by Savanna Fox
Emma’s heart raced. He wanted to be alone with her, and the sooner this evening was over, the sooner that would happen.
She was startled, then, when he went on to say, “I propose instead that we all retire to the music room. I had the good luck to discover that Lady Emma is an accomplished violinist, and I have a certain skill with the piano.” His dark, bright eyes met hers. “What say the two guests pay for their supper by providing their gracious host and hostess with a little musical entertainment?”
Emma’s cheeks heated. Playing with Alexandre was … Why, it was a kind of seduction. The man and the music together were far too heady. He wanted to do this in front of Margaret and her husband?
He intended to seduce her in public, with no one being any the wiser?
It was an outrageous idea. A shockingly scandalous one. A deliciously tempting one.
Demurely, she responded, “I fear I am not nearly as accomplished a musician as le Comte makes out. I still have”—she flicked her eyelashes in his direction—“much to learn. However, I do find the notion of playing a duet most stimulating.” She put the slightest of inflections on the last word, knowing that her lover would appreciate the innuendo. “If I may be forgiven my inexperience.”
Margaret rose, clapping her hands. “How delightful! We shall adjourn to the music room. Come, Edgerton.” She stepped lightly to her husband’s side as he rose, and slipped her hand through his arm.
The Comte held out his own arm, slightly crooked, toward Emma. “May I escort you, my lady?”
’Twas simple courtesy to accept. Yet there was nothing simple about the erotic heat that warmed her when she curled her hand around Alexandre’s arm and he snugged that arm closer to his side. Her hand was quite trapped. Not that it had the least desire to escape.
Engrossed, Georgia read on as the Comte chose music that he knew spoke to Emma and aroused her passion. As he played, he caught her eye, smiled, and though the Edgertons wouldn’t see anything amiss, Emma felt the heat in his gaze, the promise of delights to come when they were alone in the privacy of her chamber.
This was an exquisite form of torturous foreplay, with each stroke of the violin bow, each caress of the piano keys, a secret sexual message.
It was, Emma thought as she rested her bow after the last note of the third selection, a seduction that was as sophisticated as the man himself. And she could withstand it no longer.
When the audience of two applauded and begged for another piece, Emma said, “As enjoyable as this has been, I am afraid that I am out of practice.” She darted a quick glance at Alexandre, seated at the piano. “My apologies, but I confess that what I most wish at this moment is to retire.” There, she thought, I am not so hopelessly unsophisticated myself.
His knowing smile was her reward. “By all means, Lady Emma. I find myself quite ready for bed as well.” He gave a small yawn. “Perhaps it is the country air that has fatigued the two of us.”
“It must be that.”
Georgia smiled, reminded of the way she and Woody had behaved at the photo shoot. The hockey star was no suave French count, and she wasn’t as clever with double entendres as Lady Emma, but she’d felt the same kind of sexual awareness and tension as they pretended there was nothing between them but business. Emma was right that it was a kind of foreplay. So, too, was watching Woody on the ice and marveling at his power and focus, then reveling in his victory.
The book she was reading was arousing too. She was glad the club had chosen The Sexual Education of Lady Emma Whitehead. But she had to wonder, if she’d been reading the book as a single woman who wasn’t dating, hadn’t had sex in years, and had never climaxed, would she be enjoying it half as much? As it was, the book was a counterpoint to her own sexual education.
Georgia turned to the next chapter. It started an hour after the group had left the music room. Emma lay in bed, a crackling fire and two candles the only illumination in her chamber, when the Comte crept silently in her door. And then, until long after the fire had died to glowing embers, he made love to Emma.
Dazed with a passion she’d never believed possible, Emma trembled and moaned as the Comte played her body from head to toe with an even greater appreciation than he’d shown the music, his fingertips stroking sensation throughout her body, to parts of her she’d barely been aware existed before. He was patient, thorough, and always, always, he made her feel treasured as if she, like her friend Margaret’s violin, was the finest and rarest of instruments.
