The Undoing of a Libertine

by Raine Miller

  She nodded solemnly, her eyes still closed. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

  “You couldn’t possibly, and you don’t look nervous. You look like a goddess to me.” He nuzzled soft kisses at her throat, very close to her ear. “But are you remembering things that hurt you?”

  “I don’t want to remember,” she said.

  “It won’t be like that.” He kissed her lips. “I hate the idea of you afraid.”

  “But you don’t frighten me, only the memories do.” She lifted her eyes, glittering with emotion, and he could see there was bravery in them, too. “Make me forget, Jeremy.”

  That’s my girl. “I am. I’m going to replace that evil. With something good, something you’ll want to remember.”

  He dipped down to her lips again. Very gently he put a hand to the back of her head and pulled her to him, thinking that her body felt like a paradise he wanted to explore forever.

  Her soft curves and hollows, her scent, the golden color of her, the sounds of her body moving against his, the steady beat of her heart and her breathing—all of it was soothing. The emotions with Gina were new for Jeremy, feelings he’d never experienced before with any woman. Gina was solace to him, and the knowledge of the power she held over him was a surprise.

  He sensed her softening into him, melting into surrender. Things were going well, he thought. She was pliant under his lips and hands.

  His body knew what it wanted. Oh, did it ever. He felt his cock respond, stretching out, growing long and hard—anticipating the moment her body would take him in. As much as he wanted to be inside her, he was remarkably in check. She controlled him. Jeremy needed her, but Georgina controlled his path to her. Right now, he drew strength from her.

  Pressing his pelvis forward, he arched into her hip, finding the pressure of that hard bone meeting his hard cock to be so exquisite, he was afraid for a second he might embarrass them both by spilling all over the sheets.

  “You feel so good,” he murmured.

  She nodded back. He was sure he felt her nod, but she didn’t offer any words of her own.

  I want in you. He wanted his mouth on her quim and her hand around his cock, or maybe her lips. That would have to wait though. She wasn’t even close to being ready for that sort of thing yet, but the naughty idea of teaching her such delights was certainly worth contemplating and propelled him higher with desire.

  Kissing her throat and collarbone, he nudged lower below the wide neckline of her gown.

  “I want this off.” He tugged with his teeth. “So I can see you now—see how beautiful you are. All of you. I want our skin touching.” He moved his face to hover directly over hers, asking for her agreement and hoping like hell she said yes.

  She answered stiffly, her voice flat, as if she were far, far away from him. “Whatever you want. I am not afraid of you. I—I want to please you.”

  You should be afraid of me. If Georgina knew what he really wanted to do to her, she’d probably leap up and run far and long, away from him.

  Very slowly his hands went to the ties of her gown and loosened them. When he pushed it open, he could feel her trembling. She was stiff as a board. And so was he, but in a very different way from her.

  By her words, she showed him she was willing, but he could tell the intimacy unnerved her. She was submitting to duty, he knew, and while it should relieve him, it did not. He didn’t like it. He wanted more from her than just capitulation in the marriage bed.

  “You please me, sweetheart, but I want you to let me please you.”

  He kissed over the tops of her breasts ever so slowly and softly, moving inch by inch across delicious skin as soft as down. He felt the pounding of her heart beneath his lips. Felt his own heart match the throb. Torn between desire and nurture, he struggled to temper his need.

  Georgina seemed fretful. Skittish as a colt, wary of him getting close. She knows what you’re going to do. She knows, and she’s afraid.

  “Relax,” he told her, pulling away from her breasts to brush gentle kisses along her neck. “Just let me touch you—it’ll feel nice.”

  He heard her expel a breath and felt her body ease a bit. God, he wanted to make this good for her—to bury the memories haunting her, to show her instead how he intended to cherish her.

  “I promise you,” he murmured through another kiss to her lips.

  More kisses. Eons of kissing. Long, slow tangles of lips and tongues filled the minutes as he learned her. Soft featherings of breath along her sculpted collarbones, behind her dainty ears and up her slender throat before firmer presses paused him at the swell of a breast.

