My request! My demand!
Where his fingers touched her, she felt a soft warmth, a caress of heat that enveloped her. She had expected his hands to be rough and harsh, impatient, commanding and demanding as he undressed her, as he drew them around the curves of her breasts, down the sides of her torso, around her hip and over her bottom, down the length of her thighs and over the slope of her calves. Instead, they had been patient, reverent, so very careful, as if she were made of fine china and might shatter should he press too hard.
He had warned her. He had said he would have her undressed by ten. How could he have known? How could he know she would simply give in to his seduction? A thought struck her and she gasped.
Perhaps this wasn’t the first time a woman had asked him to do this to her!
How many others had he pleasured like this? How many others had succumbed to his gentle caresses and begged him to undress them? Did he do this often? “George?” she got out, her hoarse whisper nearly caught in her throat, her body still shivering as if it were cold.
George stilled his hands where they were at her feet, her clothes draped over one arm as if he were a lady’s maid about to hang her gown in the clothes press and take the rest to the laundry. “Yes, milady?” he answered, concern evident in his voice. He set her clothes out on the back of a chair and moved quickly to the head of the bed. She reclined near the middle of the mattress, her auburn hair spilling over the pillows to create a halo of curly silk around her head. She was watching him through lowered lashes, her mouth slightly open, her entire body naked. Until that moment, he didn’t realize just how much he had been craving her, that he had been a man starved for her kind of sustenance, and here she was, bared and spread before him like a banquet. It took every bit of willpower he possessed not to rake his eyes over what he knew must be a beautiful body, to concentrate his attention instead on just her face, on just those aquamarine eyes barely visible through the curtain of her lashes.
“How many women have you seduced like this?” she whispered, reaching up with a finger to capture the knot of his cravat. The perfectly tied mail coach knot was undone in an instant, the ties spilling down to graze over her dewy skin.
Taken aback by the question, George blinked once, twice as he tried very hard not to notice the ends of his black cravat puddle onto her midriff and drape over one breast. “I have … never done this before,” he replied with a shake of his head, the motion causing the linen fabric to dance over her skin.
Elizabeth’s first reaction was to call him out as a liar, but then she noticed his fingers were shaking just a bit. Indeed, his hands were shaking, quivering, making her realize something.
He was just as nervous as she was.
For despite not being cold, her entire body shook, vibrated, shivered. Surely not from fear; she had nothing to be afraid of with George. Anticipation, perhaps. She grasped one of the ends of the cravat and gently pulled it so that George was forced to lower his head until the length of fabric unwrapped itself from around his neck. “But you … you knew I would beg you to remove my gown. How did you know?”
Lowering himself to sit on the edge of the bed, George shrugged and tried hard to avoid the sight of his cravat spilled over her body. At that moment, he decided he would never again complain to Elkins about having to wear one, as long as it was this one. “I didn’t,” he claimed, his shoulders slumping with the admission. At the sight of her arched eyebrow, he added, “I thought when you heard such a warning, you would … withdraw your request to have me pleasure you,” he struggled to get out.
This is unexpected! “And then I did not,” she whispered, her arms suddenly moving to cover her breasts, despite the cravat already doing a fine job of it. Her right knee bent slightly and crossed over her left leg so that her mound was hidden from his view, should he even look there. A flush of pink suffused her entire body. What was I thinking? What must he think of me?
“And when you did not,” George continued, a wan smile touching his lips, “I felt so honored … I feel honored …”
“Honored?” she interrupted in disbelief, raising herself onto one elbow and leaning toward him.
George took in the sight of her then, his cravat no longer covering any of her as it slid off the curves of her body. He reached down to capture a hand in his, to raise it to his lips and kiss the back of it, closing his eyes as he did so. “That you would give me such an opportunity to spend time with you,” he murmured, not letting go of her hand. “That you would ask me to pleasure you. That you would give me the chance to prove myself in the bedchamber. At least, as much as I can without ruining you completely,” he added as he gazed at her. He kissed her hand again, this time turning it over in order to place his lips against her palm.
Elizabeth regarded him for a very long time as he held her hand. He is honored.
His itinerary had promised she would be thoroughly pleasured by midnight. Without loss of virtue. How could he expect to bring her such pleasure if he had no intention of performing sexual intercourse? The very thought of his naked body atop hers—anchored to her by her legs wrapped around his thighs—came unbidden, and a pleasant sensation passed across her belly. The sudden hitch in her breath broke the momentary spell. “Do you … do you still wish to do so?” she whispered, her breaths coming a bit faster, her swollen breasts suddenly aching to be touched, to be kissed and suckled again.
“God, yes,” George blurted, his free hand raking his hair into spikes as a grin split his face.
Elizabeth nodded and raised herself so she reclined on one straight arm. “Then look at me, George. All of me. And tell me, truthfully, you must be truthful about this or I shall never speak to you again. Are my breasts …?”
“Perfect,” George interrupted, his head bobbing up and down. “Beautiful …”
“Look at me, George!”
