To Protect a Princess by Jess Michaels
Chapter 18
Together Jonah and Ilaria looked down at his cock. The little smile that quirked up the corners of her lips as she took him in hand did nothing to relieve his tension. She stroked him once, twice, and he dropped his head back with a long groan as pleasure streaked up his cock.
She pushed at his trousers, and managed to ease them down. They caught on his boots, but he didn’t give a damn as she dropped to her knees on the floor and stared up at him. She stroked her cheek against his length and smiled.
“You’ve pleasured me twice with your mouth, Jonah,” she whispered. “I think it’s time I returned the favor.”
His eyes went wide, and he opened his mouth to speak, though he had no idea what to say at that offer. She didn’t give him the change to argue or agree, though. She darted her tongue out and swirled it around the head of him.
All words, all thoughts, emptied from his mind, and Jonah grunted as he dug his fingers into her hair. Pins scattered on the floor around them as her locks curled around his hands and her shoulders and his cock.
She smiled around him, then took him deeper into her mouth. Deeper still. He pressed gently on the back of her skull, and she grunted as she took a little more. She sucked and he let out a breath of pleasure.
It had been a long time since a woman took him into her mouth. And none had ever been so good at it as this woman. Ilaria stroked and sucked, she swirled her tongue around his length, she withdrew until he almost popped from her mouth and she took until he felt her throat quiver against the head of him.
What was better was that she seemed to like doing this to him, for him. She moaned as she took, she stroked a hand over her naked flesh while she gripped him firmly with the other.
It was all building to an explosive release of that pleasure. He wanted to come this way, to have her drink every drop of him, but right now he wanted to be inside of her even more. To take her and feel her flex around him in orgasm.
So he tugged himself from her mouth and grasped her elbows, dragging her to her feet. His legs were still tangled in his trousers, and he didn’t want to take the time to free them, not when his cock was actually throbbing in time to his rapid heartbeat.
He kissed her, hard and hot and fast, then spun her around so that her back was to him, bent her over the bed and cupped her sex from behind. She jolted back, her hips hitting his as she cried out his name in the quiet. She was wet, proof that she had enjoyed sucking him. He aligned himself to her, feeling her sex give way to him, flex as she welcomed him into her tight heat. Slowly, he took her, reveling in the quiver of her, the sound of her, the way she gripped his coverlet when he seated himself fully.
And then he fucked her. Not made love to her, not gently took her—no, this was animal. This was desperate. This was every pleasure he’d ever desired and every moment he had pushed away to be proper or right. He gripped her hips hard enough that she would likely have marks on them tomorrow, he drove into her body like a man possessed, and when she buried a hand between her legs to stimulate her clitoris and began to grip harder and harder against him, he was almost unmanned.
When she came it was glorious. She quaked around him in long, heavy waves, her back arched, and she cried out his name until it felt like it was music. Pleasure crashed through him, pulling him toward his own release, driving him harder and faster and wilder until he felt control snap. He withdrew, his seed splashing across her skin.
He grabbed her hips and rolled her on her back. Her skin was flushed pink with pleasure and she had a languid expression that grew shocked when he pushed her legs wide and dropped his mouth to her. He tasted the sharp tanginess of her release on her wet sex—he lapped it up, sucking her sensitive clitoris as she dug her fingers into his hair and ground up against him. She was writhing within moments, her breath short and sharp, her legs trembling around his shoulders, and then she let out a cry and twisted in his bed. His tongue was flooded with her flavor, she fluttered against him wildly and then she collapsed back, her eyes wide as she stared up at him.
He crawled onto the bed beside her, their legs dangling over the edge because they were cockeyed. She slung an arm over his chest and pressed a kiss to his neck.
“That was what I needed,” she murmured. “You.”
He didn’t respond in words, but gathered her closer, memorizing the feel of her warm body against his. The way her breath slowed as she fell asleep in his arms. The way it felt as he did the same, sliding into a dream world that would never be better than the reality he had just experienced.
A reality that would end just like a dream soon enough.
