He fisted his prick, adoring her feminine hunger, the way her gaze followed the movement of his hand as he frigged himself slowly. “Take as much in your mouth as you can—the deeper the better. Try relaxing your jaw and breathing through your nose. Lastly, be careful with your teeth. Any questions?”
She shook her head.
He slid his free hand into her hair, holding her head steady while he carefully fed her the first few inches of his cock. Fire blazed down his spine as his shaft disappeared between her pure pink lips. Bloody heaven. He tried to control the pace, to not demand too much of her during her first foray into oral play. It soon became clear, however, that she was a quick study.
Her hair draping over his thighs in pale streamers, she took him deeper and deeper into her hot, wet hole. She sucked his rod with a dainty fervor that filled him with lust and wonder. No one had ever dedicated herself to his pleasure this completely. No one had ever cared about pleasing him the way she did. No one had ever made him feel this wanted. When she swatted his hand off his cock so she could take him deeper still, he nearly blew his seed. Then and there.
He gripped the arms of the chair as she tested his resolve, cramming more and more of his prick into her mouth. When he nudged the end of her throat, she coughed, the reflexive squeeze making his neck arch in bliss. God, it was too much. With an oath, he wrenched himself from her generous kiss.
“Why did you do that? I’m not finished,” she pouted.
This close to exploding, he gritted out, “I was about to come.”
Her brow furrowed. “So?”
“So it’s not polite to spend in a lady’s mouth.” With wenches, the privilege cost extra.
Her cheeks turned rosy. “But don’t I, um… do that… in yours?”
Hell, he was going to spend then and there if this conversation continued. “I like it when you do, sweetheart,”—understatement of the century—“but you might not feel the same way.”
“I want to taste your pleasure,” she whispered, “the same way you do mine.”
Which meant—conversation over.
In a blink, he had them both on the carpet. He lay on his back, positioning a startled Primrose on her hands and knees over him, her knees straddling his head, her mouth lining up with his cock. He wasted no time, yanking her hips down and burying his face in her luscious cunny. At the same time, he reached down, pressing between her shoulder blades, and he knew she understood when, an instant later, his cock was engulfed in wet heat.
Bloody. Fucking. Heaven.
While she sucked him, he ate her pussy like a man starved. Fucking her with two fingers, he sucked on her bold nub until her thighs tautened around his head, and he tasted the first gush of her honey. She moaned around his cock as she came, the reverberations taking him over the edge. He bellowed, his hips bucking as his release shot from him like a geyser. He jetted again and again, and she didn’t move away, taking all of it—of him—into her keeping.
Afterward, he had just enough energy to get them both back into bed. He tucked her against his side, her head nestling in the crook of his shoulder. He was fully prepared to fall asleep again when he heard her giggle.
He twisted his head to look at her, and his mouth twitched. She looked exceedingly pleased with herself. “You look like the cat that got the cream.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Well, I did, didn’t I?”
“You certainly did.” Laughing softly, he kissed her nose. “Then again, so did I.”
“I liked doing that with you. Liked being… your equal.”
Surprised, he took in her earnest expression. “You are my equal, sunshine.”
“All this time, you’ve protected me—from gossip and my own mistakes and even an attempt on my life.” Her gaze followed her finger, which was tracing a circle on his chest. “You’ve also shown me pleasure I never knew existed… and you’ve taught me to accept and embrace myself and my desires. You’ve given me all that,”—her troubled eyes lifted to his—“and what have I given you in return?”
He couldn’t hold back the words.
“You,” he said tenderly. “I love you, Primrose.”
“Oh, Andrew, I—”
“I know you only want an affair, and this doesn’t change anything between us. I just wanted you to know that no one has ever given me what you have—passion, sweetness, joy. I don’t deserve it, but you make me feel like a different man. My heart is yours, Primrose. As a girl, you owned a piece of it; as a woman, you’ve claimed the rest.”
“You’re so good to me.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “I don’t deserve you.”
