“Ahem. Who is taking my name in vain?” said his mother with a mock frown, looking absolutely beautiful in ruby red silk.
Howard turned his head and smiled at her, and just as it had when they had reunited, something indefinable passed silently between them. “Our son is pretending that he won’t strain his ears and eyes waiting for Miss Donovan to be announced.”
“George, darling, she’ll be here soon. All I ask is that you don’t trample anyone in your haste to talk to her. Or fling them from the staircase for that matter. We want to keep all the ball guests unmaimed, for Jane’s sake.”
“Both of you can go bathe in the Thames,” he said irritably. “I’m fine.”
But an hour later, he wasn’t fine at all.
His wounds were both tender and itchy, despite the fact that they were healing nicely under Dr. Murray and Victoria’s expert care. His cheekbones actually hurt from smiling, and his palm and fingers needed both a thorough scrubbing from perspiration, and a massage to relieve the cramp of countless enthusiastic pumping handshakes. Worst of all, Louisa still hadn’t arrived. Instead he’d had to feign charm and delight when every other bloody spinster and wife and widow in London curtsied and simpered and sent him flirtatious looks from under their lashes.
“Lord Trentham. How absolutely delightful to see you again,” purred a familiarly grating voice.
Christ. Francesca Kenwood. Definitely not the redhead he wanted to see.
“Chessie,” he said politely, bowing over her hand. “Looking lovely. No Lord Kenwood this evening?”
“Unfortunately under the weather with a head cold. So I am shamefully without a dance and supper partner.”
George forced a regretful look. “Oh dear. Can’t have that. Fortunately there are some dashing gentlemen about who would be only too honored to escort you. I am sadly trapped here with hosting duties.”
The baroness pouted, but was forced to move along when the elderly man next in the line cleared his throat meaningfully.
He shook the man’s hand, and must have said something vaguely intelligent, but the entire time, he kept glancing up at the stairs. Where the fuck was Louisa? Practically all the guests were here, and the ballroom was a hive of music and chatter. Even his parents and Jane were sneaking looks at the entrance now.
Anger and worry coursed through him. Had something happened? Perhaps the Donovan carriage lay on its side in an icy street somewhere? Louisa could be hurt. In pain. Or maybe she had merely decided not to attend. Her coolness over the past week could be her way of saying goodbye. Perhaps she had met another man. Even now she might be wrapped in his arms, whimpering in his ear as he pleasured her…
“Gads! I say, Trentham. Powerful grip you have there.”
Grimacing apologetically, George immediately released his innocent captive. Hell. He was officially ready to be transported to Bedlam.
“Mr. Bertram Donovan. Mrs. Margaret Donovan. Miss Louisa Donovan.”
“Oh, thank God,” said his mother with a tiny cry.
“I’m going to box their ears,” muttered Jane. “My nerves are in pieces.”
“I’ll distract the parents,” said his father. “Off you go, George.”
But he hardly heard them as he abandoned the receiving line and began to ascend the staircase. All he could see was Louisa, and she looked beyond beautiful. Her gown was the stark ivory of fresh snow, with a silver muslin overlay that made it look like liquid moonlight. Her red hair flowed down her back in a riot of only partially tamed curls, held away from her face with diamond combs.
Then he peered harder. There was something threaded between the combs.
Good God. A jonquil colored ribbon.
“Nice ribbon,” he said, his temper hanging by a thread as he took her hand and kissed it. “Did it take five hours to thread in?”
Louisa’s surprisingly tense smile turned into a frown. “Do not take that tone with—”
“Not here,” George bit out. “In private. Come with me.”
~ * ~
After the aggravating evening Louisa had had so far, the last thing she wanted was to be marched like a naughty child along a wide, portrait-lined hallway away from the ballroom.
“George,” she snapped, attempting to discreetly tug her arm from his hold. “What the bloody hell is the matter?”
He ignored her completely, which ignited her own already volatile temper.
