She heard him. Liked the phrase. The idea. The need to have him that way. Raw and needy. Fast.
“Fuck me, do,” she murmured and held him like iron manacles, then bit his shoulder as he pounded inside her with a fury she’d not known from him.
He filled her up with his cock and his passion until she moaned in delight, his strong thighs supporting her as he pounded into her over and over. She shook with the turbulence of it and rejoiced in the crazed pleasure. Was loving a man always this fierce?
He came with a growl that reverberated in her bones. She felt his hot seed burst inside her body and she sank her fingers into the satin of his hair. His hands gripped her thighs, hauled her up so that she was completely off the floor, her channel possessed by his shaft, her mind gone in the fury.
“Oh, Christ,” he mourned, brushing her hair from her face as he let her to the floor. “I hurt you.”
“No, no! Never!” She clawed at his upper arms. “I need you. More. More.”
“Yes, here,” He sank to his knees and pulled her to the floor. He spread her out on the deep sapphire carpet and his mouth covered her mound, his hands spread her wide as he settled between her legs. Her thighs fell open. “Let me bring you pleasure again.”
She gasped as his hot tongue defined her cleft and she sought to rise to watch him. The sight of him licking her, petting her, thrusting a finger up inside her had her mewling. “Jack, this is madness.”
“Aye, Emma, darling, every bit of you is made for mad, luscious fucking.” He licked her labia. “This little bud here,” he told her as he flicked at some tender part of her, “is a sweet meat I must have to suck.” He demonstrated and she keened. “To nibble.” He did it and she moaned. “To roll and pinch.” He used his expert fingers on her and she cursed at him. “Fuck you, aye, darling, I will. Let me have this part of your hot little cunt, too.” This time, he plunged one finger up inside her to massage her. Then another finger stretched her and made her rise off the floor. Yet another finger filled her to stroke her with such dexterity, she felt tears gather. “Come again, my wife,” he urged her, breathless as she as she felt her body once more open, swell and erupt in a shower of passion that made her scream down the house.
Jack drifted over her, warming her, kissing her cheek and burying his cock inside her still pulsing and wildly tender body. “You come so easily, pretty wife, I fear we must hope the servants are deaf.”
She chuckled and wrapped her arms around him, moving her hips to revel in the length of his cock buried so deeply inside her. “I want to feel like that again and again. May I? With you?”
“I stand at the ready to bring you to ripe fulfillment at any moment. Say the word.”
“Really? Oh, my. You are serious!” She tingled, her thighs hugging him closer.
“I will attempt to fulfill madam’s every desire.” He proclaimed with feigned humility, then drove inside her with a heathen’s grin. “Where next would you like to climax?”
Chapter Seven
By three o’clock the next afternoon, when Madame Duhamel arrived, Jack could count the marvelous encounters he had enjoyed with his new wife…let’s see. Three? Or was it four more ardent and fascinating couplings?
The dining room, he thought to himself as he bounded down the stairs to meet the dressmaker, had been a wild repast. At half past two in the morning he had rung for Simmons, told the butler to rouse Cook from their mutual bed and asked for sustenance. Then he had gone back to Emma and led her down the stairs to feed her from his fingers. Bits of roast beef. Pieces of baked potatoes. Sugared plums. He snorted. What were they compared to the way she licked his flesh and nipped him after each taste, her luscious lips swollen from his kisses, her naked body beneath his robe the most enticing of the offerings laid before him? He had her there, standing up against the linen fold walls. Then again, bent over a mahogany sideboard, her incomparable grey eyes wide with wickedness as she glanced over her shoulder at him. And upstairs, in their bed twice more, at the least. Insatiable was a word which took on new meanings for him. No woman had ever held him with her intellect and wit, as well as her body, like his new wife did.
He took the last few steps down to the drawing room more slowly. Not good to appear before the wise owl Duhamel with a rampant erection, old man.
“Bonjour, Monsieur le Vicomte.” The woman dipped her head in deference. “A lovely day.”