* * *
Ilaria woke up slowly, cuddling into the warmth of the bed around her. She had been having the most wonderful dream about Jonah and his hands and his tongue and…
She opened her eyes and looked around at the unfamiliar chamber. She was naked, tangled in the sheets, her body beautifully tender from his touch.
Memories crashed back. Their time together in this bed had not been a dream after all. She sat up slowly. The light outside was far dimmer than it had been earlier in the day. How long had she been sleeping?
More to the point, when was the last time she’d slept so soundly? Not since her arrival in London, certainly. Probably not since the death of her father.
“Jonah?” she called out in the quiet, but he didn’t respond. She got up. Her gown had been laid out carefully on the back of a chair. She stared at it. It buttoned along the back and she didn’t think she could manage it. Had she ever dressed herself? That seemed like a skill one should have, though she’d never considered it.
She opened the wardrobe. Jonah’s things hung here. Not many—she supposed most were at his home in London or the estate he had inherited. But a few shirts and some trousers were folded on the shelves of the wardrobe. She reached out to touch one of the shirts. Soft linen, beautifully made. She preferred him out of such things, but he did cut a fine figure when he was dressed.
She tugged the shirt from the stack and shook it out. It was big, far too big for her, but she pulled it over her head nonetheless and buttoned it. The long tails brushed her thighs and she could smell the lingering hint of Jonah on the fabric. She shivered and closed the wardrobe to take a longer look around the room.
It was a plain chamber. Whether it was that way because he no longer lived here as often or because he intended it to be austere, she didn’t know. The fact was, she didn’t know much about this man…the man she loved.
He was decent, he was kind, he was dependable. He was outrageously handsome, he was a wonderful lover. But she only had hints of his past. Of his dreams now that his life had changed.
She wanted more.
She left the room and gasped as the chill in the hall hit her bare legs. She wasn’t accustomed to being so exposed, but there was little else to be done about it. She wandered down the hall, peeking into the drawing room he had mentioned when they first arrived. Jonah wasn’t there, though, and the furniture was still covered in cloths, so it didn’t look like he’d been there at all.
She came down the stairs, carefully and quietly so that if any other person were in the house, she would hear them before they heard her and then saw her in such a state. But the cottage seemed still as she came down. The parlor was empty, so she went to the next door.
When she opened it, she smiled. Jonah was seated at an oak desk. His jacket was off and his sleeves were rolled to his elbows as he leaned over the desk, writing. He glanced up when she entered and his quill froze, hovering over the sheet of vellum until a blot of ink dripped onto the surface.
“Ilaria,” he breathed as he set the quill down and leaned back in his chair. “I must say I approve your choice of outfit. You in that shirt is…”
“Ridiculous?” she asked, turning around so he could see the full effect.
“My cock says otherwise,” he muttered.
Heat filled her cheeks and she turned away slightly. “How long did I sleep?”
“Half the day,” he said. “You needed it after being up all night and then the hasty escape. How are you feeling?”
“Better,” she admitted. “Though I admit I was a little lonely when I woke up by myself. You must have needed the sleep as much as I did.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps. But I also had things to do. Mrs. Williams has come and gone. There is a larder full of food for us now—we will feast like kings.”
“Oh, excellent,” she said with a laugh. “I’ve always wondered how kings feasted…I’ve only ever feasted like a princess.”
He smiled. “Then I’m happy to oblige that little…fantasy.” His smile faltered a fraction and he cleared his throat. “I was just writing a letter to your family, telling them of our safe arrival. I’ll have Mrs. Williams take it to be posted when she calls to check on us tomorrow afternoon.”
“You think of everything,” Ilaria said. She smoothed her hands over the shirt restlessly. “I would have dressed in my own clothing,” she explained. “But I am useless, apparently. I might have a gown that fastens in the front, but I don’t know where my trunk is.”
He nodded. “There’s a small adjoining dressing room to the chamber. The door isn’t obvious. We put the trunk in there earlier. I’ll show you when we go back up.” He stood and came around the desk at last. “Are you hungry?”
She was about to nod when her stomach growled. They both laughed again. “Apparently,” she said. “Lead the way to my kingly feast.”
