“You would never disappoint me,” he said, his gaze on her hands as they trailed over her hips and down to the juncture of her thighs. “You...” He cut off when her fingers delved into the folds of that vee and she threw her head back, enjoying the sensation of tiny ripples of pleasure from her fingers and the knowledge he watched her. She was wet for him, and she slid her finger easily inside her sheath. Nick groaned, and then she was swept up and being carried in his arms.
“Was that wanton enough?”
“So wanton you will be fortunate if I don’t ravish you.” He tossed her on the bed and came down on top of her. His weight was pleasant and familiar as was his mouth when it covered hers. His tongue dipped inside her mouth, and she met his thrusts with her own. His hands were on her breasts, kneading and fondling, and when he touched her, it felt unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She thrust into his palms, pushing her pelvis against that hardness she felt between her legs.
“Nick,” she whispered, when his mouth left hers to take first one nipple and then the other in his mouth. “I want you. Please.”
“I want you ready,” he murmured against her belly. “I want you to enjoy this as much as I will.”
“I’m ready.” She took his hand and guided it between her legs. He looked up at her and smiled. “You are ready, aren’t you? But I want you on the edge of climax. I want you on the precipice, at the point where you can barely stand waiting another moment.” His mouth trailed lower, and she thought he would kiss her there. She would not have objected to that, but his lips went lower, and he kissed the top of her leg. Her injured leg.
“Nick.” She squirmed. She did not want him kissing that ugly, scarred skin. But he would not be deterred. He held her still and lowered his mouth to kiss her scars gently. “Don’t.”
“I love your body,” he murmured against her flesh. “I love all of it. You are beautiful to me. Every inch of you.” His tongue traced her burn scars all the way to below her knee and then back up again. She shivered, amazed she was actually enjoying the sensation. His hands preceded his tongue, and he pushed her legs open as he made his way back up. And when she was spread wide for him, he knelt between her legs and touched his tongue to her. She jumped and then moaned. Back arched, she clutched at the bedclothes, the scent of orchids and wild jasmine on the breeze as he pleasured her. She thought she would forever associate the scent of jasmine and spices with the feel of Nick’s mouth on her.
She came suddenly and violently, rearing up and crying out. Nick continued his assault through her climax until she could not take anymore. “Please,” she begged him. “No more.”
He rose on his elbows and then sat on the edge of the bed. He tugged his boots off then stood and reached for the fall of his breeches. “I can’t stop now,” he said as he freed his erection. “The best is yet to come.”
She believed him because even though she glowed from her recent climax, she felt her body tightening in expectation of having him inside her, filling her, giving her even more. He climbed on the bed again, straddling her and kissing her gently. She took him in her hand, caressing him until he inhaled sharply and grasped her wrist pulling her hand away and kissing her palm. He kissed her again, and she opened her mouth to him, opened her legs. She could feel his hardness and the weight of him at the juncture of her thighs, and she dug her hands into his back, urging him inside. He penetrated her a fraction of an inch then pulled out, his tongue mirroring his body.
“Nick,” she said on a gasp of pleasure. She wanted to feel him inside her, feel him filling her. But he teased her again, penetrating her enough to make her dizzy with pleasure he refused to give her. He withdrew again, repeating the action over and over until he filled her halfway. She wrapped her legs about his waist, tried to pull him inside her, but he merely laughed and murmured, “Not yet.”
But the next time he entered her, giving her just a taste of him, she sobbed at his withdrawal. “Nick...”
“What do you want, Ashley? Tell me.”
“You,” she said. “I want you, inside me.”
He entered her, again only a fraction of an inch.
“More,” she begged. “More” until he filled her completely. “Yes.” She moved with him as he thrust in and out filling her and pushing her to the brink of ecstasy. “Nick!” she cried, her gaze meeting his.
He was above her, his eyes on hers. Their gazes locked, and she could not look away. At that moment, her world was only Nick. Nick, who’d pretended to be a scoundrel to protect her from finding out the truth about him. Nick, who was a pirate who gave all of his prize money away. Nick, who had a little daughter he loved and protected. Nick, who had given up his ship, his revenge to protect her.
Nick, her husband. The man she loved. And now, at this moment, she loved him more than anything else in the world. “I love you,” she said as her climax crashed down on her. “I love you, Nicholas Martingale.” She felt him swell and he made a gruff, guttural sound. He’d found his own release, but in the midst of it, he had not told her he loved her.
His head rested on her shoulder, his pleasant weight on top of her. He supported himself on his arms, once again proving he was a gentleman. He did not want to crush her.
She waited as his breathing slowed and hers followed suit. He slid out of her and slowly rolled over. Still, she waited. Surely, he would say something—acknowledge what she had said, give her some words of affection, or—wonder of wonders—tell her he loved her back!
Finally, after what seemed hours, she looked over at him. The scoundrel was sleeping. She lifted a pillow and smacked him across the face.
“Ow!” he yelled, sitting up. “What the devil is wrong with you?”
“The question, Nicholas, is what is wrong with you?”
He gave her an incomprehensible look, and she wanted to scream. “Why don’t you love me?” she demanded. “No, that’s not right because I know you do love me. Why can’t you say it?”
“Ashley—”
She looked at his face, but his expression was guarded. He was forming some sort of response to placate her. She did not want to hear it. “Oh, stubble it,” she said, pushing to her feet and grasping the bedclothes. She wrapped them about her body and stomped to the door. “Do not speak to me again, Lord Nicholas, and forget what I said. I spoke in the throes of pleasure and was mistaken. I do not love you. I hate you!”
Chapter Nineteen
Nick closed his eyes and threw a hand over them. He was an idiot. He should have told her what she wanted to hear. He could have simply said the words, made her happy.
I love you too.
