The Prizefighter’s Hart by Emily Royal

Chapter Thirty-One

Thea reclined in her bed, watching the flickering flame of the candle.

It had taken all her courage to sing such a personal love song tonight in front of her husband. But Devon’s words of encouragement had given her belief in herself.

The ground won’t swallow you whole, Thea, for singing in front of your husband. Given how he’s been looking at you all evening, he’ll be even more in love with you on hearing you sing than he is right now.

After the first verse, her nerves had disappeared, to let her love fly freely—her love for the song, for the words which conveyed the heart’s desire.

And her love for her husband.

When had her regard for him turned into love?

He might be uncouth—and a mystery still surrounded his late wife—but on occasion, he strove to make her happy. He reminded her of a bird, eager to build a nest for his female, who procured all manner of trinkets in order to give her pleasure, standing back to await her approval. That afternoon she’d returned from an excursion to the park with Rowena to find her discarded silk shawl mended and folded neatly on her pillow. The tear was almost invisible—as were the tiny, delicate stitches.

Soft footsteps approached, then the door opened.

Griffin stood in the doorway, wearing nothing but his breeches.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she sat up, almost knocking the candle over.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Is it Rowena?”

“No.”

His eyes glittered in the candlelight, raw hunger in their expression.

“Griffin?”

He approached the bed, the movement of his huge frame resembling a panther stalking its prey. Then he grasped the bedsheet and pulled it back, his gaze fixed on her. His tongue flicked out and ran across his lips.

The bed shifted with his weight as he sat on it. He reached out and touched the neckline of her nightrail, tracing the edge with his finger before dipping it between her breasts. Her skin tingled with anticipation as he ran his fingertip across the swell of her flesh. Then he pulled the lace ties loose to reveal her breasts.

His mouth curled in a slow, lazy smile. But hunger blazed in his eyes.

A nugget of need swelled within her—but for what, she couldn’t fathom.

Then he placed his hand on her breast, and her nipple hardened to a painful little point. He flicked it with his thumb, and a pulse of need ignited in her center.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Something I’ve wanted to do from the moment I saw you in your brother’s garden,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Something I should have done weeks ago.”

He dipped his head and captured her breast in his mouth. His hot, wet tongue swirled round her flesh, and a low growl rumbled in his chest as he began to suckle her—gently at first, then more insistent, as if he feasted on her.

She buried her hands in his hair, holding his head to her breast. He rumbled his approval, whispering gentle words of praise, then two strong hands clasped her shoulders and pushed her back until she lay before him. He lifted his head, and she was assaulted by a rush of cold and loss as he leaned over her, his mouth tantalizingly close. Was she dreaming? Or was this real, her dream come to life in the form of her husband, the man she had wanted for so long.

Unable to fight her need, she arched her back, offering her breast, chasing the pleasure. He reached down and drew up the skirt of her nightrail, exposing her legs.

“Do you want me, woman?”

Two large hands clasped her thighs, then nudged her legs apart. Wicked sensations pulsed in her body. Her husband was no gentle suitor, not a fine lord, but a savage. He was all man.

And he was all hers. And she belonged to him in every way.

“Tell me you want me,” he growled, “for I’ll not be gentle. All night I’ve waited for our guests to leave so I could bury myself inside you.”

He fumbled with his breeches, and his manhood sprang free. Her heart gave a flutter—how could something so big fit inside her?

He gazed at her with hooded eyes, then eased on top of her. She yielded, drawing strength from his weight, and curled her hands round his arms, relishing the hardness of his muscles, the raw power simmering beneath the surface. Had she fallen in love with her beast, her husband?

Then she felt him, hot and hard against her flesh. A delicious ache formed deep within her body, and she shifted her legs, where an unfathomable moisture had begun to pool.

He let out a hoarse cry. “Oh, sweet Lord, you’re ready!”

Then he thrust forward.

A sharp pain exploded inside her, and she bit her lip, tasting blood. Then he moved. The pain flared, then receded with each movement and, a distant sensation of pleasure began to build. A groan escaped her lips.

“That’s it, my love,” he murmured. “Come for me.” He buried his head in her shoulder and increased the pace, his breathing coming out in gasps in time with each thrust, until he let out a sharp cry, then collapsed on top of her.

She tried to move, but he clung to her. By the time his breathing settled, the pain had lessened, but the pleasure remained out of reach.

Then he kissed her and withdrew. She winced at the sting, and his brow furrowed.

“Didn’t I please you?”

The concern in his eyes tore at her heart. He reminded her of a young boy eager to please but afraid he’d failed in his attempt.

Then he glanced down, and the pleasure in his eyes turned to horror.

“What have I done!”

*

Griffin stared atthe blood on his wife’s thighs.