This was the first time in her life she’d felt treasured. She must enjoy and remember every moment of this interlude, to brighten the days of her inevitable, and dismal, future.
“You are a most skilled teacher,” she murmured, threading her fingers through the black silk of his hair.
“And you are a most adept student.” He nipped her collarbone.
She let out a squeak of surprised pleasure. Who would have guessed that a collarbone could be so sweetly sensitive, yet the Comte had made a detailed study of her body, learning all her—
Woody’s apartment door opened.
Georgia flicked off her e-reader and rose.
The Woody who stepped through the doorway looked very different from the man she’d first met. To start with, he was clothed in more than a thong—though she hoped to remedy that situation soon. His clothes were the opposite of the ragged jeans and jersey he’d first worn. Now his rangy frame was clad in one of his new suits—a charcoal one—and it fit to perfection, as did the tailored blue shirt. He’d loosened his tie, and the effect, with the lovely clothes, nicely styled hair, and trimmed beard, was rakish rather than sloppy. He looked unbearably handsome.
He strode toward her. “Now, that’s what a guy likes to see when he gets home.”
Though a foolish part of her longed to believe that he meant her, Georgia, waiting for him, she knew that really it was just a woman in scraps of black lace.
His kiss was warm, and she responded eagerly, then pulled back in the curve of his arms to say, “Wonderful game. You all must be so happy.”
He gave a satisfied nod. “It’s exactly the way we wanted to start the playoffs. Man, the Caps are tough, though.”
“I’m sure you guys would rather play a wimpy team,” she teased.
“What’d be the fun in that?” he joked back. The animation faded from his face and he looked tired. His arm around her shoulders, he guided her back to the couch and flopped down, kicking off his shoes and raising his feet to the coffee table. “Wouldn’t mind winning it in four. The guys are pretty beat-up.”
Including him. She went to the kitchen for an ice wrap for his shoulder and a heating pad for a nagging pain that was plaguing his lower back. When he’d shrugged out of his jacket and tie, she helped wrap his shoulder and settle the heating pad in the right place.
Ruefully, he gazed up at her. “Did you ever guess that dating a hockey player would be like looking after your granny?”
Georgia had never known her father’s parents, and Bernadette’s were dead. As for dating—his polite word for screwing—a hockey player, the idea had never entered her head. “It’s an education.” Thinking of Lady Emma, she smiled a private smile.
Going to the kitchen again, she brought him a bottle of water, then curled up beside him.
His blue eyes looked tired, but his gaze was steady. “Thanks, Georgia. I keep telling you, you don’t have to wait on me.”
In truth, she enjoyed looking after him, but that was too domestic—too intimate—a thing to admit. “It’s my thanks for those four tickets.”
“Your friends enjoy the game? How about Viv? Could she get past how unstylish the uniforms are?”
Georgia chuckled. “She managed, and everyone had a great time. They all sent their thanks.”
“You didn’t tell them about us?” He asked it as a question, but she knew he was pretty sure of the answer.
“No.” Not only didn’t she want her boss thinking she was unprofessional, but if the book c
lub women knew, they might pity her when she and Woody broke up.
“Your mom knows, though.”
She grimaced. “She guessed. I didn’t confirm it, but …”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Blowing me a kiss the other night might’ve been a giveaway.”
“Mood of the moment.” She grinned mischievously. “Hey, if Federov had skated by, I’d have blown him a kiss too.”
“Sure you would. And so would your mom.”
“That’s definitely true.”
He took a long drink of water, then sighed contentedly. “Man, this feels good.”
“Did you take any bad hits tonight?”
“Nah, I’m okay. Just the usual wear and tear, and no time to heal.”
“How are the other guys doing?”
“Connolly’s got a cracked rib; Bouchard has a broken finger. The Hammer’s got a bad knee; Smythe’s got a groin injury.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Every player’s hurting in some way, but we’re all in it to win.”
She loved how he trusted her with the Beavers’ secrets. Watching the games felt so much more personal when she knew what the men were suffering through. “The Capitals are in as bad shape, I guess.”
