The Millionaire Marquess by Scott Scarlett

Author:Scott, Scarlett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Happily Ever After Books, LLC
Published: 2022-08-25T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

Francesca lay on her back on Grey’s bed, staring up at the ceiling, surrounded by their mingled scents. She was shattered. Shattered in the best possible way. Her body ached in places she hadn’t known existed. It hummed with the residuals of their lovemaking, and she was suffused with an odd glow unlike anything she’d ever known.

She was not sure if she was capable of moving. Or thinking. Or breathing. Or being the Francesca she had been before Grey had so thoroughly and deliciously ruined her. It was as if her life had suddenly diverged, and the old Francesca had been abandoned, only the new version of herself traveling onward. This new Francesca felt no regrets about what she had done. Instead, she reveled in the freedom and the pleasure she’d found in his arms.

He was quiet at her side, his own breaths settling into a more normal rhythm to match hers. How long had they been like this, on their backs, side by side? It could have been minutes or hours. Time had ceased to exist, just as everyone and everything beyond the damask-lined walls of this room had.

The bedclothes rustled as he shifted. Sensing the intensity of his gaze on her, she turned to him, her body still exactly as he had left it, her skin damp with his seed, limbs limp and sated. The old Francesca might have made an effort to cover herself. Or she would have risen and gone to the wash basin, cleansing the marks of their lovemaking from her belly and breasts.

The new Francesca remained as she was, relishing the kiss of the cool air on her skin, so at odds with the fire in his dark eyes as they traveled down her bare flesh. His gaze was worshipful, and she loved how powerful it made her feel. As if she could conquer anything, be anyone she chose to be. As if there might be a life for her after all, born from the ashes of who she had once been.

“You look perfect like this,” he said softly. “In my bed, covered in me. Naked and beautiful, your hair wild and silken on my pillow. This is how I truly want to paint you. But if I did, I’d never let another soul see it because I want to be the only one to see you this way.”

The possession in his voice stirred odd emotions in Francesca. Made heat pulse between her legs, an ache that could only be settled in one fashion: more of what they had just done.

“I feel perfect,” she admitted, tenderness rising, along with desire. “Thank you. That was…”

She hesitated to finish her sentence, for never had words been more inadequate. Her lexicon felt woefully ineffectual, not at all up to the task.

“Yes,” he said, his gaze searing hers. “It was.”

“I had no notion it could be like that.”

If she had, she would have accepted his offer the first time he’d issued it. No hesitation. No waiting. To the devil with honor.

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