by Lynne Barron
“I did,” she argued. “And then some.”
Grunting he tugged and twisted and pulled until the boot came off. Holding it in both hands he turned it this way and that as if inspecting it for damage. Or perhaps he hoped to find answers written in the dust that covered it. “How you must have laughed as you fled into the night.”
“My lord—”
“Just as you laughed as I labored over you, my control falling by the wayside.”
“Is that what has you in a tizzy?” she asked in surprise.
“I am not in a tizzy. I have never in my life been in a tizzy.” Again he was in motion, his long powerful legs striding around the room, his stocking feet pounding over the wood floors. “You do it intentionally, don’t you?”
“Do what, my lord?”
“Henry,” he corrected. “All of it. Taking me into your mouth without my having to beg you for the pleasure. Trading your garments for my secrets. Diddling your quim and tweaking your berries until I cannot see straight, let alone control myself.”
“Why on earth would you want to control yourself?” she asked, ignoring the rest of his words.
“So that I might bring you off!”
Certain he was joking, never mind that he’d all but bellowed the words, Georgie laughed.
“Funny, is it?” he demanded, advancing across the room until he stood over her. “I’ll have you know I am famous for my control. Women all over London whisper of it.”
“They hardly whisper of it,” she replied, her eyes wandering over his flushed face, his bright eyes, his lips turned down in a scowl. “Why, I heard of your reputed stamina at the first wedding I attended.”
“Reputed stamina,” he repeated, his voice dark.
“Mrs. Merryweather could speak of nothing else throughout the entire ceremony. I did not know you then but even so I thought her a ninny of the worst sort. And now that I know you I really must wonder at her stupidity.”
“Get up,” Hastings ordered, the words forced out from between clenched teeth.
“Why would a woman praise a man’s ability to remain unmoved by her passion?” Georgie continued as he who loomed over her. “Truly, I have puzzled over it these weeks and still do not understand it.”
“I am about to enlighten you,” he growled, wrapping his hands around her arms and lifting her to her feet.
“I don’t care to be enlightened,” she protested, fighting not to grin in the face of his obvious frustration.
“Oh, you’ll care,” he countered. “When I have you screaming and thrashing about above me as I force one climax after another from you, you’ll care plenty.”
“My lord—”
“That was my first mistake. Taking you against the wall like a brute.”
“Lord Hastings—”
“Tossing you on the table was the next.”
“Hastings—”
“You would not have laughed as you rode me to completion.”
Giving up on reaching him with words, Georgie lifted her hand and placed it over his mouth.
Blinking in surprise, he fell silent.
“Henry,” she whispered.
“Again.” The single word muffled against her fingers was filled with an odd yearning, one that reached deep within Georgie, softening her.
“Henry.” Looking into his eyes, she held his gaze. “I would very much like to lay with you again. No tricks, no fumbling beneath skirts and trousers, and no hurrying you along for my own selfish purposes.”
“What purposes?” he asked, lifting his lips from her fingers.
“I ask only two things of you,” she continued, ignoring the question for the present.
“Anything.”
“You must not spend within my body and you must not worry about losing your control.”
“I shan’t lose control again,” he vowed.
Smiling, she shook her head. “Promise me you will concern yourself with the first and not the second.”
Capturing her hand, he pressed it to his lips, his breath warm against her fingers. “I promise.”
As Henry laced his fingers through hers and led her from the room, Georgie contemplated her options.
Imagine London’s reigning libertine not recognizing her release but rather believing she found his efforts amusing simply because she laughed rather than screamed.
She’d never in her life screamed as she reached the crest. Nor had she straddled a man for more than a minute or two.
But Hastings clearly needed to prove he was a man in complete control of his passion and if the position afforded him the opportunity, she would not deny him.
She would mount him and when she reached her crisis she would do her best to scream and thrash about so that he recognized the moment for what it was.
They took the stairs together, both of them silent, their bodies touching only where their joined hands hung between them. Gone was the frenzy that had marked their previous encounters. In its place Georgie felt an almost desperate desire to bring the man beside her both pleasure and peace.
The earl was turning out to be so much more complicated than she could have imagined. An arrogant rake one moment, a lost little boy the next. A lauded lover who’d taken dozens of ladies to his bed yet lacked any real knowledge of women. A man who sought to control his passion when likely what he truly wanted was to control his partner.
Georgie would have liked to pull back the layers to find the complex man buried beneath them. She knew he was a good man, charming and kind, strong of character and loyal to those he loved. What other traits might she discover if she had the time to devote to the task?
Reaching the upper landing, Henry led her down the hall and into a chamber decorated in varying shades of blue from the drapes hanging beside two large windows to the Turkish carpet that covered the floor. The grate was empty, wood stacked neatly to one side. The furnishings were simple, a chest of drawers against one wall, a small table and two matching wing-backed chairs between the windows, and a fluffy mattress suspended between wrought-iron headboard and footboard.
The room was stuffy and overly warm.
As if reading her mind, Henry strode across the room to open the windows and a breeze smelling of rain blew in, ruffling the curtains and lifting her hem.