He thumbed the moisture away, and wanting to bring back her smile, he teased, “I think you just proved otherwise, hmm?”
His ploy worked; her lips curved.
“If that is all it takes,” she said tremulously, “then we’ll have to repeat the experience. Practice makes perfect, you know.”
Goddamn. Despite the fact that he’d come just minutes ago, his cock stirred. People might say that a way to a man’s heart was through his stomach—and they’d be wrong.
“Andrew?”
Hastily, he tucked away the image of her mouth on his cock. “Yes, love?”
“My parents are having a supper party tomorrow night.” She paused and said rather shyly, “Would you come as my guest?”
Thus far, his interactions with her family had been strictly related to the business of protecting her. It was one thing for her kin to tolerate him for the sake of her safety… and quite another for them to see him by her side on a social occasion. He was grateful that they hadn’t interfered with his and Primrose’s relationship thus far; he didn’t want to rock the boat.
“It sounds like a family affair,” he said with care.
“It is. So will you please come?”
Her smile dazzled him, and what he saw in her eyes made his heart pound with hope.
Chapter Thirty-Six
As the evening unfolded, Rosie’s trepidation over inviting her lover to a family gathering faded. Despite the nature of her relationship with Andrew and the fact that he was engaged in a less than reputable trade, one thing was clear: her family liked him. She’d been less concerned about the ladies and more about the men, who tended to be overprotective. Yet Papa and Andrew conversed readily enough over the twelve-course supper, the two of a like mind when it came to social issues. With his knowledge of business and sports, Andrew also fit right in with the husbands.
He even managed to draw Harry into the conversation. Harry had been quiet and preoccupied all evening; in fact, Rosie had never seen him in such a brooding state before. When Emma asked him about it, he cut her off with a firm, “Nothing is the matter. Leave it alone, Em.”
An awkward silence ensued. Everyone knew how private Harry was and not to push him. But Emma, being Emma, was about to pursue the subject further, despite everyone’s warning looks.
Luckily, Andrew cut in. “Where do you box, Harry?” he said easily. “I’ve never seen a jab-hook combination like yours.”
After a moment, the lines around Harry’s mouth eased. “I trained myself. It’s physics, really.”
This launched an in-depth discussion of boxing principles, one that drew in all the men and cleared away the remaining tension. At the meal’s conclusion, the ladies exited to the drawing room, leaving the males to their cigars and brandy. Rosie sat next to Mama, who held a grumpy Sophie. The babe was going through a colicky patch, and Mama had taken her from Libby, the nursemaid, to see if she could calm her.
Sophie’s red face scrunched up, and she wailed, her little fists waving.
“I was up with her half the night. Nothing seems to calm her.” Rarely did Mama appear flustered, but lines of worry fanned from her eyes.
“Perhaps she is teething?” Emma said. “Livy was a terror during those months. I gave her a sachet of herbs to chew on, and that seemed to help.”
“We used cloth dipped in brandy with our little ones,” Thea suggested
.
“Libby tried both to no avail,” Mama said.
Violet trotted over to peer at the babe. “Whenever Jamie got fussy, I strapped him to me and took him for a ride. The bouncing quieted him.”
Everyone stared at her. Sophie let out another squeal of displeasure.
Mama sighed. “I’d best take her upstairs.”
“Let me take her for a bit,” Rosie offered.
“You wouldn’t mind?” Mama said.
Rosie scooped up her sister. While Sophie squawked in protest, Rosie walked around the room, rocking her gently and singing a lullaby. Sophie eventually quieted, her brown eyes wide, rosebud mouth puckering.
“You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” Rosie said. “Maybe you just wanted some attention.”
The babe cooed in reply.
“Well, I understand. I’m a bit dramatic myself,” Rosie confided.
Sophie belched—and Rosie didn’t even flinch. Perhaps the Nursery House had cured her of her squeamishness.
