What A Lord Wants

by Harrington, Anna

  His lips curled, as if the dashing devil knew the effect he had on her.

  “She told me how we…” she whispered, remembering the descriptions her sister had shared with her and now imaging Dom doing all those things to her. “I mean, how you…” Flustered, she blurted out, “She told me how.”

  That was enough of an answer. She had no idea how she was able to get out even that much. Not when he was still undressing so provocatively in front of her. She couldn’t stop the heating of her cheeks as she watched him kick off his shoes or how much she felt like a wanton for continuing to stare as he reached for the fall of his trousers. But if curiosity and attraction for her husband made her a wanton, then so be it.

  “Did she tell you anything else?”

  “That it might hurt, but just a little and not for very long.” Her eyes fixed to his fingers as he undid the buttons. “But she also said,” she whispered, unable to bring herself to look away as the flap fell open, “that it’s wonderful.”

  “No.”

  At that quiet contradiction, her eyes flew up to his, leaving his delectably sculpted body for the first time since he began to remove his clothes.

  “It’s so much better than just wonderful.”

  He pushed his trousers down over his hips and off, kicking them away along with his stockings. A liquid heat seeped through her as he stood in front of her, now just as naked as she was, the sight of him tingling electricity out to the tips of her fingers and toes.

  Even in the darkness, she could see the details of his hard body. Broad shoulders and muscular arms, the dusting of dark hair on his chest that trailed down to the hard ridges of his abdomen, his narrow waist, and lower still…heavens. He stood perfectly still and let her look.

  Dear God, he was breathtaking, like one of Lord Elgin’s statues of the Greek gods, somehow both solid and silky, with smooth lines accentuating every hard muscle. No, he was so much better…Her own Greek god, in living flesh and blood. She wanted to sculpt him like this as much as he wanted to paint her.

  But for now, she’d settle for touching.

  She rose onto her knees to reach for him, her seeking fingers first caressing the handsome face she knew so well, then tracing the line of his jaw back to his neck and down to his shoulder. His muscles rippled beneath her hand as she brushed it over his chest, and a thrill of feminine power surged through her.

  He rasped out, “Eve.”

  For weeks she’d imagined what he must look like beneath his clothes, what it would feel like to have her hands on him the way he’d caressed her, if she could make him tremble and cry out the same way he’d done to her. His low warning only encouraged her to satisfy her curiosity. Emboldened, she grazed his flat nipple with her palm, teasing at it with her fingers the way he’d done to hers.

  He flinched as if her explorations pained him.

  Contrite, she lowered her head to place a soothing kiss on his chest. But that only made her yearn for a deeper taste of him. Unable to resist, she took the flat nipple into her mouth and laved it thoroughly with her tongue. Delicious.

  Dancing featherlight kisses over his chest, she let her hands drift lower, to feel his jerking inhalations beneath her fingertips as she traced the hard ridges of his abdomen. When her hand drifted lower still and her fingertips brushed against his manhood, his breath became little more than ragged pants.

  Shamelessly, she explored him, tracing her fingertips delicately up and down his rigid length. She never knew a man could feel like this, so silky soft on the outside, so steely hard beneath—

  He jumped against her fingertips. Startled, she yanked her hand away.

  With a pained chuckle, he took her wrist and placed her hand back. But this time, he closed her fingers around him and slowly stroked her hand up and down his length, guiding her. “Like this.”

  He closed his eyes and leaned into her. Encouraged by his reaction, she gripped him more tightly and stroked harder, eliciting soft growls of pleasure from him. Whispering her name, he took her chin and brought his lips to hers in a lingering, tongue-teasing kiss that left her shaking. Then he slipped his hand between her legs and caressed her as boldly as she stroked him.

  She blushed at the way her body reacted so quickly to his caresses, quivering heatedly against his fingers and growing slippery wet with each deft stroke into her folds. The hot ache at his fingertips throbbed in time with her pounding heart. She could barely keep her breath as the pleasure rose inside her, the same wonderful wave of ache and release that he’d brought to her before.

  Knowing what her body craved, he slipped two fingers inside her and tickled his thumb against that spot where the aching throbbed the most intensely. She gasped at the light touch that made her want to scream and shoot out of her skin, and all of her shook with a yearning she couldn’t describe, except that she knew that Dom alone could satisfy it.

  When his fingers slipped from her tight warmth, a cry of loss rose on her lips. She grabbed for his shoulders to keep him there with her, inside her—

  “Soon,” he promised with a kiss as he laid her down on the bed. His tall body stretched out beside hers.

  Holding himself over her on one forearm, he gently nudged her legs apart and settled his hips into the cradle of her thighs. He kissed her slowly and deeply as he reached between them to stroke her again. But this time, the yearning ache at his fingertips came so intensely that she whimpered.

  “Così bella,” he murmured against her lips.

  His soft caresses between her legs changed. Now something bigger touched her folds, something round and hard…He circled her with his erection, teasing there until the tip of him grew just as slick as she was, until she felt her outer lips part beneath its smooth head as it nestled into the hollow at her core.

  “Così calda e morbida.”