“Mmm, that’s nice.” Tugging off her gloves and dropping them to the floor, Georgie lifted her gown nearly to her knees and slowly spun in a circle, enjoying the draft on her legs and wondering how to begin.
Around and around she twirled, coming to a stop before him, her skirts swirling around his legs. Dizzy, she reached for him, her hands grasping his upper arms, his bare skin shockingly hot in counterpoint to the cool wind that wafted around the room.
As she met his gleaming eyes she realized she needn’t have worried, Henry knew precisely how to begin.
“None of your tricks,” he warned.
“Cross my heart.” Coming to her toes, she offered him her lips.
He took them with a gentleness she hadn’t expected, his lips brushing over hers, lightly, slowly, as if he might memorize their shape, their texture. Reining in her natural inclination to dive deep, to plunder, to prod at his control, she met him kiss for kiss, her hands sweeping over his arms to his shoulders.
His tongue came out to trail along the seam of her lips. On a sigh she opened to him, inviting him to explore. Stroking lightly, he curled his tongue around hers, tempting her to join in a slow parry and retreat that had her trembling. His hands came up to coast along the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist.
“So sweet,” he whispered into her mouth and she sighed, her fingers flexing on his shoulders before slipping down to his chest.
Sifting her fingers through the springy curls that surrounded his dark nipples, she shaped his muscles, gently squeezed, delighted by the hard flesh that filled her palms.
He clasped her hips, his thumbs coasting over the bones that jutted, his fingers spread across the small of her back and the swell of her botto
m.
“These,” he croaked, stopping to clear his throat. “These delicate bones of yours.”
Georgie pressed her lips to his, hummed against his soft flesh.
His hands on her hips flexed and he slowly pulled her nearer, until her breasts were pressed to his chest and she felt the hard ridge of his arousal prodding her belly. Wedging his knee between her legs, he hauled her astride his thigh, dragged her over hard muscle, back and forward, and again.
“Yes,” Georgie whispered, bearing down, riding his thigh in abandon.
Hasting took command of her mouth, driving his tongue deep, possessing her, ravishing her to the tempo of his hands clenching on her hips, to the grind of his thigh between her legs.
He swept his hands up her back, his fingers dancing along her spine. Never breaking stride, never faltering in the tempo of his kiss, in the rhythmic pressure of his thigh against her mound, he coasted his hands down to the small of her back where they lingered to tease her, his knuckles brushing against the swell of her bottom.
It wasn’t until she felt the cool breeze on her shoulders and shivering down her spine that she realized her clothing was shifting and falling away.
Breaking the kiss, Georgie leaned back to meet his gaze. “You’re good.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” he replied, his voice rough, a strained smile barely lifting his lips.
She brought her arms down and stepped back, her gown falling from her shoulders, taking her chemise, stays and petticoats with it, leaving her standing before him in stockings and half-boots.
“Such pretty breasts you have,” he murmured, brushing his knuckles over her nipples. The buds hardened, tightening almost to the point of pain before he covered them with his warm hands, lifted the small mounds and dragged his thumbs over the tight peaks. “So sensitive to my touch.”
Pleasure and anticipation built, swirling through her until she swayed.
“On the bed.” His voice was a low rumble, fraught with desire and something else, some dark emotion she could not name, one that called out to her and had her trembling as she spun about and stepped over her discarded garments.
Georgie walked to the bed and lifted her right leg, unbearably conscious of his heated gaze on her. Turned away from him in the shadowy room, she knew she appeared as little more than a pale specter. Even so, she hurried to remove her boot and roll her stocking down her leg. Tossing both to the floor, she repeated the procedure on her left leg.
“You’ve beautiful legs.”
Georgie twisted to look over her shoulder, found him watching her with his trousers open, his cock jutting out.
“I’ve never seen such long legs.” With impatient movements he pushed his trousers and smalls past his hips and down his thighs, twisting and turning and tugging until he stood naked before the window, the last of the twilight’s gloom glowing behind him.
Wishing she might light a few candles the better to see him in all his glory, Georgie pivoted to sit on the edge of the bed, crossed her left leg over the right and waited.
Henry prowled across the room and she thought he would scramble onto the bed and pull her astride him, that he would show her all that he thought she’d been missing in their encounters, reveal the rogue all of London whispered about.
Instead he came to stand before her and lifted her leg, cradling her foot in one hand while the other swept over her shin, curled around to caress her calf. He lingered to trace the sensitive underside of her knee before sweeping up her thigh.
Georgie leaned back on her elbows and opened her legs in invitation.
“Lovely,” he murmured, releasing her foot and dropping to his knees in the space she’d created. Gripping her thighs, pushing them farther apart, exposing her fully, he leaned down.
She sighed as his breath blew over her curls.
Anticipating a soft kiss, Georgie was unable to hold back a moan when he buried his face in her curls, his tongue finding her clitoris and flicking over the sensitive bud.
Henry’s hands flexed on her thighs, his fingers digging into her flesh, holding her still as he tormented her with his wicked tongue, curling around and over before pulling the flesh between his lips. Sucking hard, he grazed the bud with his teeth and Georgie bucked beneath him, lust coiling tight.
