“M’… m’lord, a… aren’t you… cold as well…?” she asked, seeing the wet clothes pressed against his muscles. He hurried to her side, taking his coat and throwing it across her shoulders. She felt his warmth pass over her, and he loomed close after offering her the gesture. Suddenly, she paid no mind to the rain creeping along her skin, her jaw quivering not from the cold, but from a secreted desire she felt twanging through her very being.
“The rain… my coat should still keep you warm, though riding atop that damned, bouncing beast, it did little to keep my own shirt dry,” he admitted quietly.
“Pl… please, I don’t want you to… to get sick, from the cold,” Anne pleaded, swallowing hard. “You… you should…” He stood without another word. He looked down upon the beautiful woman shivering beneath him, and Anne held her breath as his fingers moved to the buttons along his shirt. He unfastened one, and then another, and with each new button loosed, Anne’s fingers trembled harder; her knees jittered with nervous energy. She had never before felt the touch, either romantic or erotic, of a man; she had dreamed and read of this moment, in so many of the novels arrayed across the cabin, but she had never before imagined herself there, in the middle of that exactly, tense, emotional, body-shaking moment. Lawrence untucked his shirt from his breeches and unfastened the last button; he pulled the garment away to expose his finely-carved frame, like some manner of marbled statue from one of the history books she remembered reading. She had never seen a man so stunning; most nobles carried extra weight, lazed about in their manors and gorged themselves on rancid wine and excessive feast. She admired him, eyes glistening in the glow of raindrops falling across the windowpanes, the sun creeping through the darkness just long enough for its stale light to illuminate the dusty windows and crest across the lord’s strong, broad back. He turned to her, breathing heavily, his eyes so taken with her.
“Lawrence, I…” she stammered. “I… I know it’s silly, to read those books, to think…”
“Nothing you truly desire can be silly,” he hushed her with his simmering baritone, sitting next to her once more, whispering into her ear. “Those stories made you free… they helped make your mind as beautiful as I know it is.”
“My mind… beautiful,” she stammered, having never heard words so bold before from any man, even her father. He wrapped an arm about her shoulder to hold his warm coat tight to her skin; she squirmed in the heat not just of the coat, but of passion burning through her stomach and nethers. Shaking, her fingers found his, intertwining as they shared this delicate moment, the sound of their breaths ringing louder in her ears than the sharp, constant drop of rain overhead.
“I never had any doubt,” Lawrence murmured to her. “No man wants to marry you… because no man deserves to cage a spirit as vibrant as yours. None are worthy of extinguishing that flame in your heart, Anne Hatley,” he reassured her.
“This… this dress, it’s… cold, stifling,” she whispered, her heart throbbing beneath her damp breasts. “I… I want to… t-to take it off,” she whimpered, and all at once that coy and confident woman, bristling with vim and anger at the world, at Lawrence and at her father, fell away; instead she found herself wanting him, wanting him now; not just physically, but his soul; just like that damnable red-bound book she felt so embarrassed by, she truly did want to embrace him - body, and soul.
“Do you want me to help you?” came the lord’s whisper into her ear; she felt his hands massage her shoulders; she dipped her arms, letting the coat fall away, but no more did she fear the cold. His fingers slipped into the sleeves of her dress, and she shuddered, moving sympathetic to his every move. Her shoulders exposed, she cooed; and no longer able to stop herself, she lunged to him, pressing her lips against his, and never had she dreamed that his would be so wanting; so inviting of intrusion. He kissed her back with indulgent fervor, cradling her head, fingers twisting through her wet and matted hair. They kissed, and they kissed, and she did not want to ever dream of letting go. When the kiss passed, their eyes met, and her lips parted.
“Pl… please. Please help me,” she whimpered. She wanted him to save her… in more ways than she could count.
