She reached out and touched him, but not his cock. She started at the winged ridges of his collarbone, tracing there, feeling how hot his skin was. She dragged her fingers lower, her nails brushing the flat pectoral, the hard nub of his nipple. He hissed out a breath as she did so, and his muscles tightened like he was struggling for control.
She continued lower, tracing all the ridges of his abdomen, cupping the swell of his hip, and only then did she brush the back of her hand across his thigh and cup the length of him.
He gasped out her name and he sat partially up, his wide eyes focusing as her fingers folded around him, gripping the shaft gently. His skin was soft around that steely erection and she rubbed her thumb across it.
“Elizabeth,” he said in a garbled, almost pained tone. “Christ. Stroke it, please.”
The please was drawn out, begging her. And she met his eyes as she did what she’d been asked. She stroked him from base to tip, smoothing the drop of liquid that had wept from the opening, lubricating him a fraction.
“What do you think of it now that you’ve touched it?” he gasped out, lifting against her as she stroked him a second time.
“I’m not afraid of it anymore,” she admitted. “And I want to see what happens next.”
“Good,” he grunted, and then he flipped her on her back a second time. His hands pressed into her shoulders, holding her in place as he dropped his mouth to her throat. He sucked there, hard, scraping his teeth across her skin as he ducked his head into the notch where her shoulder and neck met. She drove her fingers into his hair, whispering his name as electric pleasure ricocheted through her.
He smiled against her flesh, nipping lower, lower until he nuzzled her nipple through the fabric of her dressing gown and nightrail.
“Too many clothes,” he muttered, and leaned away to flick open her robe tie with little effort. He parted the fabric, flattening his hand against her belly. She felt the warmth of him through the silk and found herself arching against him, seeking more. “I’m taking them off,” he said.
She nodded and pushed at her robe herself, yanking it down her arms, pushing it away as he chuckled at her ardor. Once she was free of it, he leaned in and caught the strap of her nightgown with his teeth. He looked up at her as he dragged it down her shoulder, licking a path until the strap drooped at her shoulder. He kissed his way back up, sliding his hand beneath the fabric, brushing her breast, and then it was bared to the warm air in the room.
She froze and looked down her body. Her breast was naked, cupped in his hand, his thumb stroking over her exquisitely sensitive nipple. He watched her as he touched her, slow and steady, like they had all night, all week, all the rest of their lives to do this.
But that wasn’t true. And she needed what he would offer before it disappeared forever. She moaned in frustration-laced pleasure and lifted to him, demanding what she couldn’t name. Didn’t fully understand. Already he had done more to prepare her than Aaron had all those years ago.
Already she wanted more.
He dropped his head to her and brushed his bearded cheek against her. She hissed, arching, and he smiled before he turned his head and his tongue darted out to trace the exposed nipple. She cried out as sensation threaded through her veins. He lifted his head.
“Hush now or we won’t get to finish,” he admonished in that dark, seductive voice that dragged her further into his underworld. The only place she wanted to be.
She clamped a hand over her mouth as he sucked her, this time harder, and it felt like every part of her shattered with unexpected, powerful pleasure. She was riding the ocean now, just as she had been when he touched her, licked her between her legs. She knew what would happen when she hit the right wave. She knew what intense pleasure she would find there.
She reached for it, lifting to him, digging her hands into his bare shoulders as he licked his way between her breasts and lowered the opposite strap. Now she was naked from the waist up, and he laved one nipple then the other, always back and forth, always relentless until she was almost incoherent with pleasure and need like no other.
Only then did he trace down her body with his tongue, pulling her nightgown along her stomach, her hips, and finally low enough that she could kick it away. She was naked now, and she blushed as he looked at her.
“So beautiful,” he all but purred as he touched her, his rough hands stroking her skin. He caressed her thighs, massaging gently before he pushed her wide and exposed her sex. His gaze lifted, meeting hers, holding it.
Then he bent his head and licked her. She arched up against his tongue, gripping the coverlet with both hands and squeezing her eyes shut as wicked pleasure pulsed through her, at first gently and then more insistently. He was talented with that tongue, swirling around her clitoris, sucking and teasing until she was gasping for breath and she felt the edge of release waiting for her.
But he didn’t gift her with that pleasure. Not yet. He lifted his head, his mouth glistening from her body, and smiled. Even with his face bruised and battered from the earlier attack, he was still the most handsome man she’d ever known. When he smiled at her like that, not a charming mask he wore for the world, but a real smile, her heart fluttered.
And she never wanted to lose that. Never wanted it to end. Even though she knew it must. And that made her desperate.
She reached for him and he surged toward her, his mouth finding hers as he settled between her legs. She tasted her essence on his tongue as he kissed her, salty-sweet, and she shivered with renewed pleasure.
He was shifting now, moving over her, his hand sliding between them as he positioned the head of his cock at her entrance. She waited for him to thrust, to take, to claim, and braced herself for the moment.
Instead he withdrew from her kiss and looked down at her. “Are you sure you want this?”
She blinked. Here he was on the cusp of claiming and still he asked her for permission.