“Was that what was bothering you?” She adjusted Sophie to an upright position, rubbing the babe’s back. “You let it all out. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”
She strolled and hummed, feeling Sophie’s soft weight, smelling her sweet baby smell.
The door opened, and the men entered.
“Shh, I’ve just rung for the nursemaid,” Mama said in a hushed voice. “Rosie managed to get Sophie to fall asleep.”
“You’ve worked a miracle, poppet,” Papa said.
Rosie’s insides warmed at her father’s approval. Then the sight of Andrew made her breath catch. He was staring at her holding Sophie, the longing in his dark eyes raw and undisguised. At that moment, it was clear to her what he wanted… because, she realized in a flash, she wanted it too.
Love. Marriage. The family that she and Andrew could create together.
I love you, Primrose.
He’d given her his heart, and she knew it was the most precious thing anyone had given her. At the time, something had stopped her from saying the words back—fear, a mistrust that something this good would last. Did she have the courage to give him her love, to relinquish the safety she’d found? All day she’d mulled over it, and the insight hit her now: safety wasn’t about protecting her heart. It wasn’t about sealing it like a doll inside a locked cabinet.
Safety was about giving her heart to the right man, the one who would protect her and love her and accept her for who she was. Safety was passion and laughter. Safety was Andrew.
The man she loved.
The revelation washed through her, leaving nerves and giddiness in its wake.
Tonight, after the party, I’ll tell him how I feel.
Libby arrived, and Rosie gently transferred her sleepy sister to the nursemaid. She went over to Andrew, who was standing by the pianoforte. He smiled at her, his tawny hair gleaming, his eyes warm. He was so virile and handsome in his stark evening attire that her heart hiccupped. Later on tonight, after she told him she loved him, she looked forward to removing his garments, piece by well-tailored piece. Her nipples budded beneath her black velvet bodice, her pussy dampening.
Flustered, she hid her response behind a bright smile. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Evidently not as much as I’m going to later,” he murmured, “when I take you home.”
As usual, he saw straight through her.
Her cheeks warmed; the crinkles around his eyes deepened.
Before she could come up with some rejoinder, Edward and Frederick, the Tremonts’ eldest, ambled over. How quickly the two of them were growing out of their boyhood. Their lean, gangly frames were starting to fill out, and both adolescents bore the stamp of their handsome fathers. And, goodness, was that a shadow of a mustache on Freddy’s upper lip?
“I have a question for Corbett,” Edward said without preamble.
Oh, Lord. Precocious as a child, Edward had blossomed into a full-blown genius who could converse freely on any number of intellectual topics. Despite his undeniable intelligence, he could be oblivious to basic social niceties. To Rosie’s exasperation, he was often too direct and intellectual in polite company… and he could never manage to keep his cravat straight. She itched to straighten his crooked Four-in-Hand at the same time that she braced for his question, which could be about anything from the history of the cosmos to mathematical theorems to crop rotation.
“I’m at your disposal,” Andrew said gravely.
Edward looked him in the eye. “Are you courting my sister?”
Rosie’s jaw slackened.
“I want to know as well.” Freddy drew himself up, his light hair gleaming and grey eyes serious. “No one will tell Edward and me anything.”
Andrew cleared his throat. “That is a matter between your sister and me.”
“Since my sister has shown questionable judgement of late,” Edward said stiffly, “I must insist that you answer the question, sir.”
Rosie’s surprise at her brother’s newfound protectiveness evaporated in an instant.
She crossed her arms over her bosom. “My questionable judgement?”
Edward turned an acute green gaze upon her. “You eloped with a fellow who was murdered on your wedding night. You’ve been shot at.”
“And you need to have guards accompanying you for protection,” Freddy added.
Botheration. They had a point.
Loftily, she said, “This is an adult matter.”
“I am not a child, Rosie.” Edward’s hands balled at his sides. “When I ask Mama and Papa, they tell me to mind my own business. But you are my sister, and therefore it is my business to protect you if need be.”