He motioned her toward the door and they walked up the hallway together. She was very aware of his presence at her side with every step, even as she tried to remain nonchalant and unbothered by it. He took her into the kitchen, and she sat at the small table there as he gathered food together for them.
When he placed a plate before her, she almost clapped her hands together in pure glee. He had piled cheese and meat and bread, along with olives and preserves. She dove into the food without much ladylike or princess-like grace. Her mother would have been horrified, she was certain, but she was too famished to care.
Jonah laughed as he poured them each some wine and then started in on his own plate. “When you came into my study, you said something that has been bothering me.”
She tilted her head. “What is that?”
“You said you were useless.”
She nodded as she took a sip of wine. “I am useless. I couldn’t even dress myself.”
He glanced down and let out a long breath. She followed the stare and found that his shirt had hiked up even more when she was seated, revealing almost the entire length of her thighs. She blushed at his regard but didn’t adjust the shirt. Let him look. She wanted him to touch later.
He blinked, as if he were trying to clear his mind. “You are anything but useless, Ilaria.”
“Am I?” she asked, chewing more thoughtfully. “I’m not so sure. Normally I’m surrounded by people who have been as privileged as I have been. With more money than they know what to do with and servants who take care of the real business of life. People with titles whose entire job is like mine.”
“What do you think your job is?” he asked.
“Wave prettily from a carriage? Make an appearance on a terrace during island celebrations? And, I suppose, marry some titled man to keep English encroachment at bay a little longer.”
She sighed as the reality of those facts sank in. They were things she had considered before, of course. She felt the emptiness of that existence from time to time, wondered if there was more for her in the world. But never so keenly as now, staring across a plain wooden table at a man who was so different from herself.
“And just why are you looking at me that way?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I think I just feel it all the more when I’m…when I’m with you?”
He drew back a fraction. “That you are useless? I would never wish to make you feel that way, Ilaria.”
She heard the upset in his voice and reached across to catch his hand. “No, I know that. I think it’s just that I…I look at you. You have lived a life of duty, you had a profession, you have such dedication. And it makes me realize I have never been useful.” She pursed her lips. “I’m sure my father would have agreed.”
He stroked a thumb over her hand. “When I visited Athawick, your family seemed close.”
She held back a humorless laugh. “Oh, then we did as he expected. Demanded. Good.”
“What do you mean?”
She pulled her hand from his, unsure she could say these things out loud when he was touching her. She cleared her throat and took another, much larger, gulp of her wine. “Family unity was his mantra. He thought if the public ever saw us as anything less than perfect, they would begin not to want us. He was terrified of the monarchy being overthrown, especially after the horrors of the revolution in France. Of his legacy being destroyed because of the failure of his children. He demanded we put on the public face of closeness.”
“But the reality?”
She shrugged. “He was very cold. Distant. The only one of us he had any real interest in was Grantham, and that was just to rail about his future duties.” She shook her head. “Poor Grantham. When he told us that there was a threat to the throne last night…his face. It was my father’s every nightmare come true.”
Jonah nodded. “Yes. He seems to feel the pain of it keenly.”
“Because my father linked uprising to failure. He screeched it at him for decades. It was horrible.” She shivered. “To choose to inspire such terror in your own children, even for what you believe is a good cause, is…” She caught her breath. “At any rate, the closeness you saw was more of an act then the truth.”
“The rest of you are truly attached, though,” Jonah insisted. “I’ve seen how you interact when no one else is around, when you believe no one is watching. You do love each other.”
She nodded. “We do. There may not be the warmth to it that other families are allowed to show, but I adore them. I want to help and keep them safe.” She bent her head as the reality of that hit her too. “Even if that means not being entirely happy myself.”
They were quiet together for a moment, and then he leaned across the table and cupped her cheek. He kissed her and she tasted wine on his lips as she sighed against him. When he pulled away, she felt empty without him. That was the future, she knew. Never being able to touch this man again. Because he wouldn’t fight for her. She couldn’t fight for him.
And yet she continued to hand over her heart, piece by piece. Eventually he would take all of it with him when they were parted. And she was trying so hard not to let that fact destroy her before the time came.