Yes, by God, he had. Why else would he be about to embark on the most preposterous affaire in the history of bed sport? His wife, who he had neither wanted nor cared for since the their wedding day, was somehow making his skin go hot as a tea kettle set to boil and his cock hard enough to hang a bucket of coal from it. He wanted to be inside her again, pounding her sweet, wet cunny until he filled her with his seed. The mere thought was enough to make him groan.
She looked unbearably luscious in her black silk gown. Her breasts were a creamy temptation popping out of her bodice. He wanted to suck one of her perfect pink nipples into his mouth. Madness had never seemed more compelling. Damn. She’d bewitched him.
He kissed her then before he said something mutton-headed like she was the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen. Because somehow, she was. He’d been so busy keeping his distance that he’d failed to notice. Caught up as he’d been in Eleanor, he hadn’t allowed himself to notice.
Her soft lips were as eager as his, every bit as hungry. He had to have her. And he could have her as many times as he wished for the next month. It should have appalled him, the bargain he’d just struck with her. Instead, it sent a fresh wave of urgency to his already engorged cock.
Simon dragged his lips from hers. He cupped her lovely face in his hands, mesmerized for a moment by the pure beauty she was. He had missed her, looked through her, had seen her as a means to an end. He supposed he’d been too caught up in his resentment to pay attention to the gem that had fallen into his lap. He would not make the mistake again.
“I want you naked,” he said, reveling in their newfound peace. He was free to do whatever he wished, to want her. And what he wanted now more than ever was to fill her with his cock, to lose control, spend himself inside her cunny. All the years he’d been careful with avoiding siring a bastard fell away. It didn’t matter any longer. He’d already fallen off the bloody ledge the night he’d taken his wife to bed. There was something animalistic about the way she made him feel, as if he wanted to brand her as his, fuck her so hard and so deep that she could never think of another man again. Yes, his conscience could bloody well go to hell.
Her luscious mouth was swollen with his kiss. He’d never before felt so possessive, so proud of making a woman his, not even with Eleanor. And Maggie was his in a way Eleanor had never been, would never be. He’d been the first man to take her. He slid a hand down to her tiny waist, anchoring her to him. The hectares of fabric between them had to be done away with, of that much he was certain.
“Do you want me?” He had to know, and he also had to admit that he loved hearing naughty admissions from her innocent lips.
“Of course I want you,” she whispered, her eyes searing his, “even though I should not.”
He wanted to remove her garments. He wanted to pull away her trappings and get to the lush woman hiding beneath. With Eleanor, she had often been prepared in some sort of naughty creation, or completely nude and waiting for him. She’d been well aware of what she was doing. With other women, it had been the same. But he found there was something incredibly arousing about Maggie, who little knew how to employ the expected. He preferred her innocence, actually, as it prolonged the anticipation and heightened the pleasure.
His fingers unerringly found the buttons on her bodice. He tore open several more before he grew tired of the lengthy process and began tearing.
“Sandhurst,” Maggie protested, her hands staying his, “this is a very expensive gown.”
For a spoiled American heiress, she was certainly cautious. He frowned at her, his cock raging to be inside her. “Call me by my given name.”
She worried her lower lip, looking utterly adorable. He wanted to tear her gown from her in shreds and carry her nude to her bed. “I’ve forgotten what it is.”
Christ. She didn’t know his name. He supposed he couldn’t fault her. They’d been strangers for the entirety of their union, but somehow he had never forgotten hers. “Simon.” His hands seized the separation in her bodice and yanked, successfully rending the remaining buttons from their moorings. Several of them popped to the floor. He pushed the fabric down over her shoulders and she shucked it even as her expression became pinched.
“You are a dress murderer,” she murmured. “First my train and now my bodice.”
Yes, when she put it that way, it quite seemed he was bent upon destroying her wardrobe. But the truth of it was that her wardrobe was merely an innocent barrier keeping him from what he wanted. Her.
“Apologies,” he said with patent insincerity. “Your dresses have too damn many buttons.”
“Fashion decrees it,” she returned, her hands busy at work on his coat.
He allowed her to divest him of it. “Fashion never had to stand about with a randy cock while having to suffer through a thousand buttons keeping him from the woman he desires.”
She stilled, her eyes meeting his again. “Surely the other women you’ve known have worn just as many buttons as I, if not more.”
Her words gave him pause, because damn her, irritating as her insights often proved to be, she was once again right. He hadn’t ever been so irritated by trappings and buttons. True, those women had often been at the ready. But during the times when they had not been, what then? He had attended countless soirees and balls with Eleanor when she had been buttoned and corseted to perfection. Still, he’d never once been so frustrated, so eager to undo her every outward show of propriety.