  She caught her breath at the uncomfortable stretching, made bearable only because he continued to whisper how beautiful she was, how warm and soft…Mariah was wrong. This wasn’t at all wonderful.

  She shifted her hips beneath him to try to ease the growing pressure. The little movement drew a pained groan from him.

  “Non ancora.”

  Not yet? There was more of this to endure? What he’d done to her before was so much better than this! But at least she was close to Dom, so close that he was almost inside her the way that Mariah said he would be. And for that, she was grateful. But it wasn’t enough.

  She looked up at him, only to find his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth clenched, as if pained.

  Confusion twisted in her chest. If he wasn’t enjoying this either, then why would anyone—

  His hips pressed forward, stretching her wide as he sank gently inside her to the hilt. With a surprised gasp, she tensed at the unfamiliar sensation of being completely filled by him, of having his weight pushing down upon her pelvis.

  But then he began to move inside her, in slow plunges and retreats that felt like liquid silk sliding over bare skin. No more stretching, no more discomfort…only the smooth glide of his body into hers, filling her completely. Oh, it was wonderful!

  His hand caressed over her, massaging her breasts and brushing along the length of her arms and legs, even as he continued his slow strokes inside her. She lifted her knees and unwittingly changed the angle of her hips beneath his. In this new position, all the stiffness and tension dissolved, and she could take him deeper inside her than before.

  But even this wasn’t enough. She wanted to move, to join in the rocking of his body sliding in and out of hers. So she wrapped one leg around his waist and lifted her hips to meet his, praying with all her soul that he liked what she was doing.

  He sucked in a deep breath, his body tensing against hers. But he didn’t tell her to stop.

  “Is it all right…if I do that?” Oh, please say that it was all right! She couldn’t remain still under the best of circumstances, and certainly wouldn’t be able to lie unmoving beneath him as he made love to her. Even now she writhed from the ove
rwhelming sensations of having him inside her, his hard body filling hers.

  “Yes.” He groaned against her mouth. “Sweet Jesus…just like that.”

  She soared with happiness, and her last inhibitions drained away. All her concentration focused now on showing him how much she loved him. How much she wanted to be loved in return.

  But the rhythm changed. His movements were no longer the gentle rocking of before but now more forceful.

  “Eve.” His hips moved fast and hard against her, as if he needed to bury all of himself inside her and was working to do just that.

  No—he was worshipping her, as if she truly were a goddess from one of his paintings. The realization bloomed such happiness through her that she gave a silent sob against his shoulder. She clung to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, never wanting to let go. She wanted him inside her like this always.

  He slipped his hand between them, to stroke at the place where their two bodies joined. But she felt no shame, willingly giving herself over to whatever pleasures he wanted to bestow. “Now, mia bella.”

  Her feminine lips were stretched wide around his thick girth, her most sensitive spot exposed. When he rubbed his knuckle tantalizingly against it, her hips bucked.

  “Come now,” he repeated the hoarse order and rubbed at her again.

  She moaned as the spasm of pleasure gripped her, her body clenching tightly around his.

  “I need you now.” He shook uncontrollably as his hips continued to thrust hard against her even as his fingers worked between them to push her over the edge. “I can’t hold back much longer.”

  But she didn’t know what he wanted her to do. She couldn’t have controlled herself at that moment even if she’d tried. Her thighs quivering around his hips, her breasts rubbing against the hard planes of his chest with each delicious stroke of his body into hers—all she could do was cling to him and feel.

  “Surrender to me.” He groaned as her body tightened around his. “Let me have you, mia bella…in every way.”

  She broke. The rush of pleasure raised a soul-shattering cry from her as all the aching tension he’d stoked inside her vanished beneath a flood of bliss. She quivered around him, unable to do anything more than remember to breathe as the delicious sensations crashed over her.

  “Eve,” he murmured, surprise lacing his voice at the intensity of her release.

  His large hands slid beneath her and grasped her bottom, to pin her hips against his as he plunged into her. When he ground his pelvis into hers, there was no restraint, no hesitation. There was only raw need pulsing from him and the drive to satiate himself in her.

  He thrust again, this time holding himself as deep within her as possible. His hands squeezed her buttocks as he jerked inside her, and he poured himself into her with a groan. He released her bottom, then squeezed it again with a murmur of pleasure when her sex clenched around his flaccid length to milk every drop of his essence from him. She wanted all of him, to carry every bit of him inside her.

  Spent and shaking, he collapsed onto the bed beside her and gathered her into his arms.

  They said nothing as they both fought to regain their breaths and enjoy the last traces of lingering pleasure that shivered through them. For the first time in her life, she felt wholly and completely awake. Alive. All of her body tingled with electricity, all of her soul soared—

  All because of Dom.

  She placed her hand against his cheek and tenderly kissed him. He opened his eyes to gaze down at her, with an impossible expression of disbelief and happiness that she was certain mirrored her own.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice thick with equal parts satiated desire and concern.

  Nodding, she brushed her fingertips through the silky hair at his temple. “Are you?”

  For one heartbeat, she sensed hesitation in him. Grief. She stared at him, unable in her happiness to fathom it.

