by Jilian Rouge
As she watched, Rafe unbreakingly met her gaze as he torturously lapped and sucked at the tiny bud nestled there. She moaned at the deliciousness of it: the tip of his tongue flicking short, hurried strokes and making her throb there with each delicate stroke.
The touch of his tongue, his mouth down there was exquisite, and Georgie couldn’t prevent the moans leaving her mouth each time he brought about a new wave of pleasure. A questing hand roamed her inner thighs until a finger dipped lazily into her body’s entrance. Her feminine flesh convulsed around the intruding finger, bringing her pleasure and relief at being filled where she ached.
“Rafe, I—please, I need--,” she begged on the tail end of her gasps, writhing amidst the sheets. But she broke off when she felt his finger joined by another, then another. Without warning, he pressed upward against a sensitive spot she didn’t know existed, and she cried out at the incredible sensation that touch produced.
“Rafe, what on earth?” she gasped out. But he wordlessly continued working over that one spot inside her, as warmth and moisture radiated from her feminine center. With his erotic caresses, he brought her close to the edge, only to retreat abruptly, making her wait, then start over again.
By this time Georgie was mad with arousal, almost to the point of insanity, when she raised herself on her elbows to cry, “Rafe, stop teasing me and make me come!”
Rafe looked up at her shamelessly and gave her a wink. “As my duchess commands,” he said with a croon. Then he thrust heavily into her with his fingers and rubbed at that epicenter of nerves inside her continuously. Georgie drew tight all over as she let Rafe build her pleasure at a faster pace. Finally, the pulsing and tightening around his invading fingers grew to a fever pitch where at last she shattered into convulsions that made her whole body shake and tremble.
As the last of the tremors subsided within her, Georgie watched as Rafe rose onto his knees, hovering above her. He looked every inch like her mental image of what the Greek god, Pan, must look like: impressive, virile, lean, strong, and hard. With him leaning over her, she opened her legs wider in welcome invitation as he arranged his cock at her entrance.
Gasping, Georgie felt the pressure of his invasion, nudging his way slowly inside her. Her gasp quickly changed to a moan as he rushed the rest of the way inside her in one solid thrust.
“Is this what you wanted, wife?” Rafe rasped out as he moved above her and inside her.
“Yes,” Georgie replied on a loud gasp. At the moment, she couldn’t think about anything else other than what Rafe was making her feel. Her breathing was heavy and laborious as he worked himself inside her, reaching deeper than ever before.
“Easy, firecracker,” he crooned. With one hand, he caressed Georgie’s cheek, then cupped it, as if to soothe away the erotic tension that was stringing her tight. While with the other hand, he reached between their bodies to stroke at her clitoris.
Rafe maintained a slow but deep rhythm in and out of her, and Georgie tried to rein in the building tension inside that threatened to boil over into another full-blown orgasm. Shaking her head against the pillow, Georgie writhed underneath Rafe, trying to wrest control from him without fully dislodging him from her body.
Stopping his thrusts, Rafe looked down at her questioningly. “What is it?” he asked tentatively.
Breathing heavily, Georgie panted, “It’s too soon for me to come yet.”
Pleased with her answer, Rafe took pleasure knowing that he could bring his wife to such heights so quickly. He smiled down at her, and said, “Then let’s try something else. Something different.” Rolling off of her and off of the bed, he reached out to pull her along with him.
Bewildered at being tugged across the room naked, Georgie was, however, grateful that she had a moment’s reprieve before she embarrassed herself with her own wantonness. It was either Rafe’s prowess in bed or her own shameless desires that so easily made her so responsive, and she didn’t feel charitable enough to give Rafe that much credit.
Leading her to the wide, wing-backed chair by the fire, Rafe seated himself down as he reached for her. At her puzzled frown, Rafe explained, “I want you to ride me, firecracker. Like you would your favorite mount.”
Understanding lit in her eyes, and Rafe was surprised when she admitted, “I’ve seen something like this before. I had commissioned a portrait of a lord-who-shall-not-be-named with his wife in just such a pose.”
Rafe helped her climb on top of him as he exclaimed, “Good God! You were treated to a sight like that and remained unaffected?” Leave it to Rafe not to castigate her for her unladylike profession.
Blushing, Georgie confessed, “I wouldn’t say I was unaffected. It was like glimpsing into their own little intimate world and I was the voyeur.” As he gave her a knowing look, she blushed harder and cried in her own defense, “I didn’t do anything about it until after, all right? With you gone, no one would have blamed me to seek my pleasures elsewhere. But I didn’t!”
With one hand on her hip and the other positioning himself, Rafe guided Georgie slowly onto his cock, impaling her oh-so-slowly. She moaned at the feeling of being filled with him, and the slow slide down onto him scraped deliciously at all of the parts inside her that ached for him. At the moment, all thoughts of their previous conversation had fled, but Rafe burned with curiosity to know more about what she had divulged. So, he asked, “Out of curiosity, what did you do instead?”
