The Naked Gentleman

by Sally MacKenzie

  “Yes, it was.” He kissed her palm. “So I will ask you properly now. Will you marry me, Miss Margaret Peterson?”

  She laughed uncertainly. “Silly. I already have.” She blushed. “Do get up.”

  He didn’t move. Instead, he kissed each of her fingers, lingering over her wedding ring. “Will you wed me, truly? Will you be my wife and have my children? Will you love me now and forever?”

  She bit her lip. “Yes. Yes, of course I will.”

  Joy began to bubble up inside him. “And I will love you. In London I gave you my ring. Tonight I shall give you my body.”

  Meg inhaled sharply. “And…and I will give you mine.”

  He grinned. “Splendid.” He had chosen this position, before her on his knee, because it was traditional, but he discovered it also gave him a wonderful view and excellent access to her scantily clad, lovely, seductive body. He reached for her ankles and slid his hands slowly up her legs, over her soft skin, taking the gauzy scrap of fabric she was wearing with him. Up her calves, past her knees to her beautiful thighs.

  She was panting now and moaning just a little, her hands on his shoulders, her fingers clutching him each time his hands moved higher.

  He stopped at her waist. Her lovely private curls were displayed for his inspection.

  “John…”

  Did she sound embarrassed? She tugged on him, as if to lift him from his contemplation.

  He kissed the crease where her right leg joined her body.

  “John!”

  He treated her left side to the same attention.

  “John, this is…I’m certain you should not be…”

  Her curls tickled his nose. He loved the heat of her and the slightly musky smell of this secret place.

  He had never done this before. He had never wanted to make love to Cat. He’d just wanted release—his release—as quickly as possible.

  He was in no hurry now. He wanted to explore, to enjoy. To play.

  Had he ever played? Certainly not since he’d grown from boyhood. Certainly not with a woman.

  He wanted to give Meg pleasure. Oh, he wanted his pleasure, too. Anticipation of that pleasure hummed throughout his body. He smiled and slipped his tongue into Meg’s curls, into the dark, moist—wet—place hidden there. He found the tiny nub—

  Her hips jerked, and she squeaked.

  “What are you…eep!” She pulled on his hair.

  He licked her again. She tried to twist away from him, but he held her hips still.

  “What are you doing?! I’m sure you should stop that.” She pulled on his hair again. “It is most unseemly.”

  He looked up past her lovely, heaving breasts with their tightly budded nipples outlined against the transparent fabric to her flushed face. “Do you like it?”

  “I…I am sure I should not.”

  “But do you?”

  “Y-yes. I mean, it feels very odd.” She squeaked again as he licked her one more time.

  He gave that part of her a parting kiss and moved upward, kissing her belly, her navel, her waist, her ribs. He pulled the nightgown completely off then, freeing his hands to cup her lovely breasts while his mouth and tongue explored her nipples.

  “John. Oh. John.” She pushed at him, breaking his concentration finally. “John!”

  He drew back. She was flushed and panting, but she had a very determined look in her eyes. Certainly she was enjoying his touch? “What is the matter?”

  “You—you still have your clothes on.” She took a deep breath, causing her breasts to move delightfully. “You should remove them.”

  “I should?”

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “I want you…naked.” She swallowed. “Completely naked.”

  “Ah.” He grinned. So she did like what he was doing. “What a wonderful suggestion.” He pulled back the bedclothes and lifted her to sit on the mattress. He kissed each breast once more and then stepped back. “I will be happy to accommodate you.”

  She was going mad. Need was eating her up so all that was left was an aching, throbbing emptiness.

  “Hurry up.”

  He chuckled. “So impatient.”

  Slowly—too slowly—he unwound his cravat and unbuttoned his waistcoat. He draped them carefully over a chair. Then, finally, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

  “Oh. Oh, my.”

  “Like what you see?”

  “Yes. Very much.” He was beautiful. His arms curved with muscle; his shoulders stretched broad and straight. Short, brown hair covered his chest, trailing over his flat stomach to his pantaloons. She leaned forward to touch his stomach. He was like warm marble.