Dear Lord, did that mean…?

“Forgive me,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Tears pricked at her eyes. “You regret what we did?”

“No,” he said, “I mean…yes, I’ve hurt you. I had no idea, that…” he gestured toward her legs, “…that you were…”

“That I was what?”

“A maiden…untouched.”

“This is our first time.”

“Yes,” he said, “but I thought…”

Her expression hardened. “You thought I’d lain with another. Is that why you’ve been unwilling to touch me before tonight?”

“I heard rumors,” he said, “about a child out of wedlock.”

“And you jumped to conclusions without bothering to ask?”

She was right, of course. Why hadn’t he simply asked her?

“There was no child out of wedlock,” she said. “My sister Lilah was with child when she married—not that it’s any of your business—and my sister Daisy was seduced by a rake when she was no more than a child. Shall I continue, or have I quenched your thirst for gossip?”

His heart ached at the sadness in her eyes.

“At least I now see why you thought my brother had tricked you into marrying me,” she said, “but I cannot understand why you agreed to it if you believed me a fallen woman.”

“I thought you’d be more likely to marry someone like me, given you’d…” he broke off, cursing himself.

“You thought that as a ruined woman, I’d be desperate enough to accept your hand?” she asked. “I don’t know whether to laugh at your low opinion of yourself or cry at your low opinion of me.”

Bloody hell.He’d never been a wordsmith, but why could he never say the right thing?

“Forgive me,” he said, “I didn’t mean to shame you by inferring that you were desperate.”

“I was desperate,” she said. “I was the family spinster—who stood by and watched all my siblings find that which I craved. By the time Dex had made his fortune and brought us to London, my chance of finding love was already small. And as each year passed, it lessened.”

“That can’t be true,” he said.

She laughed bitterly. “That only shows how little you understand society. But…” She turned her soulful gaze on him. “Do you know when I first felt a stirring of passion?”

“Tell me.”

“When I first saw you fight—how you mastered and relished the raw power of your body—so completely at ease with yourself. It made me feel wild and free to see a man unrestrained by the customs of society, engaging in an activity which celebrated his physicality.”

Her honest confession, spoken with such emotion, touched his heart.

“When you first saw me?” he asked.

“It made me feel sensations I couldn’t have imagined.”

“Physical sensations?”

She nodded.

“Can you describe them?”

“I-I don’t know…”

“It would give me much pleasure to hear you speak of it,” he said.

Her face flushed, and she lowered her gaze. “Inside my body, and between my…my…” She gestured toward her legs, and his manhood twitched in its eagerness to claim her sweetness once more.

“It felt like I had to touch myself…there…but I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I was ashamed,” she said. “Then, after the fight, I waited—hoping that if I could catch a glimpse of you, I’d feel that passion again. But I saw you with that woman.”

“That was you?” he asked. “I knew someone was watching—standing apart from the crowd. Is that why you agreed to marry me?”

She nodded, and a tear slid down her cheek. “I knew I’d disgraced myself at my party—or at least, in Dexter’s eyes. But it made me feel alive—and I’d rather be a fallen woman than an old maid.”

“But you weren’t a fallen woman,” he said. “You had no need to marry, and you knew nothing about me. If I recall, I insulted you that night—you must have thought me an awful boor.”

“You still don’t understand,” she said. “I knew marrying you was a risk—but with that risk came the prospect of feeling that passion again.”

“No small risk for a woman to take.”

“I know,” she said, “but I was prepared to take it. I’d lived in the world for thirty years, and it was the first time I’d truly come alive.” Another tear splashed onto her cheek, followed by another. “I had no wish to wait another thirty years.”

He placed his hand on her cheek and brushed the tears aside, then he tipped her face up until their eyes met.

“You won’t have to wait another thirty years.” He leaned over and claimed her mouth, probing against the seam of her lips with his tongue. She gave a soft sigh and parted her lips, and he slipped his tongue in. He felt a familiar stirring in his groin, and he brushed his knuckle against her breasts. Her nipples beaded almost instantly.

“In fact,” he whispered, “you’ll not even have to wait thirty minutes.”

Her eyes widened. “Don’t you have to wait, I mean, Meggie told me that Dex…” she colored and looked away.

Sweet heaven, her innocence was almost his undoing!

He nuzzled her neck, then planted a stream of kisses along her skin until he reached her earlobe, which he grazed with his teeth. Her body shuddered, and he whispered in her ear. “I find I’m ready for you again,” he said, “and this time, there will only be pleasure…” he dipped his tongue into her ear, and she gave a low cry, “…sweet, unbridled pleasure.”

He reached for her nightrail and tugged at it.

“Griffin…”

“Hush, wife,” he said. “I wish to look at you—to relish your body. I was overly hungry before and took my fill to quench my hunger. Now, I wish to savor you.”

