until he could free her breasts. Her nipples were hard little points and he lowered his mouth to suck one in as his hand went back between her legs.
He moved slowly, making languid circles over that hidden nub, then around her entrance. Back and forth he went until she was writhing beneath him.
“Oh yes,” she hissed.
He slowed his movements, taking his fingers away from her sensitive skin. He lifted his head from her breast and eyed her.
“Please,” she said.
“In due time.” He was in charge of her pleasure, no one else. She needed to remember that. Again, he brought her close to release, then pulled back. He stilled his hand and kissed her mouth and she wiggled under him, whining at the back of her throat.
He was so damned hard in his trousers it was a miracle he hadn’t already spilled himself. But he ignored his painful erection and went back to her pleasure, circling her nub, sucking her nipples, sliding his fingers in and out of her.
“Please don’t stop, please Sullivan.”
But he did stop. Twice more. She was so frustrated she was nearly in tears. He was close to drilling a hole through his pants. Finally, when he built her back up so she was right at the cusp of the climax, he let her slide over the edge.
She screamed, her body twitching with pleasure, her back arching. When the last waves of her orgasm stilled, she opened her eyes, and tears streamed down her cheeks into her hairline. She inhaled, the breath ragged.
She said nothing, but she did reach for his trouser fastenings. He stopped her hand and shook his head. He stood, then reached down and assisted her to her feet, fixing the bodice of her dress so she was properly covered.
“Why won’t you let me touch you?”
“That’s not what I want right now. This was about your pleasure.”
Her eyes searched his face earnestly. “But I want to make you feel good, too.”
He shook his head and turned to face the surf as the waves rolled in and out. She might never love him. Fine. But until their six months was up, her body was his. He wouldn’t let her forget it. He would pleasure her so often and so well, she wouldn’t ever think of another man again.
…
She’d waited several hours before locating Sullivan once they’d returned to the estate. “I have instructed the staff to ready the carriage,” she said, doing her best to keep her voice even and devoid of emotion.
He glanced up from the several ledger books spread across his desk.
She clenched her jaw and took a slow, steady breath. She would not show him any of the hurt and humiliation she felt. Foolishly, she’d trusted him with her body, and that intimacy had given her a false sense of security in the dynamic of their relationship. The truth was, he held all the cards. Thus far, he had made the decisions and the demands.
He’d demanded she refrain from her Ladies of Virtue duties. He had said when and where he would touch her body and when and where she could touch his. Well, no more. She wouldn’t be his little puppet.
“And where shall you be taking this carriage?” he asked.
“I wish to return to London. Posthaste.”
His brows rose and she cursed the fact that he was so bloody handsome. She should have known better. Should have known that Sullivan, like her sister and her mother, couldn’t be trusted. They were too attractive. People who were physically perfect didn’t reside in the same world as she did. They were afforded luxuries pedestrian people such as herself would never receive. They didn’t have to fight for anything, didn’t have to try. They simply were. Beautiful and perfect and the rest of the world fell at their feet.
She released a tight and mirthless laugh.
“Suddenly you are in such a rush to return to London?”
“I am.”
He steepled his fingers under his chin. “What, may I ask, is the hurry?”
Damnation, she hadn’t considered him questioning her. This was what she got for being impulsive. “I’m missing my family, my mother in particular, and should like to return and see her.”
His jaw ticked. She was lying. He knew she was lying, they both did. But she’d be damned if she’d tell him the truth — that she needed space from him. Needed to return to the bustle of London and her friends and her duties. The other day on the pier when they’d seen that young boy stealing,