He nodded. “Bet on it. Did’ya see the way The Hammer went after Norstrom? He hasn’t been getting as much ice time and we figure it’s his knees—he’s had problems before—so we’re going after them.”
“That’s cruel,” she protested. “Would you want them going after your shoulder?”
“That’s the sport,” he said calmly. “It’s all about strengths and weaknesses, both individual and team. When you find a weakness, you go after it. No matter whether it’s a goaltender’s blind spot or a forward’s bad shoulder.”
“Tough guys.” Her lips twitched. “And on that note, shall I adjust your heating pad, Granny?”
“Cheap shot,” he complained, “and you’re gonna pay for it, woman. Just as soon as I rest a few more minutes.”
“I’m only going after your weakness,” she said demurely.
“Oh, well, if that’s the game we’re playing …” He put down the water bottle, now empty, and said, “Come sit on my lap.”
He guided her as she swung across to straddle his thighs, facing him, and pulled her in for a long, sensuous kiss that sent ripples of arousal through her whole body. Because he was so big, she had to stretch her legs wide, which made her very aware of her sex, growing damp beneath her silk thong. If he got her any more turned on, he’d have to have those suit pants dry-cleaned, and she wouldn’t feel the slightest bit guilty. Oh yes, kissing him was definitely her weakness.
Then, holding her shoulders, he eased her back and gazed at her appreciatively. “Did I tell you how pretty you look tonight?”
“Not in so many words.”
“You’re gorgeous. Fiery hair, creamy skin, black lace. You’re like a fantasy, yet you’re real. You’re Georgia.”
Did he think flattery about her looks was another vulnerable spot? She had to admit, she did love hearing it. “Thank you.”
He leaned into her, heading not for her lips but her neck. He kissed his way down it with soft, damp presses of his lips, barely grazing the skin yet bringing her body to quivering life. Oh yes, he knew another weakness of hers. There was a spot …
Unerringly, his lips closed on it in a gentle nip.
She gasped with pleasure. As he strummed, licked, sucked that supersensitive spot, it was almost as if his mouth were on her clit, the sensation was so intense and blissful.
“You win,” she said breathlessly. “I’ll surrender—if you promise not to stop.”
He raised his head. “What if I have to stop?”
Was he in pain? But no, he went on to say, “What if I have to kiss you?”
“I wish you had two mouths. No, three.”
He laughed softly. “I wish I did too. Or why stop there? How about a dozen, and I could kiss you all over at the same time.”
“I’d die of sheer bliss.”
“Can’t have that.” Gently, he took her mouth, teasing and savoring it the same way as he had her neck.
She answered back, with tongue thrusts, licks, nibbles. Kissing Woody was like eating a wonderful chocolate. It was heaven, and you wanted it to go on forever, even as you anticipated the next candy in the box.
He shifted position to pull the heating pad from behind his back, and the hard press of his erection grazed her belly.
She wriggled closer. “For a granny, you’re pretty hot.”
“And getting hotter by the moment. Man, Georgia, you feel even better than you look, and that’s saying a lot.”
“You too.” She leaned in for another kiss, and this time it went deeper, hotter, faster. She ground against him needily and moaned into his mouth. Damn it, she didn’t want to eat the chocolates one by one; she wanted the whole box. Right now.
Gasping for breath, he tore his mouth away. “If you want slow and gentle, for Christ’s sake, don’t wear black lace.”
She found enough breath to give a small laugh. “What should I wear?”
“Sweats. Two layers of sweats.”
“I don’t own sweats.” And she didn’t want slow and gentle. She tugged the fastener of the ice pack and together they peeled it off him.
“Then you’re in deep trouble.” He cupped her breasts and ran his thumbs over her budded nipples, the black lace a soft abrasion.