“Superb, Madame. Let me see what you have done.” His gaze shot to the item draped over her arm, covered by a satin wrap.
She extracted the wool coat of dove gray, epaulette closures of black braid. “Madame la Vicomtesse will look divine in this.”
“I agree.” He took the coat in his hands, the merino soft as eiderdown. “A good choice for the wool.”
“We will have all the rest tomorrow, Monsieur. The negligees, Madame’s green robe for her boudoir, the evening gown, and two day dresses.”
“Excellent, Madame Duhamel. I will include a bonus for your promptness.”
“I am most grateful, Monsieur. My bill for services will not appear until you have all the garments you ordered for Madame and I know that you are happy.”
“I am most grateful.”
She lingered before him. Normally so self-assured, she pursed her lips. Perplexed?
“Is there a problem, Madame?”
“No, not at all. I simply wondered if you had seen this?” She took from her dress pocket a paper. A broadsheet, to be precise.
“No. I never read it,” he told her, recognizing the heavy print as that of a paper from York which only reprinted items from a notorious publication out of London. “It is a rag, Madame.”
“But it speaks of you, Monsieur, and your little wife.” She strode forward and placed it in his hands. “You should see it, my lord.”
An hour later, Jack made his way back to his wife. Tiptoeing inside, he considered this lovely creature who had darted into his life so haphazardly. His darling Emma. She sprawled across the linens, her arms up in the pose of a carefree spirit, her head turned to one side, her lips parted in exhaustion, her elegant legs open as if she welcomed him back inside her, even in her sleep. He smiled and laid the coat aside. Loathe to wake her, he strolled into his bath chamber.
The remains of their baths last night were strewn about still. He had not allowed the maids or footman in here. Not yet.
But life intrudes, does it not?
He sat on the edge of one of the copper tubs and ran a hand through his hair. Once more, he affirmed the resolutions he had made downstairs in his library after reading the broadsheet. To destroy Pinrose and Trayne. Quickly. Financially. To make her life happy now.
According to the broadsheet, the word was out that Emma had gone missing from her home. Her stepfather had questioned his staff and learned where she’d gone. To whom and how.
Pinrose had sacked his coachman and a maid for their collusion. He’d vowed to have satisfaction from Jack.
But Jack knew Pinrose well. Satisfaction, in his case, did not mean a duel. Pinrose could not wield a sword. The man never had any grace or style to impart to fencing, let alone work any talent with a pistol. The only way Pinrose had ever made a mark on anyone was by bullying them. And you shall never get Emma in your clutches to threaten her. Just wait and see, Danny.
You shall not best me.
“Jack?” His wife’s sultry voice, thick with slumber, permeated his reverie.
“Yes, darling, coming!” He strode into the bedroom.
Naked, lithe and exquisite as a nymph, she stood, the sight of her halting him in his tracks and nearly sending him to his knees with lust. She bent over the coat, her tapered fingers caressing the cloth the way she caressed him, his skin, his cock.
“It’s absolutely beautiful, Jack.” Her gaze met his. “Will you help me put it on?”
He crossed his arms, assessing the living breathing temptation before him. “Why?” He arched a brow. “Are we going out?”
Her expression bloss
omed into a glorious smile. “Visiting neighbors? Introducing me to the village? The local doyennes? Why, darling,” she said with dulcet tones to the endearment that set his heart to flutter, “I do hope not!”
In two strides, he had her in his arms. One hand to her nape, one to her derriere, he crushed her to him for a kiss. “You shock me, Madam.”
With a saucy toss of her head, she drifted backward to their bed. He followed, the contrast of the dove gray wool against her milky flesh a sight his cock enjoyed tremendously. But when she opened the buttons of his breeches and reached inside to extract his shaft, he could readily say he was even more stunned and infinitely satisfied as she pushed him to the bed, then rose above him to ask, “Might I surprise you if I say, I do not care if we ever leave this room?”
Would that we could remain, my sweet. He touched her lower lip with a fingertip. “We’ll stay, Emma. How could I leave such an enticing invitation?”
