The Lady Always Wins by Courtney Milan Read Free Book Online

groan. “Talking with your mouth full,” he managed. “In this case, it’s excellent manners. Ah, damn, Ginny. So bloody good. Why did we never do this before?”
    She raised her head. “Because I was too good to volunteer, and you were too dumb to ask.”
    That about summed everything up. Her hair hung around her shoulders, utterly disheveled. Her mouth was wet and bruised. She was so beautiful, so completely wicked. She leaned down to take him in her mouth again. He stopped her, setting his hand on her chin.
    “Ginny,” he said.
    “Mmm?” Her eyes were wide, her pupils dark with lust.
    “Enough of this talk of revenge and foiling. I just… Can I please make love to you?”
    She shifted back an inch. “Simon.”
    “I know what I said and I know what I did, but it’s always been you, Ginny.” He loosened his shirt, the only garment she’d left to him. “I want to make love to you. No more pretenses.”
    Some part of him waited for her to walk away, to leave him again. He couldn’t bear it if she did. He’d beg, if he had to. But she leaned forward and slid her hands up the muscles of his abdomen, up his chest. Her hands brushed his nipples, and he let out a gasp.
    “Oh, Simon,” she whispered. “You’ve never been a pretense.”
    He wasn’t sure how they got his shirt off. He wasn’t sure if he pushed her down to the divan, or if she pulled him on top of her. He wasn’t even sure how he got inside her—if it was his impatient thrust or her guiding touch. He only knew that they both wanted it, that they needed it. Then she was clasped around him, and he—after all these years—was seated in her. There was no revenge to it. Just Ginny, giving herself to him freely.
    Finally.
    She pushed up on her elbows and nipped his shoulder, and he began to move. She was warm. Soft. The intensity of the moment threatened to overwhelm him in a haze of pleasure. She was everything he had ever hoped for. He could feel her clenching around him. Her hips ground against his. He leaned down and took her nipple in his mouth, just to feel her muscles tighten involuntarily about him. And he pushed into her again and again and again, until she cried out, her whole body shaking around him. After that, he took her harder still, thrusting into her until he found his own ecstasy. It burned him to pieces, and he didn’t care.
    Afterward, he was almost afraid to break their silence. He played his hand along her face, caressing her cheek, fingering little wisps of her hair. His lips found her jaw, her temple. It seemed almost sacred, this moment—like the first rays of a spring sun hitting the top arch on some pagan monument.
    “Look,” he finally said, “as it turns out, I have a special license in my coat pocket.”
    She drew in a breath, buried her face in his shoulder and laughed. “Of course you do.”
    He stroked her hair. “I have to go back to London in the morning. Will you marry me first?”
    “And of course it has to be tomorrow. Not Thursday or Friday, nor a week from now. You never were good at waiting.”
    “I’ve waited seven bloody years. I’m done waiting. Marry me.”
    She didn’t say anything. He could feel her muscles go from relaxed to tense as she considered the matter.
    “And what about revenge?” she finally asked. “I don’t think that was entirely a jest on your part. You’re still unhappy with me.”
    “I can’t pretend there is no lingering bitterness.” He reached up and touched her lips gently. “I can’t pretend that I’m not furious about those years I lost. But I wouldn’t be so angry if I didn’t love you so well. I can’t let you walk away again. Not for one day more.”
    He shut his eyes. It was true—all of it. He wanted her. He needed her. He wasn’t going to let her go. But his gut clenched with what he wasn’t saying. If he waited any longer, she would find out the truth of his finances. She wouldn’t marry him.
    Oh, she’d be furious when she discovered his