  “Take off the rest of your clothes.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He stripped his pantaloons and drawers off quickly and straightened. She sucked in her breath.

  The male organ was very odd-looking indeed. John’s was startlingly large.

  If she understood the process correctly, that very large appendage needed to fit inside…She winced.

  She could see why the procedure might hurt the first time. Or every time.

  Well, she had never been missish, and now was definitely not the moment to start. Emma and Lizzie had lived through the experience—Emma had even said it was pleasant. And John must have accomplished the deed numerous times without killing any women. The human race would not survive if the various procreative pieces did not fit together.

  Now that she considered it, babies traversed the same passage, and they were much larger than this organ. Somehow the relevant portion of her anatomy must expand appropriately.

  It felt as if it were expanding now.

  She glanced up at him. He was watching her intently.

  “May I touch?”

  His throat moved as he swallowed. “Please,” he croaked.

  She ran her finger up his length, then took him gently in her hand. This part of him was hard, too—and silky and warm.

  Yes, she felt very expansive.

  He had licked her. Could she…?

  “Meg!”

  She could.

  “Meg, love, please, that’s enough.” He sounded desperate. He put his hands on her head and gently moved her back.

  “Don’t you like it?”

  He shuddered. “I love it, but if you don’t stop now, things will be over before they begin.”

  “I don’t underst—”

  He stopped her argument with his mouth. And his tongue. He pulled her off the bed and pressed her body to his.

  Mmm. He felt as good as he looked. She rubbed against his chest and the large organ now cradled against her belly. She ran her hands over his muscled back down to his buttocks.

  His hands were not idle either. They slid down to her hips, traced the curves there, and then traveled back to her breasts.

  Oh, yes. She felt extremely expansive. And damp. There was no question in her mind—she could definitely accommodate his splendid organ without any difficulty whatsoever. She was anxious to try. Extremely anxious.

  He lifted her onto the bed again and joined her on the mattress. His mouth moved from her throat to her breasts. He kissed their tops, their sides…and then moved down to her ribs.

  She wanted to scream. Her breasts felt so swollen, her nipples hard little nubs crying for the moist touch of his mouth. Surely he knew she wanted him to…kiss her there.

  She squirmed. He was licking the bottom of her ribcage. That was all very well, but that was not the spot—the spots—most aching for his touch.

  Ah, he got the hint. His tongue flicked over one hard nub while his thumb attended to the other.

  She almost flew off the bed.

  “Do you like that, Meg?”

  “Uh.” She was beyond coherence. She arched again, encouraging him to explore further. He laughed and suckled her.

  This was wonderful—much, much better than any of their other encounters. Naked and horizontal—in a lovely bed behind a lovely closed door�
�with a wedding ring and the blessings of their families…

  Yes, this was a wonderful improvement.

  But now the spot between her legs was throbbing. She needed him there, too. Immediately. She twisted her hips.

  Magic. His lips left her breasts and moved in exactly the direction she wished.

  Oh, lud! His mouth had felt heavenly before, but now the wet rasp of his tongue—just a single stroke—caused her to sit bolt upright.

  “John!”

  He grinned at her from his position between her legs.

  “Are you all right, Meg? You look very flushed. Perhaps you would prefer I stop?”

  “No!” She panted. “Don’t you dare stop!”

  He swept his tongue over her again, and she sucked in her breath.

  “But I thought you wanted children?”

  “Huh?”

  “Children, Meg. A son or a daughter. Not because we have to, but because we want to.”

  His mouth was on hers now, and his weight was bearing her back against the bed. “Would that be all right with you?”

  “Uh.” She felt his organ touch her aching, wet place. It just brushed against her, teasing her. “Yes, yes. Please. Now.”

  He smiled against her lips. “My pleasure.”

  He came into her, then, slowly filling her emptiness. Too slowly. She pulled on his hips, bringing him closer, feeling a slight burning deep inside, a momentary pain, and then just pleasure.