Chapter Ten
She moaned, her voice quivering, quaking uncontrollably as he laid her against the plush cushions of the couch; his jacket upon the floor, he worked impatiently to pull her dress free; her gasps filled the air as he took her so completely. He silenced her sounds by kissing her again, pulling button from button so teasingly and painfully slow; she wanted it faster, because every part of her body screamed out for him as he peeled her sleeves down her quivering arms. He grunted, frustrated to find a sleek white bustier clung to her body beneath her dress; she pressed a coy finger to his lips and grinned devilishly, her wet body warmed by the hungry touch of the man before her as she reached behind her, arching her back away from the couch and grasping the buttons at her back, letting it slide slowly down until the garment felt loose against her petite frame and her pretty young curves. His hands shook and hesitated; he wanted to see her, her milky skin and her pretty face and her flowing hair and everything about her, but a fear struck him, as it did so often when it came to women. Anne reassured Lawrence with a gentle touch to his wrists, guiding his hands along, pulling the bustier away and laying it on the floor beside them, begging him with silence and burning, pretty eyes to continue. Her breasts bared, the pretty pink dollops of each nipple stiffened as she felt him grasp her chest and feel her completely, his eyes filled with a desire she had never seen in him; something savage, but so enticing, just as she looked into his smoky eyes and adored his powerful build. She got a full and free look upon his body, and it only stoked that heat within her higher, as he gave to her the full breadth of his chest, exposing proudly his taut abs and his rock-hard frame.
Ravenous and uncaged he buried his lips into her neck, devouring her with a flurry of starved kisses along her jawline, to her neck, down her chest; he paid attention to every inch of her sweet and sugar-white skin, swirling his tongue hotly across her, lapping up the dew of the rainstorm with each kiss, replacing the soaked droplets with furious kisses and deep, desirous moans against her. He pressed her wrists down beside her, and while she cherished her freedom, the only thing that made her feel those shackles unchained was the sensation of a strong man giving her everything she wanted, even without the need to speak. She gave herself to the pleasure his lips and his tongue rained upon her, each of his kisses carrying him lower, savoring the taste of her milky skin, dampened by rain as it may be. He gripped her wrists tightly and grew ravenous, keeping her pinned as her back pressed so that her body could savor every kiss, her lungs shaking with lusty moans with each inch of her the lord claimed.
“Lawrence, I’ve… I’ve never felt like this, nothing like this, before, with anyone,” she admitted sheepishly, her cheeks a blistering pink-red as she spread her legs, her slippers falling away to the floor. She could see him trembling hard, his hands jittering with all the pent-up emotion, the need, the desire. “I d… don’t, don’t know how to t… tell you, but…” she felt a lump in her throat; his hands rolled comforting along her arms until they came to her shoulders; he massaged them gently and laid close to her, their lips meeting in a twining passion for another long, intense kiss, their tongues dancing together, their eyes meeting, their hearts pounding; he bore down on her, and she felt him throbbing in desire against her thighs, something she savored, showering him with soft and dainty kisses of her own.
“Anything, anything you want to say, anything you want - in all the world, Anne,” he whispered to her, his kisses moving along her cheek and meeting her earlobe. He kissed along her ear, whispering a dozen times to her name, a name he worshiped with every second and every sweet, compassionate murmur.
“I-I’ve never b-been, never been intimate with a man, before,” she admitted, shaking hard beneath him, sinking into the couch, fearful her inexperience would foul the tense desire built between the two of them. She looke
d to him, concern crossing her eyes, and he dispelled all her worries with a kiss to her lips, one that melted away all that ice and blew away the smoky cloak of fear in her body.
“I’ll do everything for you, Anne,” he promised, kisses raining along her neck; she swooned with a quiet, melodic breath as she felt him kiss her again and again, along her breasts, down to her stomach; his kisses moved further, and further, until he began to tug gently at her leggings with his teeth and hands slipped into her waistline. Her hips lifted to help him, and for all the strength that Anne possessed, all of her firebrand independence, when he began to rain kisses across her supple thighs, grasping at her hips and worshiping upon her altar with whispered words of desire, she melted utterly, forgetting about everything; about her father, about her future, about the estate; he made it all seem like a long-distant nightmare, one she’ll never have to face again with him there.
