreamed it would be this good. He was a hairbreadth away from losing himself completely, and she hadn’t even touched him. Not that he would have wanted her to at that moment—the way she was gripping the sheets, her knuckles white and straining, hell, she would have ripped him in two.

He should have let her finish, should have kissed her until she exploded into his mouth, but at that point his own needs took over, and he simply had no choice. This was his wedding night, and when he spilled himself, it was going to be into her, not the sheets, and dear God, but if he didn’t feel her squeezing around him soon, he was quite certain he was going to burst into flame.

And so he lifted himself, ignoring her cry of distress as he removed his lips, and he moved up, settling his member against her one more time, then using his fingers to part her even more as he pushed forward.

She was wet—very, very wet, a mix of her and him, and it was nothing like he’d ever felt before. He slid right in, her passage somehow easy and tight at the same time.

She gasped his name, and he gasped hers, and then, unable to keep his pace slow, he plunged forward, breaking through her last barrier until he was embedded to the hilt. And maybe he should have stopped, maybe he should have asked if she was all right, if she felt any pain, but he just couldn’t. It had been so damned long, and he needed her so damned much, and once his body began to move there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop it.

He was fast and he was rough, but she must have liked it because she was fast and rough beneath him, her hips grinding against his with needy force as her fingers bit into his back.

And when she moaned, it wasn’t his name. It was, “More!”

He slid his fingers beneath her, grabbing on to her buttocks, squeezing hard as he tilted her up to allow him even easier entry, and the change of position must have done something to change the way he was rubbing her, or maybe she had just reached her limit, because she arched beneath him, going so stiff she shook, and then a cry was ripped from her throat as he felt her muscles convulse around him.

He could take no more. With one final shout he plunged forward, shuddering and shaking as he emptied himself, claiming her finally and indelibly as his own.

Chapter 15

. . . I cannot