  He was heavy and warm on her. Hot. She reveled in his heat, in the fullness he gave her…and then he moved. Out and in again. She was caught between the wall of his chest and the bed, impaled on him, surrounded by him.

  It was beyond wonderful, but she needed something more. Each stroke of his body wound her tighter and tighter. The tension was unbearable. She—

  “Ohh.”

  Wave after wave of feeling crashed through her, flooding her with exquisite sensation, and then, in the peace after the storm, she felt a different flooding deep inside her, the warm pulse of John’s seed.

  She smiled and hugged him as he collapsed onto her.

  He felt wonderful. He’d never thought the act of joining could be so…overwhelming.

  He wanted to stay exactly where he was, but he must be crushing Meg. He lifted himself off and out of her body, then stretched out on the bed beside her. He leaned up on his elbow so he could watch her. Her eyes were still closed; her mouth had the barest curve of a smile.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  She shook her head without opening her eyes. “Not really.”

  He put his hand on her breast and she made a small, almost purring noise. “Was it what you expected?”

  She turned her face, then, to look at him. “Oh, no, I could never have expected that.”

  “And it was…?”

  She laughed. “Fishing for compliments? I will give them freely. It was wonderful.” She rolled to her side and ran her hand up his arm. “I loved it. I want to do it again, very soon.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Many times.”

  Happiness swelled to fill his chest. He had never felt this carefree before.

  “I see you are insatiable. That’s a very good attribute in a wife.”

  She grinned. “I want to make you forget Grace.”

  He brushed a kiss on the top of her head. “Grace? Who is Grace?”

  “So I’ve already pushed your former love from your mind?” Meg smiled, but her eyes were serious. “I hope you do not forget me so easily.”

  “I could never forget you, Meg.” He traced the line of her eyebrows. He wanted her—needed her—to understand. “I did not love Grace, not in the way I love you. I liked her”—he smiled slightly—“but I liked her land more. She had a splendid spot for a rose garden.” His smile broadened. The hurt and embarrassment of that day had faded over the years, but now, in this bed, they truly vanished. Sunlight had lit the persistent shadow. He felt almost giddy. He leaned over and kissed Meg’s nose, wrapping his arms around her and settling her against his chest.

  Meg cuddled close. “She hurt you.”

  “Not really. I was embarrassed more than hurt.”

  “But you swore off marriage.”

  He cupped one of her breasts in his hand and grinned when he heard her sharp intake of breath. “I was obviously misguided.” He flicked her nipple with his thumb and she wrapped her leg over his, pressing against his thigh. “And most importantly, I hadn’t met you.”

  She made a fussy little exhalation. “You met me last year, but you didn’t seem terribly impressed.”

  He ran his hand down to her hip. “I never said I wasn’t an idiot, but if I had thought about it”—he kissed her forehead and slipped his forefinger into her hot, wet center—“I would have thought I had no chance with you.”

  Her eyes were slightly glazed. He moved his finger and she bit her lip.

  “Why—” She sucked in her breath sharply as he moved again. “Why do you say that?”

  “You wanted a title, didn’t you?”

  “No—stop that, I can’t think.”

  He withdrew his finger, laying it just outside her entrance. She squirmed a little and then sighed.

  “Why would I want a title?”

  “All women want titles.”

  She snorted. “As I said before, not this woman.”

  He almost believed her. “But then why did you take all those titled men into the bushes?”

  “Were they titled?” Meg started moving her hand in a very interesting direction. “I didn’t notice.” She kissed his chest. “If I couldn’t marry you, I didn’t much care whom I married.”

  He caught her fingers before they reached their destination. “But why Bennington? The man’s a sap.”

  “Well, yes, but he does have a very extensive plant collection.”

  “Not as extensive as mine.”

  She grinned. “I know.”

  He sat up and stared at her. “You married me for my plants?”