  He pushed up from underneath and found one finally with his hand. He palmed the weight, learning the feel through the thin fabric of her gown. Passing over the hard bud of her nipple, he heard her breath come faster.

  Suddenly she arched, thrusting her chest out. He didn’t know if from fear or pleasure, and didn’t really want to know. Not anymore. He was too far gone to think rationally.

  He used her movement to pull the fabric down further, finally baring those magnificent mounds of sweet beauty to his hungry eyes. Suddenly the feast of gorgeous flesh was before him. And he was so starved. Creamy skin tipped with dusky rose centers called to him. He reached for one and thrilled in the sensation of incredible softness under his palm.

  “Beautiful.” He studied them in the lamplight.

  She stayed very still.

  “I have to—” he whispered before covering her nipple with his mouth. He swirled over it, feeling the bud harden into an even tighter peak under his laving tongue. It was pure glory.

  Cupping both breasts, one for each hand, he held them secure, worshipping their soft fullness with his mouth. He moved between them, giving equal attention to both. He made love bites on the undersides, fully intending to look at his markings later and remember how it felt putting his sign on her. Oh yes, his.

  She submitted to everything he did, and he was glad. This was a claim in every primal sense of the word. She was his woman. He had found her, wanted her, and won her. And now he was finally having her, claiming her. My wife. Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine.

  And then Jeremy forgot about everything he’d told himself he wouldn’t do.

  The brush of her body was too tempting, the scent of her too delectable. He simply forgot himself, lost in the elixir of the senses swirling together, inciting him to reach out and take.

  “Ginaaaa… You feel so good,” he moaned. He was drunk. Drunk on her. Swimming in the river of sensations that washed over him, he drowned himself in the taste of her skin melting under his mouth. Jeremy was good and downright intoxicated to the point of no return, and quite pleased to be so.

  The focus he’d held on her ability to tolerate his attentions fell away, quickly replaced by carnal appetites long subdued and the glory of indulging them.

  “I—I need you!” His hands were everywhere all at once. Up under her gown, pressing on her belly, between her legs, squeezing that gorgeous bum of hers. Like he couldn’t take his time to learn her, but needed to know everything all in an instant.

  Ravenous. Propelled. Desperate. Jeremy was out of his blessed mind with desire and the urge to fuck.

  Her rigid arms and legs weren’t perceived at first. Neither the fisted hands, nor the stiff neck either. He didn’t hear her whimpers or feel her shaking. He had one goal. And that was to get inside her and come.

  When Jeremy rolled on top of her, the thrashing started in earnest, along with what his supremely aroused and very limited coherence finally understood as panic. Georgina bucked to get him off. She struggled to move out from underneath him.

  Jeremy felt and heard her now.

  Georgina’s cries pierced though his fervor, the sound of her as loud as a cock crowing at dawn when it annoyingly interrupted right at the point of deepest slumber.

  Everything illuminated all in an instant. His clouded awareness became as clear as fine crystal.

  Shit!
r />   Chapter Sixteen

  The best in this kind are but shadows, and the

  worst are no worse, if imagination amend them.

  —William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream (1595)

  Georgina couldn’t breathe. Her impulse was a primitive one, directed wholly by instincts. Her thoughts revisited another time and remembered other words… Keep fighting me. That’s it, wildcat. Fight me while I fuck you…

  She had little conscious control over her response. The urge to flee was all she knew.

  “Stop! Please, just stop!” Did she cry the words out loud or not? She had no idea.

  He did stop though. He stopped everything he was doing. Stopped kissing her. Stopped touching her. He moved his body off her.

  Bolting up from the bed, she scrambled to the corner, slamming her head back into the bedpost. It hurt, but more importantly served a purpose. The blow brought her out of the unbearable chasm of fear and into the present moment.