Georgie had just begun a slow ascent upwards before slamming herself back down, causing him to grunt at the rapid gloving of her channel around him. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” she said, slyly as she moved sensuously above him, panting.
Caressing at one breast then the other, Rafe cajoled, “Tell me. I’d like to hear how you sought relief.”
With a gasp that sounded erotic to his ears, Georgie threw her head back, her breasts jutting forward for his viewing pleasure. The thought of what she had done that day was almost shameful to utter out loud, but she knew that Rafe would appreciate the naughtiness of it all.
While riding him gently, she began, “After they had gone, I had kept their final sketch pinned to the new canvas I would later work on. But I kept coming back to that sketch and what transpired for their likenesses to be captured on that scrap of paper. Later that night and after the servants had gone to bed, I paid a visit to my studio.”
Rafe quirked a brow but said nothing. He watched her instead as he steered her up and down his length, savoring each slow slide of her inner walls enveloping him. By the strengthening of her fluttering around him, he could tell she was arousing herself with her own retelling.
She continued, “I had one candle lit to illuminate that one sketch. And as I lay back on the chaise that same couple had used earlier that day, I pleasured myself as I stared into that sketch, reimagining every movement they had displayed for me.”
No lady with even the strongest imaginative powers could have come up with such an erotic recounting as his Georgie just did. His blood heated at the thought of her alone, stretched out on that chaise, using her fingers to bring herself to orgasm with no one to bear witness to such erotic beauty. If he had been there, watching her in the shadows, he knew he would have been inclined to join her on that chaise.
“I believe you’ve just made me harder, firecracker,” he groaned as he thrust upwards into her.
“And I’m inclined to believe you since I can feel you stretching me,” she replied in the aftermath of his thrust, gasping. Without any provocation from his part, Georgie picked up the speed of her downward thrusts, grinding herself into him each time she sheathed him to the hilt.
“My God, Rafe,” she panted, her breathing becoming heavier. “You feel so good deep inside me.”
“Yes, firecracker,” he crooned. “I want to feel you come undone all around me. Make me feel every little wave of your pleasure.” He met every downward slam of her body with an upward thrust of his own, maximizing the force of their bodies’ connection.
Georgie moaned at the tension coiling deep within her body, seeking the relief she needed from Rafe. By going faster, she could feel herself getting closer to reaching that pinnacle of release but couldn’t quite get herself there.
“Rafe, I need—” she moaned, a note of desperation in her voice. “I need you to make me come.”
“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he murmured. Sliding a hand between their bodies, he massaged at her clitoris in quick, circular motions. His touch there shot through her like a bolt of lightning, galvanizing her pleasure to the next level.
Her breath became heavy and deep, as waves of heat wound her core tight as a loaded spring. With such pressure building deep within, she felt ready to explode. Rafe could feel her getting wetter and knew she was ready to find her release.
“Georgina, my Georgie, come for me,” he urged softly. Then he took her mouth and kissed her with all of the want and longing he had for this woman. She was it for him, and there was no one else who could inspire such love or need in him than his Georgie.
At his words, Georgie already had been close. But it was the look of intense desire in his eyes, desire meant for her, that she set off like the firecracker he called her, with tiny explosions of hot pleasure bursting through her.
The feel of her clamping down hard on Rafe ramped up his own pleasure. He murmured, “Oh, yes, firecracker, keep going.” Before her own pleasure could dissipate fully, Rafe increased the speed of his thrusts, not caring how hard he forced his way up into her. By this time, Georgie was mindless with the drawn-out sensations Rafe was inflicting upon her and loved every bit of his rough treatment. Soon enough, Rafe cried out with a curse, wrapping her tightly in his arms as he drove deep, spilling himself into her.
Holding her still, Rafe shuddered heavily as he emptied himself, and Georgie gloried in being the reason for his loss of control. When it was over, they lay still against each other, unmoving, their bodies slick with sweat. After a few moments to catch his breath, Rafe wrapped her tenderly into a hug, and said, “I would risk being sold as a slave many times over if I could have you like this for the rest of my days.”
Georgie lifted her head and replied with a sly smile, “You have me now. Let’s make the most of it, shall we?”
15
The next five days saw Georgie living in a dreamy haze induced by the delights of having Rafe near. Despite their both having to tend to their own individual duties and responsibilities, Rafe managed to hover close by and somehow tease her into a daytime tryst. While his behavior screamed of everything scandalous, Georgie secretly loved every bit of it, glimpsing a bit of the old Rafe who rode the edge of what was acceptable in society.
Sometimes, while she worked in her studio, Rafe insisted in remaining in the room with her as he perused his agricultural annals or other estate business. But Georgie found it hard to work in earnest with him there. It was as if she could feel him right behind her shoulder as she tried to concentrate on her brushstrokes, even when she knew he was sitting comfortably in a chair across the room.
She could hear him breathing as if he was right next to her, but he was still a distance away. Every part of her was hyperaware that he was there, and he hadn’t even made a move on her. Yet, anyway.