“P… please, Lawrence, do… don’t stop, don’t ever stop,” she pleaded with quivering, breathy words. Her body nude before him, something she had never felt comfortable doing with any man, she couldn’t control the quaking along her spine or the moans beginning to cascade from between her lips. His kisses drew closer and closer to the most sensitive part of her, her folds flush and warm and damp; his tongue worked skillfully to tease at her thighs, hotter and hotter and faster, until she felt him lavishing praise upon her feminine slit, tongue swirling up one side and down the other, devouring in worship her hot nectar and pleasing her flushed femme bead with skilled licks and laps as he watched her with those deep and entrancing eyes. She began to cry out hungrily, loudly; her hips pressed out, wanting more, and more, and when she felt his warm tongue slip inside of her and feast upon her sweet depths, her eyes opened wide and she couldn’t stop herself from erupting into a shaky moan, like the shrill sound of a songbird whistling over the moors. Her shivering fingers wrapped between his hair and squeezed his scalp and she couldn’t even feel anything except how good it was; she couldn’t imagine anything except him, for the rest of her life, worshiping her, making her feel like nothing in the entire world ever had.
“M-Lawrence!” she managed to put the syllables of his name together, before those sweet swooning moans began falling from her lips again, wordless melds of impassioned sounds; he drew his tongue warmly across her most sensitive depths, licking along her front wall, twirling at her pearly clit until she could scarcely take it anymore. She felt an erupting sensation sizzling into her stomach, filling her every limb with a heavenly, tingling warmth, warmer than any coat or fireplace or anything could ever make her. Waves of desire filled every inch of her and she tugged at his hair and moaned his name over and over again as he pleasured her deftly and quickly and skillfully.
As the waves of intense pleasure filled her, he crawled atop her body, covering her in sweet kisses from her stomach to her neck, and reality snapped back into place as she watched him closely; she wanted more, more, and she coaxed him with a frustrated little moan and a wiggle of her hips against his body. With that stormy, authoritative tone in his voice he silenced her protests, pressing his hips against hers.
“Anne,” he murmured, kissing between every word. “I want… you, I want you like… this feeling, so intense, I can’t put it to words,” he admitted, kissing along her lips and down the side of her neck. She grasped at his waistline, and he unlatched his belt, loosening his breeches and letting them fall to his knees. His thick, throbbing masculine length erupted from beneath his pants, and he took a deep breath, kissing her neck gently as he led his shaft softly against her sweet folds, massaging its tip against her clit; he shuddered against her, letting out growling, feral moans as he grasped the base and gently, so gently pressed it inside of her depths, inch by slow, throbbing inch; her eyes wide and her words lifted skyward Anne gasped and shrieked in pleasure, her nails digging deep into his back and begging for him to take her.
“M-Lawrence, it f… feels so, d-divine,” she whispered, raking her nails along his back. He obliged those silent pleadings, pressing harder, deeper, until she felt him feel her completely, stretching her sensitive opening; her nerves screamed, thunderbolts louder than any ravaging the cabin in the storm outside, rocketed along her limbs; she shuddered beneath him, and she felt that same, climactic and explosive pleasure fill her from her stomach through her chest, her body tensing, her depths tightening around his length as she clasped tight around his whole body like a vise. And yet when he continued to push, his shaft pressing in, and out, and in and out, she quaked like she never had; god, it was even better than she imagined it could be, and nothing in the entire world mattered at all except for their endless, powerful lust.