She reached up to cup his cheeks, smoothing her thumbs across his skin as she stared up into those beautiful brown eyes. “I want you,” she corrected softly. “And I’ve never been more certain of anything in my entire life.”
He stared at her, his lips parting slightly, as if he was surprised by that answer. Then he nodded slowly and tipped his hips forward.
She expected resistance as he took her. Past experience said there would be. But there was none. His cock slid past her outer lips, into her wet body without a fraction of opposition. And though she felt herself being stretched, slowly and gently, the resulting experience of that was not pain.
It was something…magical. He fitted himself into her all the way to the hilt and then rested there, unmoving as she grew accustomed to his invasion. She flexed around him gently and he made a pained little sound in his throat.
“You do know how to test a man’s control,” he whispered before he leaned in to kiss her. She relaxed beneath him a fraction more, losing herself in that gentle kiss. And it was only then that he moved.
One long thrust, almost all the way out of her clinging body, then back in until she took him completely. She gripped his arms as he did so because the sensation was electric and alive and oh, so very good. She realized in this moment that this was what she hadn’t understood about all those happy marriages that surrounded her. This was what this act was all about.
Because it felt intimate and warm. Connected and powerful. It didn’t change her love for this man, but it did magnify it, place it in purely physical terms that meant so much. This was…everything. And as he thrust again, she lifted to meet him and accept the beautiful gift he offered. The beautiful one she could give in return.
He took and took, gently and slowly, grinding his hips against hers with every thrust and stimulating the same tingling clitoris he had been licking a few moments before. She rose to meet him, seeking the pleasure, finding it over and over again. It increased in volume and intensity as he increased his own speed. She gasped out against it, trying to find breath and pu
rchase, losing control as she watched the same thing happen to him.
And then it was there. The soaring sensation that hit her in intense, powerful waves. She jolted against him and he caught her keening cries with his mouth so no one would hear them and interrupt this beautiful moment.
Only when she collapsed in exhausted satisfaction beneath him did he grip her hips, pulling her tight as he increased his pace even further. His neck strained, his face turned red, and then he grunted out her name and pulled away from her. She watched, fascinated, as ropes of release spurted from his cock while he stroked himself to completion.
He collapsed over her then, kissing her damp neck and her mouth, whispering incoherent sounds of pleasure. She folded her arms around him, tracing little patterns on his back. And all of them were I love you, written over and over again on his skin until she slipped into sleep in his arms.
It had been almost an hour since Elizabeth slipped into his chamber, into his arms, into his bed. Since she’d given herself to him with sweet abandon. And Morgan held her, balancing them both precariously on the narrow bed as she dozed.
He had seen something in her eyes as he made love to her. He’d seen something he welcomed and feared all at once. It was that connection he knew was there, but had tried to ignore since his arrival here in Brighthollow. It was…well, perhaps some people called it love.
He’d seen it there, and he’d known he shouldn’t do what he did next. Which was take her. Take that connection. But how could he resist? How could he when she was tempting and overwhelming and…everything. Elizabeth was everything.
He wanted to give her a garden and make her smile. He wanted to make her come until her body quaked and she begged for more and less all at once. He wanted to catch those moments when her strength was on the surface and she was braver than she believed herself to be. He wanted to hold her and have it be for more than just one night.
He wanted to…
No, he had to stop these thoughts. This was foolishness brought on by powerful pleasure. That had to be all it was. Anything more was folly.
In that moment, she rolled over into him, onto his chest. Their legs tangled as she placed her folded hands onto his sternum and then rested her chin on them. She looked up at him with a sleepy, satisfied gaze.
“You are punishing yourself,” she said softly. A statement, not a question. Because she could see through him.
He considered denying the truth. Trying to put a wall up. But he didn’t want a wall. “How could I not?” he asked as he pushed a tangled lock of hair from her forehead.
She smiled softly and leaned up to kiss him. Just a soft brush of her lips on his that soothed every hurt he’d ever felt for a flash of a moment.
“Because,” she said as she drew back, “I’m not sorry, Morgan. But I do think I should go.”
She pushed from the bed, dropping the sheets as she did so. His body did a little pulse of longing as he watched her pick up her nightrail and tug it over her glorious body. She looked around for her dressing gown and smiled as she found it bunched in a pile halfway under his bed.
She didn’t speak as she swirled it over her shoulders and tied the knot back in place. She padded to the door, and there she turned and blew him a kiss.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
And then she was gone, without further comment or question or demand. He tugged the covers up over his head with a curse.
Tonight had proven to him many things. That he could be dangerous. That he didn’t belong here. That he shouldn’t do the very thing he had just done. It was a tangled mess. And he feared it was going to get a great deal worse before it got better.
Worse, he feared that once he was forced to walk away from her, it would never be better again.
Chapter 17
Lizzie sat at the pianoforte, letting her fingers dance over the keys. Haydn’s Sonata in C minor filled the room around her, and she shut her eyes as she let her hands guide her. Her mind was so distracted, but she poured her passion into the music and allowed herself to think of Morgan.