After their first long night of rolling amidst his bed, things between them no longer saw them cold or indifferent to each other. Rather than remaining on her guard around him, Georgie pleasantly found an easy camaraderie between them, reminiscent of the old days, before the days of their marriage. He found other subtle ways to touch her, whether it be a casual touch at the breakfast table or a lazy finger trailing up the flesh of her arm as she stared at her latest work.
Soon enough, a few well-placed caresses had the both of them reaching for each other, clothes flying apart as they sought pleasure from each other. It was fortunate that the servants knew never to enter a room where both the duke and duchess were closeted together; otherwise they would have been treated to their scandalous embraces several times a day.
Oh, and the evenings were filled with much the same; Rafe showed her things she had only dreamed about, pleasures she never before imagined could happen between a man and a woman. But always, the urgency hit them both at the same time, and neither could stand another second to wait to have each other any longer. In bed play, they were a match made in heaven.
But the two requisite weeks would be over soon, and Georgie had a hard time deciding what to do. Having had a taste of what married life should have been like from the start, Georgie found she liked it very much. With Rafe as an attentive and loving husband, it wasn’t too far a stretch to believe that this could be the rest of her life.
But Georgie also had a hard time forgetting the things that she had already forgiven. Rafe had needed her forgiveness, and so, she had given it. Yet she couldn’t erase the emotional scars that Rafe’s carelessness had inflicted, and she was left with the diehard instinct to protect herself from further pain and humiliation.
That first year after Rafe’s disappearance was unbearable under the scrutiny of the ton. The worst part was when close friends had suddenly turned a cold shoulder, believing that her misfortune could rub off on them by association. That their potential for finding a husband may somehow be affected by Georgie’s bad luck. No one had stood by her except for Ernest and her parents. And with the passing of the years with no sign of Rafe, Georgie’s sorrow had clinched the final severing of Ernest’s friendship with Rafe.
Her art had saved her from plummeting into the depths of her pain; with Ernest’s membership to an exclusive club, she had been able to gain clients for her special brand of services. She had been able to feel excited about something again; she could appreciate the beauty in things again through her art.
She had made plans contingent to their divorce. As a way to once again avoid the ever-watching eye of the ton, she would venture to Italy to study her art further, free to live her life without Society’s strictures choking the life out of her. Free of the entanglement of being Rafe’s wife to be her own person, to be who she was meant to be outside of rules and regulations.
Yet, no matter how far she ran away from her life here in England, she would always be tied to the place of her birth, to the people with whom her life had been intertwined. Among all of those people, Rafe was the only one who could sway her, his gentle persuasion making it impossible for her to remain steadfast in her decision to leave.
With her brush flicking across the canvas, she tried to surreptitiously glance at Rafe over one shoulder, hoping to feast on his male beauty without his knowing. However, he seemed to have sensed the weight of her gaze and looked up at the same moment. Their eyes met, heat flaring there between their gazes. The intensity of Rafe’s smoldering gaze was almost too much, and she averted her eyes with a downward sweep of her lashes. Her breath hitched when she heard Rafe growl, and she shot her eyes back to his.
He looked every inch the predator, the veneer of gentility barely disguising the bloodthirsty pirate lurking beneath the surface. Unmoving, she watched as Rafe prowled determinedly towards her, tossing his book carelessly to the floor, and untying his cravat as he approached. With a small squeak, she took a step back, fearful that he would mow her down in his impatience to get to her.
Again, that fiery urgency overtook them both, and Rafe had caught her by the wrists to slam them upwards against the wall above her head. With his mouth crashing against hers, he proceeded to set her alight with his devouring of her, and he kept her pinned against the wall behind her with his body stretched taut against hers.
He wedged a knee between hers, spreading her legs wider for him to fit himself at her apex. Georgie moaned as he pressed his erection into her, their clothes preventing him from penetrating her there, but she was fully aware that it was only a portent of what they both wanted.
The room soon filled with the sounds of their moans and heavy breathing. Rafe exclaimed between impassioned kisses, “My God, firecracker, is there no end to
my wanting you?” And he lifted Georgie’s one leg at the knee only to have her wrap it around his hip, giving him further access.
As he kissed at her throat, she murmured teasingly, “Perhaps we should maintain some distance between you and I if you are already complaining about this lack of control of yours.” In retaliation for her cheek, he pressed himself hard into her softness, eliciting a sharp gasp from her.
He snorted against her breast right before he gently bit down on her nipple through her clothes. “My lack of control wouldn’t be an issue if my wife weren’t so damned desirable. All you have to do is breathe and I’m already hard with wanting you.”
She chuckled at his complaint but loved the feeling of power from being able to draw him to heel in such a manner. “Hurry, Rafe,” she commanded in a breathy voice. His touch had ignited a wet response from her core, and she ached to have him fill her there.
“As you wish, my duchess,” he said with a smile. Rucking up the hem of her dress, he rummaged at the ties of her underclothes trying to bare her to him for his entry. While he was at work under her dress, Georgie helped him loosen the placket at his trousers to spring his throbbing cock free. They both groaned aloud at his rough entry into her, but his way had been made slick from her arousal.