Digging her heels into a luxuriously soft carpet, she swung herself in front of him so he was forced to come to a halt. “Lord Trentham. Talk to me.”
Instead of answering, George leaned across and pushed at a door. When it opened easily, he hauled her inside a thankfully well-lit antechamber that, judging by the haphazard collection of cloth-covered furniture, was used only for storage.
Finally, he spoke. “Where the hell have you been?”
Surprised and furious at the harsh bite in his tone, Louisa glared at him. “Am I home too late from the soiree, Papa?”
His frown darkened. “I’m not in the mood. Just answer the fucking question.”
“Oh dear, you aren’t in the mood,” Louisa snapped. “Well, la di bloody da. Guess what, my lord? I’m not either. Especially for being manhandled into a damned storage room…ahh!”
The undignified yelp that escaped her lips as she found herself temporarily airborne before being settled atop a cloth-covered table did nothing to improve her temper. And yet as she perched there, George between her now-spread thighs, and his deliciously familiar scent winding itself around her, her anger began to transform into something else. Something hot and dangerous. Something that cared nothing for their current location and demanded action.
And her knew it too, damn him. Because those jade eyes began to glitter, and seconds later, her lips were crushed and tingling under his.
Oh God. No one kissed like George. It felt like it had been years, and with a helpless moan, she threaded her fingers through his hair and tilted her neck so he had easier access. All the while hating the fact that he could make her feel like this so easily. Needy. Desperate. Ready to put her pride in her pocket and beg him to ease the ache that had hardened her nipples until they rubbed painfully against the bodice of her white and silver gown. That was already dampening the tender folds of her core.
His mouth moved, grazing her neck, and she shivered in delight. “Where were you, Louisa?”
“Carriage trouble,” she gasped.
“I thought you might have been in an accident. Hurt,” he said, but his tension eased, and his hand lifted to cup her breast, his thumb circling one taut peak through the fabric.
“No. Just a damned axle…oh God, George. Harder, please.”
“Your nipple is very swollen. Does it need to be sucked?”
Louisa whimpered, arching her back. But just to torture her, he took his time undoing the mother of pearl buttons fastening her gown, and seemed to move even more leisurely in attending to the ribbon of her stays. “Hurry up!”
He didn’t. Merely framed her breasts with his big hands and lightly plucked the taut peaks with thumb and forefinger. “Your nipples are such a lovely color. I’m trying to decide what shade of brown they are. And yet there is a hint of rose, too, that darkens when they become more swollen. Like when I do this.”
A guttural moan escaped her lips when he pinched both nipples, the delicious bite of pain arrowing straight to her wet center. And yet her legs were too spread open to rub together and ease the pulsing throb, and she shifted miserably on the table, the need to end this slow-building anticipation and leap over the edge into climax now an all-consuming thing.
“Stroke me. Kiss me. Something. Right this minute.”
George’s hands dropped from her breasts to rest on her upper thighs, and the hint of restraint made the pulsing even worse. Hell and damnation. Any moment now, she would be a pleading, whimpering mess.
Finally, he said gruffly, “Arch your back. More. Lean backward and brace yourself on your hands. That’s it,�
�� and she cried out in gratitude when his hot, avid mouth engulfed one nipple and sucked it to the heady point that danced just below discomfort. Then he moved to the other breast and did the same.
“Yes,” she breathed, thrusting her breasts forward and forcing her nipple deeper into his mouth for more of the expert attention from his tongue and lips and gently scraping teeth.
One of his hands moved, and Louisa moaned as it delved under the hem of her gown and began stroking the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, circling higher and higher until he brushed the thatch of soaked curls between her legs.
“Hmmm,” he said lazily, tormenting her with a too-light touch when she desperately needed pressure. “You are very wet, darling. Does your cunny ache?”
“So badly,” she whispered brokenly. “And my…my clitoris, too.”
“I’m not sure you deserve to come, though. Not when you’ve been avoiding me for the last week. I didn’t like it.”
“I’m sorry!”