Their night together had been magical. She had lain in her bed afterward, reliving the pleasure, yes. But also recounting the deep connection that pleasure had created. Deeper than ever before. She had no idea how he felt, but in some ways it didn’t matter. She knew her own heart. She refused to regret how she had allowed it to beat. She had punished herself for that very thing for too long.
And Morgan had reminded her that loving was worth the risk.
It was a risk, of course. All of it was a risk. She had no idea what would happen next. At breakfast, Hugh had declared he would speak to Morgan later about the events of the ball the previous night. Once he did…
Well, Morgan might be torn from her.
Even if he wasn’t, Morgan had made no promises to her. She had told him she demanded none. It was very possible he would be alarmed by the connection they shared. That he would push her away because he didn’t want to risk more. Or didn’t feel more at all.
She opened her eyes and looked toward the door. She was surprised to find the Duke of Roseford standing there, watching her. Her fingers fell away from the keys and she pushed to her feet. “Roseford, I did not see you there.”
He inclined his head. “Forgive me, Lizzie, I heard you playing from down the hall and had to come and listen. That particular sonata was one of my late mother’s favorites. You play it beautifully.”
She wrinkled her brow. She had known Robert for so long, though she’d never been as close to him as some of Hugh’s friends. Robert had seemed too big and too bold and too…well, too much. She had feared him because of his reputation, especially after her experience with Aaron. She’d seen him as a libertine, though he’d never been anything but kind to her.
In this moment, she saw pain on his face. Loss. And he reminded her of Morgan when he was at his most vulnerable. How could she not like him then? How could she not offer the little bit of comfort he seemed to require?
She retook her seat and smiled at him. “If that is true, then I shall begin again and play it for you in full.”
“Thank you,” he said, and entered the room. He settled into a seat and she began to play again from the beginning.
It was a long piece. As the music filled the room again, Robert shut his eyes and leaned back, seeming to soak in every note. And again, she saw the hints of how he and his brother were similar. She knew their relationship was strained and yet they were both trying.
So she poured all her hopes for their relationship into every note, as if she could will their friendship, their bond into deeper existence. They both needed it. And she wanted Morgan to have everything he needed in this world and more.
When she finished at last, Roseford opened his eyes and smiled at her. “Thank you, Lizzie. That was wonderful.”
She nodded and then shifted on the bench to more fully face her companion. “Have you seen Morgan…” She caught herself and shook her head. “…Mr. Banfield this morning?”
Robert arched a brow at the slip in propriety, but then he smiled. Something knowing. “Morgan. Should we talk about Morgan?”
She sucked in a breath. She had entered dangerous waters without truly meaning to do so. And yet here she was. “Why would I not wish to speak about him?”
“Do I need to answer that? Are we playing that game with each other? After all these years of acquaintance?”
She pursed her lips. He would push her, it seemed. “He—he works for my brother,” she said, and could hear how false that dismissal was. “We’ve become…friends since we started working together on the garden.”
“Well, that is true if nothing else,” Robert muttered beneath his breath.
She ignored the gentle jab. “I’m interested in his well-being.”
Robert was quiet a moment. Then he got up and walked to the fireplace, where he watched the flames. “You know our father kept us apart. Some would say that made sense. That his bastard children were only half-b
lood and didn’t…deserve more.”
She arched a brow at the disgust that hung heavy in his tone. “What did you believe?” she asked.
He was quiet for what felt like forever, but his voice broke when he said, “Whatever he told me to believe for a very long time. My failing, no one else’s. Once I took over the estate, I never handled much but approving the payments to my half-siblings until recently.”
“Why did you come to know him only recently?” She thought of Morgan’s confession earlier in the night. That Robert had thwarted the duel with Gareth Covington. But Roseford revealed nothing of that as he turned to face her.
“Katherine made me understand the value in connection. And she was right. Morgan is…challenging.” Roseford’s smile was soft. “But he’s…good.”
Lizzie bent her head and relived in a flash every moment she had spent with the topic of their discourse. Including last night. “Yes,” she said. “I see that in him. Daily.”
Robert stepped toward her. “Lizzie—”
She pivoted away, for she could see he wanted to push her on this topic. That her heart was too revealed. She had to remedy that immediately, else she make things worse for Morgan. “Have you seen him this morning?” she asked. “Is he well after last night’s attack?”
There was a long pause, but then Robert said, “Yes. He will be fine, thank God.”
“Good,” she said, and smoothed her skirts with both hands. “Well, I should probably go. I’m to join Amelia, Katherine and Charlotte for a round of cards before tea.”
She edged toward the door, but as she reached it, Robert’s voice stopped her. “Lizzie.”
She froze. Damn, she had thought to get away. “Yes?” She turned and met his eyes. So similar to Morgan’s eyes.
“You deserve to be happy,” Robert said softly.
Tears pricked at her unexpectedly and she blinked them away. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Don’t allow the past to destroy you,” he continued. “I almost did that myself.”
The Love of a Libertine: The Duke’s Bastards Book 1 Page 18
