Fascinated

Marry her? MARRY her?

He will never marry me… here is the endgame of all my folly… it is ever as women have been warned: a man will not commit to what he can have for the asking…

And there is always a woman waiting to be asked…

Even marriage to Mr. Raulton is preferable to being a spinster and alone-

Being a mistress is not all glitter and gold.

The only best part is, no one ever has to know…

It colored everything, the whole muddle about Mr. Raulton.

'But you will have everything you said you de-sired,'Ancilla pointed out. 'You said you would tame him and then marry him, and here he is, practically on bended knee, and you have reservations?'

'It was but a joke, party conversation, Ancilla. It never occurred to me it would go so completely out of control.'

'His attentions to you are marked, now, even though he spreads himself between the two other possibilities. But he comes back to you again and again. There is no doubt he will offer for you.'

If he offers for me, I don't know what I'll do.

Marry her?

What if he offers for her?

Damn and hell. Things are perfect the way they are-hut blast it, every woman wants to he married. Even her. Damn damn damn…

If he touches her, I'll kill him…

Or some other man touching her… taking all that voluptuous carnality for his own…?

He felt murderous. Hell and damn, damn and hell.…

… marry her…

… have her all the time, any time… only his… no worry about boring her, wearing her out, or the end of the affair and who would be fucking her next… her allegiance, her body, her nipples, her sex would be his, and only his...

How could he live without it?

Marry her-the natural continuation of the pleasure game-

Marry her…

'If he offers,' Regina said tentatively-and there was no great assurance that he would-'I will accept.'

Reginald closed his eyes wearily. 'I suppose that is the only choice. It is not the one I would have made for you.'

'It has all been given too much prominence; I can see noth-ing else to do, particularly since, as you pointed out, this notoriety will not die down anytime soon.'

And there it was, out in the open. It was but two days till the end of the month, and Raulton supposedly was poised to make a declaration. London was holding its collective breath.

Blast it. That a man could force someone to accept marriage despite her wishes just because everyone expected it… it was by the force of society's wishes-and mores-that she had come to this pass.

And everything with Jeremy must end.

But if Raulton didn't come up to point? Must she relinquish Jeremy then?

She paced the library long after her brief conversation with Reginald. This was a hard-won lesson. The freedom she coveted, sexual or otherwise, was a fantasy of her own devising. She was not free. She was in thrall to the expectations of her social peers and to propriety.

And not to her dark, voluptuous nights with Jeremy.

At the end of it all, she still wanted marriage and children, and she did not want to spend her days and nights worrying about the hour, the minute that he would tire of her, and what would come next.

She wanted, she needed a life beyond the bedroom walls.

With Raulton or not. She had not the temperament to be a mistress, after all. Only the will, the body, the desire, the insatiable need…

But not the temperament… she was as prosaic as any country miss, and as provincial. She could not slough off those feelings, those fears, and that was the difference between her and a mistress.

And if it turned out to be Raulton, then so be it. And so she would tell Jeremy-tonight.

Marry her.

The idea was slowly sinking in, and it suddenly occurred to him that he was not seeing her as that pesky child he had known for years now that he had been bedding her.

He saw her as a woman, with a mind of her own, and with a spectacular beauty, presence and elegance.

And that was apart from her sexuality. That was a thing all its own that could not be quantified. And so, if just the thought of her aroused him to the point of ejaculation… how could he live with the idea of her giving herself, giving her nipples, to another man?

Fucking like that with another man?

Any other man?

Raulton?

By damn hell-NO…

No one else, not her, not that body, not those nipples…

Shit-he was erect, hard as bone. Her nipples got to him every time, even the thought of them in some other man's hands…

NO…

No.

Marry her.

And play with her nipples for the rest of your life…

He came, as always, like a shadow in the night, and like the mistress she was, she waited for him, this time for the last time, to savor him, to make indelible memories before she said goodbye.

He needed no foreplay; she was naked and hot for him already. He needed only to slip the key in the lock, and his penis into her heat, to bind her to him yet again.

…fuck her…

… marry her…

… fuck her again…

… and again…

… and again…

He spurted, he came, he fucked her again.

And again. And again.

And again.

He fucked her to a faretheewell, and then he fucked her again, forward, backward, on her breasts, on her nipples, in her luscious, endless pleasure hole, he took her.

And when they were both panting, satiated and utterly worn out, he took her again.

It was almost as if he wanted to imprint himself on her, to fuck her and fill her to the point where no other man could take his place.

… marry her...

Somehow, she thought, in a swamp of luxuriant pleasure, somehow he knew this was to be their last time.

He knew nothing except he never wanted to leave her.

Or leave her to another man.

He wanted to root in her. Play with her. Fuck her to the wall.

Marry her.

Dawn was coming far too soon.

'Jeremy…'