“Yes,” she encouraged.
Humming, he released his prize, only to stroke her with his tongue, over and around, delving into her folds before returning with increased vigor, suckling her harder, setting up a pace that had her hips twisting and rolling. He dragged her to the edge of release only to dip down and lap at her quim, circling her, teasing her.
“Please,” she implored, desperate to reach the pinnacle that loomed.
Lifting her legs, he pushed her thighs up to her chest, holding them there with one hard arm braced beneath her knees, and drove his tongue into her body.
“Oh, yes,” she gasped.
Thrusting, curling, he delved deep, over and over, while she twisted and bucked against his mouth, her entire being focused on the agonizing pleasure that built and built until each breath she drew in was a whimper, each exhalation a sigh.
With a growl, he withdrew only to clamp his lips around her clit once more, his tongue lashing her relentlessly.
“More,” she begged.
“This?” With no more warning than the single word, he thrust one long finger into her cunny, withdrew only to thrust again. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes,” she whispered as he foraged deeper.
Timing the thrust of his finger to the suckling of his lips and the stroke of his tongue, Henry sent her soaring.
Swept into a wondrous vortex of ecstasy, convulsing around his finger, laughter welling until it spilled from her lips, she barely heard his whispered, “Christ, are you coming?”
Chapter Eleven
Georgiana’s soft laughter, the tight clasp of her silken flesh around his finger, the pulsing of her pearl between his lips, nearly unmanned Henry.
With one final tug on her clit, one last swipe of his tongue, one thrust of his finger, he released his hold on her bent legs and rose to his feet. Curling her legs around his hips and pushing his painfully hard cock through her curls, he prodded her quim, felt the fading tremors that he’d foolishly thought were a witch’s trick designed to send a man into madness.
Damn, she was beautiful spread out before him, pale and long-limbed with perfect breasts topped with pretty pink nipples. His gaze drifted down, over each of her ribs clearly visible as she drew in a trembling breath, to her hipbones jutting out beneath skin that appeared blue in the silvery moonlight.
Her taste lingered on his lips, sweet and salty.
“Henry.”
The soft roll of her tongue around his name jabbed at the remnants of his control and he shook with the need to bury himself within her body.
Raising his head, he found her watching him from beneath heavy lids, the ghost of a smile drifting over her lips.
“I want you inside me, Henry.” Lifting her hands above her head, she turned her palms up in a gesture that struck him as supplicating and called to some dark place within him.
Sweeping his hands up her thighs, feeling her thighs tighten around his hips, her ankles locking at his lower back, Henry gripped her bottom and lifted her.
“Yes,” Georgiana whispered as the head of his cock sank into her body.
Flexing his fingers, gripping her hard, he pulled her to him while pushing forward, forcing his shaft slowly, relentlessly into her heat.
“Damn, you’re tight,” he grated out between clenched teeth. “So fucking wet and tight.”
Georgiana sighed as he filled her, her fingers curling over her palms.
“No, open your hands,” he ordered, wanting her submission, receiving it immediately as she spread her fingers wide.
Withdrawing until only the tip of his cock remained within her quim, Henry met her eyes, held them. “I won’t spend in your body.”
/> “No,” she breathed, her hips swiveling, the tight ring of her cunny pulling at his shaft.
“But I am beyond control,” he said, forcing the words out, waiting for her reaction.
“Yes.”
Just the one word. It was enough, more than enough to set him free.
Thrusting hard, he seated himself in her body and rotated his hips, plowing deep, drawing a moan from the woman sprawled out before him. He withdrew only to drive into her once more. Again and again he pounded into her, taking her in abandon, taking her almost violently, taking her in a way he’d never before allowed himself to take a woman.
And Georgiana reveled in his unleashed lust, small sighs and whimpers falling from her lips, urging him on, unleashing a wildness that had him pitching over her to capture one nipple and pull it deep into his mouth, teeth scraping over the pebbled flesh.
He bit down and she came apart, convulsing around his plundering cock, her hands grasping his head, fingers twisting in his hair, nails scouring his scalp.
She moaned, the sound broken and raw, her legs squeezing and pulling him deeper into her body until he was rocking against her, barely withdrawing between each savage thrust, teeth and lips tugging at her nipple to the tempo of her warm flesh clasping him.
Lifting her higher and tighter against him, he rode her release, unhinged by her soft moans drifting around them, mingling with his rasping groans to create a dark, dangerous symphony that pushed him over the edge.
“Your legs,” he gasped, clawing at her thighs.
Immediately, Georgiana released him, her legs falling away.
With a growl, Henry jerked his cock from her body just as he started to come. His seed shot through her curls and across her thighs. Dropping her to the bed he took his pulsing shaft in hand and pumped, sending warm milky liquid jetting over her hips and belly.
Shaking, Henry fell to the bed beside her, blindly reaching for her, turning her and pulling her close. Georgiana curled around him, bringing his head to the crook of her neck, her fingers clutching his sweating, heaving back. Draping one leg over his hips she pressed her curls against the base of his still pulsating shaft.