“Why were you avoiding me?”
“Because…” she replied, gasping when his knuckle nudged the swollen nub of her clitoris.
“Because…” he echoed, his finger stilling.
“Because you’re a lord, damn it. And I’m nowhere near a proper lady.”
As if in reward for her confession, his knuckle returned to her clitoris and began to rub it. “Have I ever said that I am looking for a proper lady?”
“N-no,” Louisa admitted on a panting breath, her hips tilting.
“And I’m certainly not a noted advocate of perfect propriety now, am I? Am I?”
“Noooo,” she moaned as George’s fingertip teased the entrance to her cunny. “And your father said…”
“What did he say?”
“He t-told me how your mother was the daughter of a t-tailor, and he met her…oh God, there…that he met her at a Mayday fair. And that the heart wants what it wants.”
“Wise man,” said George sternly, but she couldn’t even think let alone reply when his finger slid inside her, moving in and out, in and out, and his thumb pressed on her clitoris.
Sensation built, and she ground herself against his wicked fingers. Louisa tossed her head wildly, reaching and reaching for the explosive climax hovering just out of reach…and then he added a second finger and it shoved her over the edge into a brutal, delicious, whole-body orgasm. Fortunately he just managed to clamp his free hand over her mouth before she screamed out her release, preventing every single person within Forsyth House hearing her unbridled joy.
When he eventually withdrew his fingers, she made a sound of protest.
“So greedy, Lou,” he said, shaking his head, but his eyes were glittering with pure lust. “However, I need to sit down before I fall down.”
“Uh, of course,” she said, cheeks blazing, as George pushed aside a sheet cover and sank down onto a sturdy embroidered chaise.
“That is much better. But I have a problem.”
Her lips curved into a smile at the size of the bulge straining against his trousers. “Really?” she said, feigning confusion as she slid off the table. “Whatever is the matter?”
“You know exactly what the matter is. And it’s your damned fault, with your sweet nipples, and tight, wet cunny gripping my fingers, and those wanton little moans in my ears.”
Positioning herself between his legs, Louisa dropped to her knees and ran a questing fingertip over the bulge. “Ask me nicely.”
George gasped, and clumsily unfastened his trousers. “Touch me.”
She tsked, now circling her finger around the bulge rather than on it. “That was not nicely. Say please.”
“Louisa,” he growled, his hips jerking, and a surge of feminine power coursed through her body. Oh, this was fun. Inexperienced as hell, and yet somehow able to tease and torment the king of all rakes himself.
Leaning forward, she experimented by taking a lock of her own hair and brushing it back and forth against the naked flesh straining to be scooped out from its trouser prison. “Say please. And like any good amateur chemist, I will investigate further.”
His breath hissed between his teeth, his knuckles white as they gripped the edge of the chaise. “Fine, you wicked minx. Please. Please.”
Louisa licked her lips. “Very well. My lord.”
~ * ~
In the next minute or so there would either be an unrepairable hole in his trousers or he would die of cock strangulation, and all Louisa had done was stroke him with her hair.
She currently knelt between his thighs, and fuck, the way she was licking her lips…was she going to tongue his cock? Suck it? Christ. He wouldn’t survive.
And yet they needed to stop. What they were doing, and where they were doing it, was too risky. Even though every part of him rebelled at saying the words of caution, the fact remained that anyone could walk past the storage room and hear them at any moment.
He stared down at her and caressed her cheek. “Louisa…we can’t do this here. If we were caught, you’d be stuck with a cretin for life.”
Her lips quirked. “I think a more accurate description would be you stuck with a sulphur-loving she-wolf…is it so very wrong to say this is rather exciting? And that I’m annoyed you are delaying me tasting your cock? It’s not fair. You’ve tasted me.”
George sucked in a harsh breath as his cock surged again, and moisture drenched the hugely swollen head. “You’re sure?”
“Damned right, I’m sure. Lie back now. There there, no need to be nervous.”