He lifted the garment over her head and discarded it. Then he placed a feather-light kiss on the swell of her breasts.

“Every inch of you…”

He peppered her skin with tiny, open-mouthed kisses, then flicked his tongue out. He circled her breast with his tongue, spiraling toward the center, where the little bud was already peaked for him.

A small mewl escaped her lips. The hands that clung to her nightrail were now fisted in the bedsheet as she arched her back, offering herself to him.

“Griffin…”

His name on her lips was almost his undoing. With his free hand, he caressed her skin, moving across the smoothness of her belly until he reached the thatch of curls at her center.

Then he slipped his finger inside her.

She threw back her head, and a long, slow growl rumbled in her throat as he drew his finger along her center. This time there was no doubt. She was ready.

Then he found what he was looking for—the delectable little nub. As soon as he touched it, she let out a cry, and her body shuddered.

“Are you my woman?”

“Yes.” Her voice came out in a strained whisper. “Oh, yes!”

He circled her nub with his finger, and she shifted her thighs wider. Then he stopped moving, and she let out a cry of frustration and lifted her hips.

There was nothing so attractive as a female in a state of readiness. The raw, instinctive signals conveyed—with no thought or calculation—the most primal of needs.

The need to mate.

He drew in a deep breath, relishing the sweet, earthy scent of pure female need—a need which only he could satisfy.

Covering her once more with his body, he moved against her, the tip of his length rubbing slickly against her core, begging entrance.

Her body responded. Parting her legs wide, she lifted her hips to draw him into that sweet heat that was for him.

Only for him.

“Griffin…” the words came out in ragged gasps. “I need…” she drew in a shuddering breath. “I want…oh!” She let out a cry as he eased into her warmth, and her body began to draw him in. But he resisted, and she gave a whimper of frustration.

“Do you want me?”

“Yes!” she cried. “Oh, yes!”

Then he plunged into her, and she cried out again. He withdrew and thrust into her once more, and she lifted her hips, meeting each thrust. A wave of passion swelled within him, and he increased the pace, chasing the most intense, exhilarating pleasure he’d ever experienced. The pleasure morphed into a burning pain, and he slowed down for fear of hurting her.

“No! Don’t stop, Griffin!” She fisted her hands in his hair and crushed her mouth against his and thrust her tongue inside, claiming him, as he claimed her body.

Then she lifted her legs and wrapped them around him, the action drawing him deeper inside. The world shattered around him, and myriads of light exploded in his mind. He roared out her name as his body disintegrated and his mind soared into the stars as he felt her womanhood pulse with pleasure.

As he returned to the solid earth, he clung to heruntil his breathing grew steady and his heartbeat slowed.

He closed his eyes and held her close, relishing the feel of her warm, soft body in his arms.

His Thea.

At last, he understood the difference between fucking and making love. Before, he’d experienced the physical release, which gave him a momentary satisfaction, but ultimately had left him hollow—craving something which was always missing.

And finally, he understood what he’d been missing.

A woman to love.

They lay together, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking. When, he opened his eyes, he found her staring at him, her eyes filled with tears.

He caressed her forehead. “Is something wrong?”

She opened her mouth to reply, and a soft cry escaped her lips.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she whispered. “It was…” she sighed, “…truly wonderful.”

“Then why are you sad?”

“I fear I’ve left it too late.”

“It’s never too late,” he said. “We’ll have many years to enjoy each other.”

A tear spilled onto her cheek. “My dream…” her breath caught, and she sighed, “…was to have a child of my own,” she said. “I even picked out their names—Marcus for a boy and Helena for a girl. I love Rowena as if she were my own—but I cannot help regretting the lost years. I may be too old to have children of my own.”

“Never lose hope,” he said. He drew the covers over them both. She nestled against his body and let out a sigh, and his heart soared at the feel of her in his arms.

“May I ask you something, Griffin?”

“Anything.”

“Rowena has no wish to become a society lady. She’s promised to enjoy the rest of our stay in London, but afterward—she wants to remain in the country and pursue her studies. Might you consider it?”

“What about you?” he asked. “Don’t you want to live in London, where your friends and family are?”

She shook her head. “I love them, but London will always remind me of the constraints under which I was placed. In the country, I am free. I didn’t think so at first, but now, it’s my home.”

“Then, if you wish it,” he said, “we’ll remain in the country.”

“You don’t mind?”

He kissed the top of her head. “No,” he said. “Most of all in the world, I want my family—you and Rowe—to be happy.”

“Thank you.” She placed a light kiss on his chest, then curled her body into his. Soon after, the steady pace of her breathing indicated she’d fallen asleep.

However old his wife thought she might be—she was not too old to be loved.

And he loved her.