him as much as he wanted her.
So deliciously hot. He wanted to roll her over, fuck her until he no longer knew where he started and she ended, but he could not. After the child was born, there would be plenty of time for that. Tonight would be different. He'd allow her to take him, use him to find release and then, and only then, would he come.
Hugh reached up, circling her breasts with his hands. She sighed, her nipples pebbling into tight knots. He sat up, pulling her against him and covered one nipple with his mouth. He flicked the beaded flesh with his tongue, giving it a love bite or two before soothing it yet again with his mouth.
Her breathing ragged, she reached between them, taking him in hand. His cock twitched at the feel of her hot, welcoming core. She lowered herself onto him, wrapping her arms about his neck as she embedded herself fully.
"Oh, yes," she sighed.
The urge to take her and make her his again rode hard within him, but he breathed deep, let his beautiful wife set her own pace, and find her pleasure and release. He held her tight against him, helping her undulate upon him. She was such a perfect fit, breathy moans, and sighs all the stimulation he needed to remain patient and wait.
His turn would come.
* * *
Molly pushed Hugh back onto the bedding, holding his shoulders as she rocked up and down on his cock. So hard and fulfilling. Teasing that special little place within her that craved and mourned the loss of him all these weeks.
Her body did not feel like her own. Everything was more sensitive, her breasts, her cunny, everything ached and wept more than before. It only added to the pleasure, to the need that rode hard within her.
She took all of him, rocked against him until the pleasure, the sensations thrumming through her veins were too much. A pulsing started at her core, exploding throughout her body. Molly moaned his name, took him until her body no longer convulsed around his manhood.
"Make me come," he demanded, not forcing anything upon her, willing to be at her mercy.
His command was like an elixir, and she continued, riding him with vigor. His manhood swelled inside her. His fingers dug into her hips, slamming her down upon him before he gasped, moaned her name, and spent himself long and sure inside her.
She kissed his words from his lips, taking his mouth in a searing kiss before slumping at his side, her leg carelessly laying over his waist.
He shifted, reaching down to pull the bedding over them both, before pulling her into the crook of his arm. His lips brushed her temple, his hand idly running along her spine.
"Does this mean you'll be staying here in London or at least staying with me?"
She looked up at him, and their eyes met. Her heart thumped hard in her chest over what she felt for this man. A man she'd allowed what others believed in him to cloud her own thoughts and beliefs. Never again would she doubt him, not for anyone.
"Can we return to St. Albans Abby in Kent? The Season is over, and I want to prepare for the baby. Make your childhood home, our home, our child's home."
He kissed her again, seemingly unable to get enough of her. Not that she minded, she loved being in his arms. This, right now, was what felt true. To be here again with her husband, her lover, and friend was all she needed.
"On one condition,” he said, pulling back.
She glanced at him, wondering what he meant. “I will do anything. I hope you know that now.”
His wicked grin sent her blood to pump. “We shall leave in the morning, but only if you marry me."
Tears blurred her vision, but she nodded. “Yes, of course I will marry you. Again.”
He kissed her with such tenderness that she knew her heart would never beat for anyone else. After a time, she snuggled into his side, allowed the constant drum of his heartbeat to lull her to sleep. She had missed this, just the two of them, alone together. She pulled him tighter into her hold, silently promising to love him always.
And forever.
Epilogue
Early December 1829- St Albans Abby, Kent
Their baby boy, Lord Oliver Hugh Farley, Marquess Brentwood, future Duke of St. Albans lay snuggled in Hugh's arms, both father and son asleep before the roaring fire in the duke's study at the Abby.