Somehow he stifled a grin. “Be gentle with me, I beg you. I’m a delicate creature and this is all so new.”
Louisa snorted, but she carefully freed his hugely swollen erection, studying his girth and length with such fascination he might have been embarrassed if her tentative stroking wasn’t about to make him lose his mind. One fingertip circled the head of his cock, spreading the wetness. Finally she lifted finger and thumb, rubbing the two together and nodding to herself, as if something she’d pondered was indeed true.
“What conclusion, madam?” he said, unable to stop an uneven laugh, because she was so damned adorable while innocently torturing him.
“Surprisingly silky,” Louisa said seriously. “And…” She lifted her finger and licked it. “Hmmm. Salty. Interesting. But I need a bigger sample.”
And before he could say a word, she swooped down and swiped her tongue across the head, and he groaned as a jolt of pure pleasure rocked him to the core. And then she did it again and again, the delicate little flicks and licks somehow more arousing than anything he’d experienced in the past, before taking the tip of his cock into her mouth and gently sucking it.
He swore, perspiration gathering at the nape of his neck as he fought the overwhelming urge to cup the back of her head and fuck her mouth until he spilled every drop of his seed down her throat. “Louisa…” he said hoarsely.
Without warning, she stopped.
For the first time in his life he was about to beg, to plead, to fall forward onto his knees and shamelessly implore a woman to continue, when she stood and hoisted up the hem of her gown. “I ache again, George. I want…I want to have you inside me. But your wounds…”
At this point he could barely feel them he was so aroused. Yet she was right, this would take some care, on his part too. Even soaking wet, this would only be her second time, and she still might find it uncomfortable.
“Stand astride my lap, darling, and brace yourself on my right shoulder. Now bend your knees a little. That’s it. And I’ll start…”
Taking his cock in hand, he rubbed it against her soaked folds, coating the head in her juices. Then he began to penetrate her, groaning as her scalding hot, tight cunny slowly opened for him, inviting him to plunge all the way in with one hard, brutal thrust. But he didn’t, instead settling his hands either side of Louisa’s waist to support her weight as she lowered herself onto him.
“Ooooh,” she moaned, taking him deeper inch by inch, sometimes pausing a
nd rising again when it got too much for her, but always returning and enveloping him a little more.
George gritted his teeth, in heaven and hell at the same time. It felt like years since he’d had her, since they had touched and kissed and burned up the sheets in her bedchamber in Gloucestershire. “That’s it. That’s it, darling. Fuck, you feel so good…”
Finally he was seated to the hilt inside her. Louisa panted, her cheeks pink and eyes glittering wildly. “What should I do? Tell me. Tell me or I’ll go mad.”
“Ride me,” he said, hoping she would understand his ridiculously guttural words. “Up and down.”
Louisa bit her lip. “Like this?”
He gasped at the perfect friction as her cunny released his cock and just as swiftly took it all again. “Exactly like that.”
She smiled wickedly as she found her rhythm. Soon he couldn’t stop himself thrusting up to meet her, and he moved his good arm behind her back to hold her on his lap as he fucked her harder and harder. Louisa whimpered, and she curled her hand around his head, pushing it toward her breasts, and he took one nipple into his mouth, sucking it in time with his thrusts.
“Yes,” she cried. “More. Oh God, George, more. I’m going to…I’m going to…”
He wasn’t quite swift enough to muffle the start of her orgasmic scream, but muted the rest with a fierce kiss as she writhed on his lap, her cunny gripping and milking his cock. Seconds away from his own climax, he made to withdraw, but instead of rising to help him she slumped hard against his chest. George gasped a warning, but it was far too late, and his seed exploded inside her in harsh spurts, her still-pulsing core only intensifying the incredible pleasure until he thought he might pass out from the sensation.
Boneless, he fell back onto the chaise. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”
Louisa blinked owl eyes at him, her breathing shallow pants. “Why?”
“I came inside you. I’ve never done that with any woman.”
Rake to Riches (The London Lords Book 2) Page 21