She beamed at him as she replaced her hand with the moist sensation of her mouth over his cock and sucked him fully into her. As she drew up, she whispered, “Will you teach me more?”
He snorted while she trailed her tongue over his slit. “I daresay, sweetheart, on your own, you are creative.”
She kissed his tip, pulling away to let him watch her lick from her lower lip a few drops of his pre-cum. “I never want to bore you.”
He chuckled and sank his fingers in her curls. “No chance of that, my pet.” I’d lock you up and throw away the key if I were a cave man. But then I’d be like Pinrose. I want you free. And wild. And mine. Because the only way to prove to you I am the best man for you is to prove I would never keep you against your will.
* * * *
The next afternoon when Madame Duhamel arrived, Emma protested from the sumptuous disarray of their bed and reached to bring him back to her side.
“You are pouting, darling,” Jack chuckled, leaned over her nude body and swatted her derriere.
Admiring his impressive proportions of chest and thighs and cock, she looped an arm around his neck. “I am a bride. A cosseted bride and I can be petulant if I care to.”
“Madame Duhamel has your clothes, Viscountess! Will you make her wait?”
“You get them. They’ll fit. She took my measurements. Besides, I don’t need them.” She rubbed her thighs together, her channel gushing anew to have him deep inside her. “Do I?”
He watched her writhe in sinuous entreaty and his silver eyes darkened. She vibrated in triumph to lead his thoughts to ribald ideas. “Eventually.”
“Jack,” she crooned, “I am very tender.”
His black brows shot high. His mouth curved and his tongue came out to lick his lips.
“You are swollen.”
“I am,” she mouthed.
“And wet.”
“That, too.” She bowed up the better to let him see how her nipples beaded.
“The way a woman is supposed to feel after she’s been loved so often, madam.”
“I need you again. Now,” she told him on a wisp of sound, her fingers skimming her stomach, delving into her curly hair and massaging her aching flesh. “I need you to touch me, pet me.”
He swallowed, his gaze on her fingertips as he put one knee to the bed and flung another across her.
“Am I to be overruled in my own house?” he challenged, partly in mirth, one hand lightly caressing her breast, making her body quiver and gush with need.
“You like me in this bed,” she told him with a certainty she knew in her bones to be true.
“I do.” He bent to pull her nipple into his hot, moist mouth. “You intrigue me. Soft.
Strong. Determined, but not prickly.”
“Do you say you make love to me to discover more of my sterling character?”
“One way to view my needs.” He winked at her, as he shifted to push her knees up to her chest and tease her with his shaft probing her core. “For now.”
She shivered at the possibility he might want her for longer than today. He had done more than have her, more than initiate her and more than she’d asked. Now she was addicted to sex with him. Like good brandy, he intoxicated her. But when he would leave her to her own devices to wait out the three month interval she needed to satisfy the lawyers, she had no idea. And she needed one.
He paused, looming above her, dark and rich and beautiful. “You worry.” He slid inside her, sending her arching into his arms, his cock deep and lush and so very full. “Tell me.”
“I have not had enough of you,” she confessed. “Not yet.”
His eyes narrowed on her, his jaw flexed. Whatever his thoughts, she could not fathom.
“I’m here,” he rasped and sank inside her to the hilt to prove it. “Let me make you happy—”
“You make me shameless,” she added, breathless as he.
He growled and rammed into her, then held. “Abandoned, I’d say, madam, is the newest element I admire in your charming character.”
“Make me moreso,” she pleaded, her mouth finding his, her hips grinding against his to get closer still.
“My fondest endeavor, darling Emma.”
And accomplish that task he did so well, in fact, that before he left her arms to dress and descended the stairs to greet Duhamel, Emma had screamed out in another glorious orgasm.
* * * *
Jack returned to their bedroom, his arms laden with the goods the modiste had crafted so quickly. He heard Emma splashing in the tub as he kicked closed the door to their suite and hung the items in the armoire.