Her plea startled him, forced him to look at her as she lowered herself to the bed, to gaze at all of her in her naked glory, all at once and then in little bits as he took in the sight of her long legs, the curve of her hips, the indentation of her waist, her very swollen breasts as they parted slightly from the middle of her chest, her one arm draped over her stomach while the other rested, bent, on the linens, her collarbone where it crested, her shoulders as they curved and dipped and joined her long neck. When his eyes finally locked with hers, he stayed very still, wondering what she would have him do next.
Elizabeth stared back at George, a truth becoming quite apparent to her as he gazed at her. She had expected him to look upon her nakedness with lust, to see something akin to evil in his eyes as they traveled over her exposed flesh. Instead, she found his gaze one of reverence, as if he worshiped the very sight of her.
Perhaps he felt affection for her. That could be the reason he agreed to this ridiculous arrangement. He plans to ask for my hand in marriage. He would do anything for her, she realized.
She just needed to ask.
Reaching for the tail of his shirt, she lifted it. “Take this off, George,” she demanded, her voice quiet but commanding. Pausing only a moment, George pulled the linen from his body and tossed it aside.
He could hear her inhalation of breath as she took in the sight of his bare chest, his muscular shoulders and arms, the dusting of dark hair covering his chest. But her eyes didn’t suggest she was frightened by the sight of him. In fact, she seemed somehow emboldened, knowing that he would do whatever she demanded. “Touch me, George. Make me … feel something.”
God, she is naked, George thought suddenly, remembering his vow that she would be so before ten. And he wasn’t far behind. He paused for only a moment before joining her on the bed, his hand very lightly skimming the surface of her skin, his finger pads and palm sliding along the planes of her body. All of her body. He heard her soft gasps as his hand smoothed along her hip, over the top of her thigh and then over the velvet soft skin between her thighs. He could bring her to the next level of ecstasy in just a few minutes!
Using his open hand, he gently lifted one of her legs so her knee bent slightly. When he moved his hand to her other leg, the bent leg fell to the side, as if boneless. Using the pads of his fingers, he barely stroked the delicate skin of her inner thighs, felt the shivers beneath and the quickening as her hips tensed. Slipping his hand between her thighs, his fingers parted the soft curls covering her mound and slid between the swollen feminine folds. Her entire body jerked in response, a shriek escaping her lips. George paused the movement of his hand and then slowly, very slowly, drew his middle finger along the moist cleft, up and then back down. Her hips seemed to angle to follow his finger, so he rested the palm of his hand on her mound to hold her down as his finger stroked harder. Elizabeth cried out, her breaths coming in pants. He slid his entire hand between her thighs, felt her wetness, felt the molten heat spreading as he softly rubbed her swollen womanhood. When his movements quickened, Elizabeth whimpered, clutched the bed linens in one hand and George’s arm in the other in an attempt to hold herself down as her body arced into his touch. Capturing the tip of one breast in his mouth, George laved his tongue across the hardened nipple.
Elizabeth nearly screamed. Her body, bowed and taut and aching for release, gave way to a wave that crashed through her entire being. His name came out as a strangled plea. And when the wave crashed again, she whimpered and clung as tightly as she could, afraid she would be swept away from reality should she let go.
George lifted his head from her breast, amazed at how large and firm it appeared in its flushed, aroused state. He stilled his hand, held it against her engorged womanhood for a moment longer before carefully sliding it up and away from her body.
Elizabeth whimpered at the renewed stimulation and then whimpered again at the loss of his touch, pulling her knees together as she seemed to melt into the mattress. George lowered himself to the bed, straightening his body alongside hers. He gathered her boneless body so it rested against his, the side of her face pressed into the small of his shoulder. He could feel the pounding of her heart against his chest.
Kissing her hair, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of jasmine. Smiling, he slid a hand along her arm, down her back, over the curve of her bottom and back up her body, gentling her to a state of peace and calm.
It had been so easy to pleasure her. So satisfying to know that simple kisses and gentle strokes could bring her to ecstasy. He wanted nothing more than to do it again. Every night. Every day! He glanced toward the clock and smiled to himself.
He had plenty of time.
Chapter 34
Turning the Tables in Bed
Elizabeth was aware of his warm hands caressing her skin as she allowed herself to be held against George’s body. One of her hands rested in the crisp curls that dusted his chest, the beat of his heart creating a tattoo beneath it. She was sure hers was doing the same against his ribs. She had believed the pleasure she experienced earlier was as intense as it could be—how could it be possible to feel such amazing sensations?—and then George had assaulted her senses with a level of ecstasy from which she didn’t want to recover. She could stay like this all night, all boneless and sated and floating between sleep and consciousness, unable to think about leaving the bed and getting dressed.
She did want to address the issue of George’s breeches. They were still on his body, the wool chafing the tender skin of her inner thighs where her leg draped over one of his. And barely containing what she just then realized was his arousal. “George,” she whispered, her hand skimming down his chest to the top of his breeches. She felt his reaction in the sculpted abdominal muscles even before she heard his sharp intake of breath.
A hand was suddenly covering hers. Although she couldn’t see his face, she felt his discomfort. “Yes, my sweet?” he whispered, bringing her hand to his lips so he could kiss the palm.