“I’m… god, you’re unbelievable,” Lawrence murmured into her ear as he took a throbbing, enticing rhythm, entering her hard, steady, but always gentle to take care of her sweet, virginal body. She held on to him tight, letting him take her, each thrust feeling heavenly. He squeezed and kissed her deeply, his breath teasing her skin, growing faster and hotter with each deep, powerful thrust. She felt herself building to a new, explosive climax, like nothing she had felt ever before, her breaths deeper and faster as their bodies glistened with sweat, the heat of their lovemaking washing away the damp cool of the rain. She couldn’t speak, she couldn’t do anything except think on how perfect this experience was; he, too, began to lose control, and she felt his thrusts grow ragged and wild and his hands shake as he grasped and squeezed her breasts and her hips and every part of her, with each of his touches only making her hotter and hotter.
The lightning crackled and flashed through the window, electric-blue light raking across their skin as Lawrence thrust deep and hard, filling her to his hilt; he cried out her name like no sound she had ever heard, and she sung his own as she felt her body fill with a powerful thrum of pleasure, shaking her to her very core as she reached her tingling, perfect climax. She felt his throbbing length inside of her explode with hot, pleasurable waves of his release pumping hot and moist against her inviting feminine depths. She held him close and he, her, as they met their perfect finish together, their breaths twining and their eyes looking into one another adoringly as this impeccable moment passed.
She smiled weakly at him, unable to say anything; she only kissed his lips, over and over again, as he lay atop her, barely able to breathe.
She began to ponder as they lay together, basking in their joined glow, if this could be what love felt like.
“Lawrence…” she said, breathlessly. He answered with a kiss, a comforting kiss; a kiss comforting unlike any she’d ever had before. She realized she had never wanted a gentleman; she had never wanted a boy. She had wanted Lawrence.
Chapter Eleven
“Don’t you think that passage is so absurd, though? That one, about the sun, and its envy for two lovers entwined in real love?”
Anne posed the idle question as she traipsed along leaf-dusted paths of dirt and grass cut across the Roxborough estate; the rain had died away as evening began to settle, and though their clothes were dripping and their horses had had quite enough of the rain and the wind, Lawrence and Anne decided that for her father’s piece of mind, they ought to leave the cabin for the eve and find the way back to the manor. Having lost the innocent flower of womanhood in a manner she had never dreamed as being quite so romantic, Anne’s heart burst with a withering brightness, bright enough to scare away the clouds and welcome back the dying beams of sunlight reaching through gray skies. And yet in spite of her joy, she noticed that her companion, and the man she had so swiftly begun to fall in love with, rode alongside her with little to say. It mattered little, though, as she had quite enough of her own to share; she had held in her heart so many feelings and thoughts, and now that she had found a spirit so close to her own, she felt confident in sharing them.
“I… suppose it is, to an extent,” Lawrence commented coldly, reserved; she noted that the warmth with which she had become accustomed since their time at the stable, that emergent charm th
at she glimpsed briefly at their night together at dinner, had retreated; it concerned her, but she thought not to pry, wanting to savor the feeling of this euphoric moment for as long as her mind and body would allow. She looked an utter mess, her dress dirty and wet and clung to her frame, and her hair a sopping disaster of stringy waves half-dried against her face, but she couldn’t care any less than she cared right now in the entirety of her life. She had locked lips and fingers and bodies and hearts with someone who understood her, and she began to feel the comfort and he joy that she had read about so frequently in those silly books, stacked high atop the shelves. Her face swelled with a cheeks-blushing smile as she gazed once more upon the man who had captured her heart.
And she found him distant. Aloof. She found his features vexed in much the same manner as they had been that night, at the dinner table - dour, and focused not on her, or on their wondrous experience, but on whatever melancholy stories played themselves along in the depths of his mind.
“Lawrence,” she asked, trying to tug from him warm emotion in a moment that seemed oddly negative to him, “you told me… when we first met, and you’ve maintained it, for some time, I believe, that you’re… not ready, for marriage,” Anne recalled hastily, gripping Midnight’s reins and leading the creature up the dirt path, along a hilly ridge. The pair reached the edge of the estate proper, long grass fields and cool winds inviting them back to the face of the manor.
Desiring The Duke (Regency Romance: Strong Women Find True Love Book 4) Page 8