  Then it vanished, and he was kissing her again, slowly…tenderly…with unspoken gratitude and so much affection that her heart nearly burst from it.

  He pulled the counterpane around them. Then he lay on his back beside her and tucked her into the hollow between his arm and his chest.

  She nuzzled her cheek against his neck. The faint growth of his midnight beard scraped gently against the smoothness of her skin, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have that scratch of beard against her inner thighs. Before the night was over, she was certain she’d know, because already she wanted to make love to him again. And again in the morning, when his skin was freshly shaven and smooth. Also in the afternoon, when the day was warm and lazy. And every day and night for the rest of her life.

  He silently outlined her lips with his fingertip, as if drawing her. Perhaps he was drawing her in his mind. Heaven knew she’d done the same in hers, etching him there, to remember this night. Always.

  She’d wanted to bring him passion equal to his muse, wanted to meld herself so thoroughly to him that he wouldn’t be able to tell where she ended and he began. To make it impossible for him to keep her away. To make herself part of his soul.

  The new affections blossoming between them were still so very fragile. She had to tread carefully and couldn’t yet say what her heart was singing, for fear that he wouldn’t say it back… I love you.

  But he did care for her, she was certain of that. Every affectionate touch and kiss he’d given her tonight, the way he’d made certain she found her own bliss in their joining—he couldn’t make love to her that tenderly and not care.

  She let that be enough. For now.

  “Go to sleep, darling.” He shifted to bring her against him as he lay on his side, her back to his front. “I’ll be right here when you wake.”

  She closed her eyes but was unable to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside her. Only much later, after she felt Dom slip into unconsciousness with his arms still around her, his breathing deep and steady, did sleep finally overtake her.

  * * *

  In an old dressing robe he kept in the armoire for overnight stays when he worked long into the night, Dom stood beside the bed and watched Eve sleep.

  She resembled an angel in the blue light of dawn that fell softly through the gauzy curtain drawn over the window. He’d pulled it when he woke so that she could keep sleeping late into the morning, but he’d had no idea how beautiful she’d be in the diffused light. Her hair spread out over the pillow, her long lashes nearly touching her cheeks, her sensuous lips parted slightly and trembling with each deep breath…

  She whispered to herself in her sleep, and he smiled.

  He’d never known another woman like her. Oh, there had been women in his life who were more beautiful, a few who were more brilliant, and many more polished in society’s ways…but none who grabbed onto life with both hands the way she did. None who had invaded his life as she had, permeating every part of it, with her energy and inner light.

  In the short time he’d known her, they’d developed a connection between them that was stronger than he’d realized. Making love to her tonight proved it.

  She’d been simply amazing, giving him a combination of sweetness and seduction, wanton and wonder, that had put him pleasure-drugged out of his mind. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Even though she’d been innocent, she was still Eve, a woman who insisted on throwing herself with wild abandon into everything she did.

  He grinned. Thank God. He didn’t dare let her fire consume him, but he certainly planned on dancing as close to the flames as possible.

  Careful not to wake her, he went downstairs. The fire in the stove had gone out, leaving the studio cool and awash in pre-dawn shadows. He plucked a grape from the untouched tray of food, regretting that they’d not been able to enjoy it. Well, it would be breakfast, at least.

  He smiled wickedly as he popped the grape into his mouth. She was still warm and naked beneath the covers, with no reason for either of them to return to Merce
r House any time soon. Perhaps the tray of food would do for dinner, as well. One eaten decadently from her bare back.

  As he turned to go upstairs, he impulsively snatched up his sketchbook and pencil from his worktable.

  He sat in the chair in the corner of the bedroom and quietly flipped open the book. In the faint light, he sketched her as she slept, wanting to record every delicate line of her face, every detail of her essence. She’d laugh if she woke and caught him being so sentimental, but he couldn’t help himself. This moment was magical, the two of them together while the rest of the world was still asleep. He wanted to capture it before the harsh light of day flooded over them.

  He didn’t know yet where she fit into his heart, or how she could co-exist there with his muse. But his art came first, it had to. A great artist couldn’t serve two masters. He couldn’t give everything to his work if he had to hold back even part of himself for the woman he loved. And he couldn’t give everything to the woman he loved if he had to reserve part of himself for his art.

  So he would give all of himself to Eve when he was with her, but when he was here working, his concentration had to be on his painting. Thankfully, she understood that…the only woman who ever had.

  But now as she slept and her beautiful image emerged on the paper, all that mattered was this moment and his need to fix it in time. He couldn’t seize life with abandon the way she could, but he could grab onto this. This much of her he could make his, and hold on tight.

  Chapter 20

  Mayfair, London

  Late November

  With deep concern etched onto his face, Bentley held the door open as Eve and Dr. Brandon left her father’s townhouse. The same concern he’d worn since she arrived at the house two hours ago to meet with the noted physician, conveniently while her father was at his shipping office in Wapping and where she knew the servants would keep her secrets. Bentley had been with her family since before her mother died, and knowing not to overstep boundaries, he’d said nothing. Not even when Eve confusedly thanked him for baking her favorite cinnamon biscuits, although it was Cook who had baked them, of course. And even though they were lemon.