  Covering her breasts, she drew her arms around them and hugged her knees, burying her chin at the top. It stabilized her, gave her a point of reference from which to gain bearings.

  Jeremy lay beside her, rolled onto his back now, an arm draped over his eyes. He breathed heavily. His wide chest peeked beneath the cut of his dark-blue robe. She could see the hair that darkened his chest. He was naked under his robe. And aroused, too. She had felt him hard when he’d pressed against her hip. Now she could see it. Well, see evidence of it anyway, underneath the heavy blue silk. A solid ridge lying long on his belly. His manhood. Big. Enormous.

  He wanted to have it inside her. But she knew all about that, didn’t she? She’d been well schooled in knowing what a man did to a woman when he took her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I—I am s–s–sorry for p–p–pushing you—”

  “I meant your head. You hit your head.”

  “I—I am fine.” No, you’re not fine. You’re a wretch—a bad wife. You denied him. You pushed him away!

  He was quiet, still as a statue except for his breathing. She couldn’t tell if he was angry with her or not. He should be angry. He deserved to be. She wasn’t keeping to her end of their bargain was she? Heirs, babies—she’d promised.

  Jeremy left the bed after a time. God, he was tall. His big body looming over her, tense and quiet, he seemed to be waiting for her to acknowledge him.

  Georgina held on to her knees, afraid to move. She braved a glance up at her husband.

  His expression unreadable, he broke the silence hovering in the space between them, as thick as drying mortar. “Good night, Georgina.”

  His voice sounded tight, but not harsh. He wasn’t even going to make recriminations for her failure, and she realized he was taking his leave.

  “Where are you going?” she blurted.

  “To sleep in my chamber.”

  “I am sorry. Jeremy. I didn’t mean what I did. Please don’t leave.”

  He sighed. “I must. I am. You need—” he stopped himself and raked a hand through his hair. “We are both very tired from this long day of travel. Try to sleep now.”

  Then he walked out the door.

  Tears flowed soundless for long minutes until sensibility returned eventually, and with it, mortification. Her husband had just walked out on their wedding night.

  Unable to focus on the shame, she looked around the lovely room. The lady’s chamber—her room. Done in pale blue and gold, the colors suited her, the dark woods in contrast with the lighter fabrics.

  A stunning equine portrait of two horses standing along the coast hung opposite the bed. It was so unique. She’d never seen anything like it before and had to wonder about the artist. It belongs to you now. And then it hit her. She was now the mistress of all of this. And you don’t deserve any bit of it.

  She hadn’t done anything to deserve what was now hers by right. You’re now his by right. He has the right to bed you whenever he wishes. And he hadn’t. He wanted to though.

  Jeremy needed an heir for Hallborough and was doing what must be done to get one. And she’d agreed to it. He had not hurt her or done anything disrespecting. Some of what he’d done had felt…nice. He was her husband now. You need to be a wife to him.

  Georgina got out of bed and poured water for washing. She cleansed her face of the salty tears and changed out of her rumpled nightdress. She brushed her hair for a long time and left it wavy and loose about her shoulders.

  Squaring those same hair-draped shoulders, determination fortifying her, she left the elegant boudoir, lamp in hand, and made for the master’s chamber.

  * * * *

  Jeremy didn’t know quite what he should do, being that he was frustrated and disappointed and, quite frankly, worried. What if she always panics like that?

  First things first. He needed a drink. The scotch he threw back razed his throat in a fire that strangely served only to comfort as the heat burned all the way down.

  What he did next, he really should have done before he’d gone to her. Maybe he might have been more in check and not frightened her. He figured it wouldn’t take long considering the state of his cock and balls. His prediction was accurate. Once he set himself to task, it didn’t take long at all. Prick in hand, Jeremy jerked himself as ably as any self-respecting gin whore could have done.

  The release did help some, but not nearly enough. He crawled into his big, lonely bed after a quick wash and chewed on the dealings of the past hour some more. Not how he’d imagined it with her. And he had hours of imagining bedding Georgina under his belt.