  She tried not to laugh, but John looked so offended. Surely he knew she was joking? She took immediate advantage of the fact he’d let go of her hand to slide it the rest of the way down his body. “Well, I wasn’t aware of the other wonderful thing you could grow.”

  The thing in question was growing very nicely indeed. She stroked it again, and it swelled and stiffened further.

  John’s voice shook. “You are a minx of the worst sort, madam. I can see I will have to teach you proper behavior.” He sucked in his breath when she used her mouth in place of her hand. “But some other time. A little…ah! A little…yes! A little improper…Oh, God…behavior can be…Don’t stop…very proper!”

  The last word came out in a shout. John flipped her onto her back and thrust into her so deeply she’d swear he touched her womb. She came apart—and a second later, so did he.

  She sighed with pleasure. It truly didn’t matter if he owned a hundred acres of exotic plants or one sad ficus, the love he’d sown in her heart flourished past all her imaginings. She tightened her arms…and another part of her body…to hold him close while she whispered in his ear.

  “You know, John, for once we are in complete agreement.”

  Don’t miss this delightful peek

  at Sally MacKenzie’s THE NAKED BARON,

  coming in 2009…

  Lady Grace Belmont grabbed the door handle and held on as if her life depended on it.

  Damnation, her life did depend on it. If she got out of this carriage and went into the Duke of Alvord’s brightly lit townhouse—

  She shuddered. It didn’t bear thinking of. All those eyes, staring at the Amazon from Devon…

  She tightened her grip, bracing her foot against the inside of the coach. Her very large foot. She glared at the offending body part, clad demurely in white satin. Why had the blasted shoemaker felt compelled to share with her the fact that he’d just finished a pair of men’s pumps smaller than these slippers? As if she’d needed the reminder that her form was most definitely not l
adylike.

  Sykes, the butler-cum-footman, frowned and tugged on the door again, but she was prepared. It didn’t move an inch. In a moment he’d look up and see her through the window—and have yet another odd tale of Lady Oxbury’s niece to spread through the servants’ quarters. She leaned back into the carriage’s shadowy interior—and felt a small hand push firmly between her shoulder blades.

  “What are you doing, Grace?” There was a distinct edge to Aunt Katherine’s whisper. “Let Sykes open the door.”

  “No.” Sykes pulled again and Grace’s arms jerked forward. She narrowed her eyes and yanked back, putting her considerable weight into the effort. Sykes wasn’t going to win this battle.

  “Ow!” Two hands shoved her this time, hard enough to push her away. “Stop! You’re crushing me.”

  “Sorry, Aunt Katherine.” She looked over her shoulder. Her aunt was glaring at her like a wet cat.

  Who would think such a tiny woman could be so strong? Blast it all, who would think a woman who looked as fragile as the finest porcelain would have a niece who was such a…a…She grimaced. Such a female Gargantua. A damned Brobdingnagian. If they entered the ballroom together, the assembled ton would stare just as the tradesmen had these last few days.

  Her grip on the door handle tightened.

  “Grace, I don’t understand why you are behaving this way. It is certainly no surprise that you find yourself arrived at a society ball. We’ve seen more than enough mantua makers, milliners, and merchants of every stripe since we arrived in London. I think I’ve been pricked by more pins in the last week than I have in my entire life.”

  “I know.” Grace turned back to give her complete attention to the door. “But I’ve just discovered that knowing about a ball and actually stepping into the ballroom are two vastly different things. Rather like being told stewed eels are nasty and then tasting them yourself.”

  “I like stewed eels.”

  “Then you may have my portion whenever I have the ill luck to find the dish in front of me. And you may also go to this ball without me. I’ll be delighted to let Sykes open the door if you are the only one who goes through it.”

  “Ridiculous. This is your come-out, Grace.”

  “I’d rather stay in.” Why did she have to be so large? Her mama had been normal-sized. She’d barely reached Papa’s shoulder, if the painting in the family gallery was to be believed. Grace, on the other hand, could examine the top of the earl’s balding pate by glancing down.