She shuddered with pleasure and attacked the buttons of his shirt. “I like your kind of trouble.” When she’d undone his shirt, she ran her hands over his chest, feeling the heat rising off his skin, the in-and-out movement of hard muscles as he drew air into his lungs. The crisp curls of hair tickling her fingers, the rapid thud of his heartbeat under her palm. “How fast does it beat when you’re skating down the ice with the puck?”
“Not that fast.”
“No, seriously.” She scraped a fingernail across his nipple, then caught it between her thumb and index finger and rolled it.
He sucked in a breath. “Seriously.” He leaned into her, forcing her to arch back. That wasn’t a bad thing, because it brought her sex even more firmly against the erection that tested the strength of his fly. “On the ice, it’s exciting, but I’m in control.” He licked her nipple through the lace, around and around the areola; then he sucked the taut bud into his mouth.
Was he saying that, with her, he wasn’t in control? What a flattering thought, almost as arousing as what his talented mouth was doing. She ground harder against him, and began to undo his belt.
His hands joined hers. When his zipper was unfastened, she lifted herself for a moment so he could shove his pants and boxer briefs past his knees.
His cock surged between them, unconfined and proud.
Georgia wrapped her hand around it, savoring the silky strength. The erotic musk of their combined arousal filled her nostrils. She wanted to lick him, to suck him, yet she was hungry to have him inside her where she needed him the most.
He touched her between her legs, stroking the damp crotch of her black silk thong. “I want you.” His voice was husky, urgent. “Now. Here, like this.” He shoved aside the strip of fabric.
So sexy, the idea of making out like this, both of them half-clothed, on the couch in a living room walled by windows. “Yes, like this,” she breathed, pumping her hand up and down his shaft.
He took her by the waist, started to lift her, then groaned. “No condom.”
No, she didn’t want to stop. “Wait.” She leaned over to thrust a hand between the seat cushions, found that crackly little package, and held it up triumphantly.
A quick grin flashed on his face; then he’d taken the package from her and was ripping it open, sheathing himself, lifting her again.
She held her breath in anticipation as the head of his cock probed between her folds and eased into her. Then she let out her breath in a gaspy sigh of pleasure. “Oh, yes! That’s what I’ve been waiting for all day.”
&nbs
p; “You and me both.” He tilted his hips, thrust deeper, found her core. His teeth flashed in a smile. “Oh yeah.”
Gazing into Woody’s deep blue eyes, she needed to move, to stroke the simmer of need, and so she did, lifting up and down on him.
“That’s it,” he said. “Ride me. Take me. Take what you need.”
Her body demanded that she do exactly that. Moisture trickled down the insides of her thighs as she rose high on his shaft, then plunged down again. His cock stroked the sensitive walls of her vagina, nudged her aching clitoris.
Her body tightened with pleasure, with need. Chasing orgasm, she swiveled her hips as she raised and lowered herself. The musky aroma of sex was more pungent, and the only sound was the panting of their breath and the slippery suck-slap of wet flesh.
One of Woody’s hands was under her butt, maybe to support her or more likely so he could explore the crease that ran between her cheeks and all the way down to where their bodies joined.
As she spiraled higher, closer, he lifted the bottom of her slip and gently rubbed her clit.
“Oh God,” she cried. “Yes.”
She rested the crown of her head on his chest and gazed down, seeing his big hand fanned out over her belly, his middle finger between her legs. Each time she rose, his shaft slid out of her; then as she sank down again it disappeared to fill her completely.
Anchored between his hands, front and back, impaled by his cock, all she could do was enjoy the sensations as he took her on a roller-coaster ride that went up, only up, until she crested the peak and cried out as her body came apart.
Clinging to him, she shuddered as waves of pleasure consumed her, then finally slowed until only an occasional tremor rippled through her.
Somehow, she managed to lift her head from his chest. He was hard as steel inside her, his cheeks were as ruddy as her own must be, and his blue gaze was fierce and primal.
“Your turn,” she managed to say, wondering how she’d summon the strength in her legs to keep riding him.
But maybe she wouldn’t need to. He surged to his feet and she barely managed to wrap her arms and legs around him so she could go along for the ride.
