Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
His arms tightened around her as he found himself recalling the reason behind her shyness.
Almost her entire life, Mary had lived under the oppressive authority of her stepfather, a man who was half religious zealot, half sex maniac. With all the abuse Bartholomew had subjected her to, it was a wonder Mary had managed to stay not only sane but kind and forgiving – someone who could stay by Rathe’s side, despite knowing he could never give her his heart.
“R-Rathe?” Worry for him ironically made her sound so much younger, and this time his mind drowned in a mixture of past memories and recent events. People mocking his parents for their age gap, people talking about him and Mary behind their backs because of the same bloody thing.
The fact was, Rathe was sixteen years older than Mary. He was, and would always be, old enough to be her father. Was it truly right to be with her?
“Rathe.” This time, Mary’s voice was firmer, his name on her lips accompanied by her touch. His beautiful little pearl cupped his face, making him look at her.
“S-stop frowning, please.” She knew not anyone would be able to say something like it to his face, but she said the words anyway. For her, Rathe was Rathe first, and his being the duke was just incidental.
Rathe forced himself to relax. “Sorry, darling.” When she touched his brows, he asked wryly, “Do I look that fearsome?”
“Not exactly. Just...melancholic?”
His lips twitched.
She blinked in confusion. “W-what?”
Securing his hold on her, he shook his head as he started to walk towards where she had been resting earlier. “Nothing, except that you still surprise me with how—-” He paused. “—-eloquent you can be, at your age.”
Mary sighed. “I wish I could b-be more eloquent. I mean, I am more eloquent usually, b-but when I s-see you...”
Lowering her to her feet, he murmured wickedly, “You’re overcome with so much desire for me you forget what you have to say?”
A gasp of mortification escaped her, mostly because it was true.
Releasing a low laugh, he hauled her close to him again. But when he whispered against her lips, his voice was taut. “Promise me, Mary.” He lowered his head, his temple pressing against hers. “Promise me you won’t ever leave me.”
The words stunned her. Why would he even think she’d consider leaving him? That she could even manage to leave him?
“Oh, Rathe.” It hurt to say his name at that moment, the pain coming from the thought that he was hurting. Tiptoeing, she reached for his face. “I will never l-leave you.”
Their eyes met, different shades of blue reflecting passion that was both scorching-hot and poignant.
“I love you.” She pressed her lips to his. “I love you.” She started to say it again, but this time Rathe didn’t let her, his mouth suddenly ravaging hers. His tongue pushed in, his hands shaping her curves before cupping her breasts, and just like that, their desire for each other exploded into irrepressible need.
Clothes were discarded, their movements frantic, their panting loud and hard. Her moans and his harsh breathing were the only sounds to destroy the serene peace enveloping the woods that made up just a portion of the Wellesleys’ lands in the north.
Rathe had the presence of mind to lay his coat open on the ground before lowering Mary on it. Looming over her, he took one long moment to savor the voluptuous sight of her nakedness. Her creamy bountiful breasts, her tiny waist, and her long shapely legs – all of it combined created the most beautiful Rubenesque figure, causing tiny drops of pre-cum to wet the head of his engorged cock.
She ran her hands all over his body, loving the way the muscles in his back bunched up against her touch. Her hands drifted down until she was cupping his buttocks. It was her favorite part of his body, and she could feel him smiling as she stroked the hard cheeks of his bottom.
Her touch was almost irreverent, making him ask wryly, “What is it with you and my arse?”
She giggled. “I d-don’t know. It’s just so...” She pinched, and it was all hard muscles.
“You’re a little potty, do you know that?”
This time, she knew what ‘potty’ meant and Mary wrinkled her nose. “I’m not crazy.” She paused. “Well, okay, I am, but only about your...” She tried to remember the right British word for a person’s behind and came upon it a second later. “—-your bum.”
His laughter rang out in the woods, the sound so masculinely attractive it had her toes curling. “Congratulations, milady,” he teased. “You finally have our slang right. Hopefully, this means no more incidences like that instance you said ‘pardon me’ in front of the Marchioness—-”
She slapped his shoulder. “It’s your fault.” She nearly wailed the words out. “I didn’t know ‘pardon me’ here meant something you say when you’re going to fart.”