Elizabeth bit her lower lip. “You simply must remove your breeches,” she whispered. He had lowered her left hand back to his chest where he still held his hand over it, but at her insistent comment, he gripped her hand tighter.
“I must?” he responded, not expecting such a demand.
She could feel his pulse increase. She smiled at her ability to discomfit him so. “Yes. They’re most uncomfortable. I don’t know how you can even wear them,” she spoke softly. Raising herself so she was supported on one elbow, she caught and regarded George’s panicked gaze in the dim candlelight. One of her breasts rested against his chest while the other rested on the hand that held hers.
George stared at her for a moment more before nodding. “Perhaps you should … look away, milady …”
“George, you remove those breeches right now, or I shall remove myself from this bed,” Elizabeth stated in no uncertain terms.
The buttons were undone in an instant, George not remembering a time when he had unbuttoned them quite so fast. His engorged cock sprang free as he hooked his thumbs into the waist of both his drawers and the breeches and lifted his hips. Pushing the offending garments over his buttocks and down his legs, he bent and kicked until he could toss them aside, all the while holding Elizabeth’s startled gaze. Maintain control, he thought as he realized he was naked, for the first time, with a woman who wasn’t Josie. Or his childhood nurse.
He thought about reaching for the bed clothes and covering himself before Elizabeth could get a good look. Coward! Instead, he lowered his back into the pillows and then locked his hands behind his head, his elbows thrust out on either side of his head as he allowed a smirk to form on his lips. “As you wish, milady,” he murmured.
Elizabeth forced herself to look, really look, at George’s body. He was spread out like a lounging statue before her, his taut, muscled body lean and sculpted, like one of the marbles she’s seen at the British Museum just that morning. But another statue came to mind, one far better sculpted and closer in comparison to the body she was admiring. “You have a body like David,” she murmured, her hand hovering just above his abdomen. She pulled it away when his stomach seemed to cave in suddenly.
“David?” he repeated, his brows shooting up his forehead as he suddenly performed a sit-up. “David who?” Her father’s name was David, but certainly she wouldn’t refer to Morganfield by his given name.
Elizabeth pulled her gaze from his bobbing cock, her brows furrowing as she considered the question. “I … I don’t know. I don’t think he has a last name,” she replied with a shake of her head. “His …” She pointed at his manhood. “…Isn’t nearly so … large, of course, but …”
A strangled curse erupted from George and forced her to return her attention to his face. “You’ve seen a naked man? Besides your father?”
Elizabeth waved a hand in the air, as if it wasn’t important. “When I saw my father naked, he and mother were … well, making a bit of noise one afternoon in their bedchamber, and I peeked in. So it wasn’t such a shock when I saw David.”
That cursing sound came out of George again.
“I think it must have been a shock for Hannah, though. I thought she would faint. And then she couldn’t keep her eyes off of him!”
She let out a shriek as her body was suddenly brought down to the mattress and George was over the top of her, his eyes wide and … was that hurt she saw in them?
“Who is David?” he whispered hoarsely, the words a struggle to get out around the extreme jealousy he was experiencing.
Elizabeth’s mouth opened quite wide as she placed a hand against the side of his face. “Michaelangelo’s David, of course,” she murmured, a smile of delight curving her lips. “I saw the statue when Hannah and my parents were in Italy to visit Mama’s family.” She felt the fire and anger drain from George as he seemed to slump onto her, his erection cradled by her belly.
“You little minx, you,” he said as his own lips curved.
“I meant it as a compliment,” she countered with a whisper.
George regarded her for a very long time
, his eyes locked with hers in shared amusement. But after a few moments, he became aware of how his entire body was atop hers, aware of where their skin touched, how her breasts were mounded from the weight of his chest on them, of his turgid manhood pressed into the soft flesh of her belly, how his thighs straddled hers, of her toes where they rested against his calves … he slowly took inventory of all his parts and her parts and desire overwhelmed him. His mouth settled onto her willing lips and he kissed her slowly, kissed her until he felt her need for him through her very being. Lowering his lips to her jaw, he trailed a line of kisses down the front of her body, a few here, a few there, occasionally allowing them to take purchase on a breast, on the tip of a nipple, over a rib. When he heard her breathing change, felt her body become taut, he pushed himself lower, bringing his legs to rest between hers as he continued his descent. His kisses brought out whimpers, driving him lower along her body.
Elizabeth’s whimpers turned to sobs, to pleas for him to take her. He moved his body farther down the bed until he could see the soft, moist folds between her thighs, feel the wetness as he drew a finger down the moist cleft. Before he could repeat the stroke, Elizabeth’s body arced up and she cried out, his name suddenly a plea. Circling his thumb into the soft, wet flesh of her womanhood, George slowed his breathing and waited. Her quickened breaths, her tensing body told him she had to be close to her ecstasy. Simply watching her made his cock throb, his own release almost eminent. He had never been so close to orgasm and yet not been inside a woman.
“Take me, George. Please. I beg you,” she whispered hoarsely, her head tossing from side to side.
George heard her plea. He had promised her he would not hurt her, though. He could not take her maidenhead. Not tonight, at least. Perhaps not ever if she chose the earl over him.
Love Regency Style Page 217