  Jeremy snorted in the dimness. What bridegroom tossed off alone in a chair on the wedding night? He did, apparently.

  Now what? He flopped over onto his side. He wanted her. Both of them knew he was well within his rights to go back in there and have her. He could get her to submit. But would that be force? Or a husband exercising his marital rights?

  Georgina felt badly. He knew she did, and her reactions were based on an understandable fear. She’d looked so distraught and ashamed with her knees tucked up under her chin. If he tried again, she’d probably yield, and most likely without much fuss. Once it was done, she would know what to expect and would see that there was nothing to fear, just like sleeping with him last night.

  But he just couldn’t be that way with her. He didn’t want to force Georgina to accept him. He wanted her to want him.

  Part of Jeremy was repulsed by her fear. By the idea of her equating him and his lovemaking with Strawnly and what he’d done to her. He didn’t want a woman in his bed that feared him, or for that matter, thinking about the man she did fear.

  Rubbing his chest, he willed the dull ache away. Jeremy knew shame for his selfishness. He must face that he’d been the one to push her into marriage. Georgina was candid with him right from the beginning. She’d said she didn’t know if she could bear the intimacy. And he pressed her anyway because he wanted her so badly. He still wanted her.

  Yet he was not without any hope at all. She had seemed genuinely sorry. “I didn’t mean what I did. Please don’t leave.”

  Jeremy would have liked to stay but knew it was an impossible notion. He simply couldn’t have remained in bed with her and held himself back. He’d had no choice but to leave. He didn’t trust himself not to take her. He’d find a way into that sweet cove of hers one way or another. What a goddamn debacle he’d made of this night. His cock to blame for all of it too. Literally.

  The mattress didn’t feel right, about as snug as a bed of gnarled rope. He flopped again, changing sides once more, not at all confident he’d ever find sleep tonight.

  Jeremy closed his eyes and tried to get comfortable, determined to reach drowsiness, and acknowledged that he would just have to try again tomorrow in the wooing of his sweet but reluctant bride. Opening his eyes, he looked up at the ceiling and made a decision. He would give her some time to adjust to being married. He could do that for her. And it would be worth the wait becaus
e Georgina was worth it. Jeremy closed his eyes once more.

  * * * *

  What beauty to be had in the male form. Sculpted muscle and smooth swaths of golden skin stretched out before her. Greedily she stared at Jeremy, asleep in his bed, and as strange as the notion was, Georgina longed to have him over her so she could feel all that beautiful skin next to hers. Hopefully her overture here would be met with interest on his part.

  She lifted the lamp to see him better. He slept partway on his side, his arm flung out, tousled hair feathering his cheeks and forehead. He looked younger to her in sleep.

  Georgina liked his lips, the way they felt when they kissed. His bottom lip was much fuller than the top and more so even than was typical for a man. Even though Jeremy was all male, there was something womanly to his lips, and Georgina liked them all the more. They were soft, too. Maybe, if she was lucky, he’d want to kiss her again.

  She set the lamp on the bedside table and lowered the flame. She turned back to look and froze. Jeremy’s eyes glowed in the lamplight like blue glass and pierced right through her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I want—I am to sleep with you, Jeremy.”

  “I don’t think it is a good idea, Georgina, and you know why.” His eyes swept over her body and he looked hard at her.

  “Well, I do,” she retorted. She fiddled with the belt of her robe, hoping she could still her shaking hands if she had something to hold on to.

  “No. Please, I cannot keep from take—touching you.” Jeremy breathed hard like he was holding himself back. “If you come into this bed, I won’t stop this time. I will not be able to stop.”

  “I know.” She finally got her robe untied. His eyes went to where the fabric belt fell away and then back up to her face.

  “There’s no turning back. Georgina, you’ll get all of me. Are you ready for that?” The coverings slipped to his waist as he sat up. His long, ropy muscles tensed along the length of his body. No nightshirt on her husband. He was naked and gorgeous.