Two facts astonished her: the first was that her parents were defending her right to privacy and the second that her little brother was worried about her and wanted to defend her honor. She and Edward loved each other unconditionally, of course, but their interactions had historically consisted of bickering and annoying one another, mostly on purpose. This was a side of Edward she hadn’t encountered before, and his care for her warmed her insides like mulled cider.
“Thank you, Edward,” she said softly. “And you too, Freddy. But you don’t need to protect me from Mr. Corbett. He’s been my champion. I don’t know what I would have done without him.”
Edward gave Andrew another once-over. Andrew, to his credit, kept his expression neutral while being sized up by the adolescent.
“Do you play vingt-et-un?” Edward said abruptly.
Now this was the brother she knew. All his life, Edward had been prone to non sequiturs. Mama said it was because his brain worked too quickly for most to follow.
Andrew’s brows raised slightly. “Yes.”
“Fancy a game? Freddy will deal.”
Rosie didn’t trust the smug look exchanged between the adolescent pair.
“Why not?” Andrew said.
As the boys headed toward the card table, Rosie placed a staying hand on Andrew’s arm.
“My brother is an expert at counting cards,” she said under her breath. “He’s fleeced everyone in the family.”
Andrew looked unconcerned.
After a few rounds, it became obvious why. Andrew won the entire pile of chips, and Edward and Freddy were looking at him as if he’d just pranced across the Thames. Even Harry stopped brooding long enough to look thoroughly impressed.
“Where did you learn to play like that, Corbett?” he asked.
“Practice.” Andrew shuffled the cards, the showy arc making Edward and Freddy whoop with delight. “This is how I got the stake to buy my first club.”
This was news to Rosie, yet another fascinating facet of Andrew. He was a man of hidden talents and depths, and she wanted to spend the rest of her life discovering all that she could about him… and he wanted the same, didn’t he? The discordant thought hit her: he’d said he loved her, but he hadn’t mentioned marriage. In fact, he’d never pushed it once during their affair.
Was that because of w
hat he believed to be her wishes? Or did he, himself, have no desire to marry her? As insecurities pulled at her like invisible strings, she refused to be swayed by them. She knew in her heart that she and Andrew were meant to be together. Thus, tonight when they were alone, she would tell him she loved him and ask him what he wanted.
The butler came in, handing Papa a note. Rosie’s nape stirred; from her father’s alert expression, she could tell he’d received important news.
“Can you teach me your method?” Edward was saying eagerly to Andrew. “Do you use a particular algorithm for calculating the odds or—”
“Lesson’s over, lads,” Papa announced. “The adults have something to discuss.”
“I’m an adult,” Edward said.
“Me too,” Freddy chimed in.
“Off you go.” Papa’s tone brooked no refusal, and, grumbling, the boys shuffled off.
“What is it, Papa?” Rosie said. “Did you receive news?”
He closed the door. Facing everyone, he held up the note.
“This is from Lugo. He’s in Kent and he’s spoken to Lord Cranston, the friend of Alastair James. Cranston confirmed that James was indeed at his house party. He didn’t recall seeing James on the day that Daltry died, but he said his guests came and went as they pleased. Certainly James was never gone long enough to get himself to Gretna and back. So his alibi holds.”
“What about Mrs. James?” Rosie said. “Has Mr. Lugo confirmed that she was also in Kent?”
Papa frowned. “That is the strange thing. As it happens, Ashford is only an hour away from the Cranston estate, and Lugo went there to inquire at the inn where she claimed she was staying. There is no record of her being a guest, nor do any of the staff remember her. Lugo plans to canvass the area to see if anyone recalls seeing her.”
“My gut tells me she’s hiding something,” Emma said. “Which is why I interviewed one of her maids today.”
“How did you manage that?” Rosie was surprised that Mrs. James would agree to any invasion of privacy.
“Her Grace is quite inventive when she sets her mind upon a thing,” the Duke of Strathaven drawled. “She convinced me to stalk the servants’ entrance of the James residence with her.”
The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6) Page 27