“Do not dally, Mrs. Stanhope. Presents await you,” he called to her and took a chair in his sitting room. The oblong box filled up his inside frock coat pocket. He shifted, a smile on his lips, awaiting the sight of his wife.
She appeared at the door, her body wrapped in one towel, her head in another. Fresh and rosy, she smiled sweetly at him, looking exactly what she was—a woman well fucked.
His cock rose at the mere idea of having her again. Christ, you are a satyr, Stanhope.
But she is your wife. And oh, so willing, man.
He grinned. “Come closer, darling.” He beckoned her, nodding toward the armoire.
She seemed to glide across the carpet, the towel over her body dropping as she moved, a silhouette of grace.
His cock lengthened in the ridiculously tight breeches. Perhaps Emma had the right idea not to dress. For days. Or months.
“What do you think, pet?”
He watched her hands touch the fabrics, smoothing the nap, defining the trim. Envy reared. I want your hands on me.
He blinked at the revelation.
Stanhope, you are far gone.
He smacked his lips and focused on what he was about here.
“Lovely,” she enthused over the two negligees, one pink, one white. The forest green chamber robe of plush velvet had her making odd little sounds of delight. While the day dresses, a plum sarcenet and a sea-green corded muslin had her gasping. But the sapphire evening gown with a décolleté Jack knew would dip quite daringly low, had her spinning toward him.
“You are pleased?” he asked when it became clear Emma was speechless with delight.
“Exceedingly so, darling.” She skimmed her fingers over the fabrics once more. She reached for the heavy brocade robe.
“No,” he admonished her with finality. “The sapphire.”
“But I need to don a chemise and—”
“No. I will have you in the gown, madam.”
She stared at him a moment, her magnetic grey eyes narrowing. Did she catch a hint that he had other intent?
“Will you help me?”
“To remove it, yes.” He nodded at the satin. “Let me see it.”
Flinging the towel from her hair, she carefully took the fine blue gown into her hands and let the damn thing slide down over her naked body.
She turned and strolled toward him in her bare feet. As he suspected, without hair styling or rouge or powder, without flowers or ev
en undergarments to complement her lush beauty, she was a gorgeous creature.
“The sapphire is the color on the family crest. You wear it well, darling. I knew you would.”
“You chose this. It’s divine, Jack.” Her fingers stroked the fabric the way she petted his chest and his back and his cock. “I wish I could wear it somewhere for you to be proud of me.”
“I am proud of you, Emma. And you will wear it, and everywhere you go, I will be thrilled to see you in it.”
Her face fell. She turned away. “Do not promise me things you cannot give.”
He caught her arm and brought her back to stand before him. The scent of her soap and dewiness of her body aroused his sense of smell. They had fucked so often, he had indeed marked her with his scent. He could still smell how fecund she was. How musky her cunt. How juicy her pussy. How often she creamed for him and let him lick her and suck her. How she loved him. He tugged her hand. “Look at me. I promise you that you will wear this soon and with me by your side, fending off the men who will approach you.”
She shouted in laughter, though he could see tears dot her lashes. “You would kill any man who did.”
“You are right, of course. But allow me to at least sound chivalrous, darling.”
She sniffed. “You are sweet, Jack.” Her fingers brushed the satin. “Still.”
He pulled her down to sit on his lap, then thumbed way two tears from her gossamer cheeks. “I have a gift for you.” He reached inside his coat and flipped open the jewelry box.
“Oh, my.” She extended her index fingers to one of the dozens of sapphires. “The family jewels?”
He chuckled. “Among others. They are now yours. To go here.” He tipped his head to kiss the center of her throat. “Allow me?”
“Yes, yes!” She swiveled to permit it to clasp it round her neck and then she petted the jewels as tenderly as she caressed his cock and his balls. “How do I look?”
His mouth watered. “Delicious.”
She brushed her lips over his in a caress that had him panting. “You do mean to show me off. You are not being kind to say that we will appear in public? And me in this?”
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