What was it about Maggie that turned him into a ravening madman consumed by lust? Christ, if only she were still the cowering naïve girl of their wedding day. It all would have been so much easier. But so much less delicious.
“I don’t give a damn about them,” he told her at last, as his mind worked its way through the havoc she wreaked upon him. “The only woman I want is you.”
Her gaze remained on his, demanding and haunting at the same time. He wanted to blink, hide. He didn’t know what she wanted from him. Worse, he was afraid he couldn’t give her whatever it was she desired, beyond a mere mating of their bodies.
“And you are the only man I want, Simon,” she said, all but bringing him to his knees with her soft, wonderful revelation.
The only. He had placed a great deal of importance on those very words. Eleanor had not. But he didn’t want to dither now, worrying about what could not be undone. She was his past. Maggie was his present. A present he had never imagined himself wanting, but his present nonetheless. And looking back over all he’d done, he could honestly tell himself he would not wish for a different outcome.
She was incredible. His. For the month. An entire month? What the bloody hell had he been thinking? And then a secret voice piped up within him, brushing aside his rational mind. How would it ever be enough? He didn’t want to feel this mad pull he felt for her, but it was as if she had cast a spell on him.
“To hell with your fripperies,” he muttered, his hands going to her corset cover. He had no more patience for fastenings. He tore the whole damn thing apart, delighting in the sound of destruction. The unveiling of her corset gave him pause. It was canary yellow, trimmed in seductive black lace. “Yellow?”
She flushed, lowering her gaze. “I couldn’t resist.”
“I’m glad,” he admitted through a thick throat. The color somehow complemented her bold features to perfection. He wouldn’t have thought it, but the vibrancy of the yellow coupled with her pale skin and bright hair was astoundingly beautiful. He reached behind her, fingers unerringly finding the laces of her corset and loosening them. “You continually surprise me, Maggie.”
“Just as you have surprised me,” she countered. Her fingers went to the hook-and-eye fastenings of her corset, undoing the bottom pair first. A small patch of her white chemise was visible beneath the restrictive garment.
His mouth went dry as he thought of how few layers there remained between them. “Allow me,” he urged, putting his hands atop hers.
“You needn’t play lady’s maid,�
�� she denied, moving to the next set of closures.
“I’m not playing,” he admitted, his voice hoarse. “Allow me, Maggie.” He couldn’t explain it himself, but it was as if he sought to do penance for the year he had acted as if she hadn’t existed in his world. He wanted very much to make her his in a way he had not previously experienced during his relationships with other women. Maggie was somehow different, and it troubled him but he couldn’t resist her. Not for a moment. This would be the first time he made love to her knowing she was his wife, and he was struck by the importance. Once, he never would have believed such a night would exist.
“Very well.” She held her arms to the side. “I am yours.”
Damn it, her words made him so aroused that he nearly lost his ability to function. He coughed to disguise his distraction and set his hands to work on her elaborate trimmings. “You are so very beautiful,” he said, unable to help himself.
“I am?” She sounded surprised.
He searched her face for a sign of prevarication but found none. She truly didn’t seem to know the full extent of her womanly power. “Of course you are,” he told her, his hands at work upon the fastening of her skirts. They were at her back and naturally brought his arms about her, their mouths once more close together. He couldn’t resist a deep, earth-moving kiss before breaking it off for sanity’s sake. “You must know that.”
She appeared dazed, running her pink tongue over her full lips. “I know nothing of the sort. If I were so lovely, surely you would never have thrown me over at the first possible opportunity.”
He winced. It was only fair, he supposed, that his past treatment of her would not be altogether forgotten. He had been a bastard. He hadn’t thought of her as a person but rather as a pawn, a way for him to repay the debts that his father had left behind, debts that had continued to mount over the passing years. That she could even allow him to touch her at all was an amazing feat of her understanding. He wished there was something he could say to absolve his sins, but this was so very new to him. She was new to him.
“You are unbearably lovely,” he affirmed through a throat gone suddenly thick. He realized he needed to open the closure on her skirt before he could proceed. His fingers traveled round her waist, but he couldn’t find the hidden prize he sought. “I can’t open your damn skirts.”
She laughed, brushing him aside to find the opening herself. As she released them, her skirts pooled on the floor with a swish of silk. She stood before him in her chemise and corset and petticoats, her bustle pad an odd skeleton clinging to what he knew to be a lush bottom.
“You’re not being fair,” she said softly, her violet eyes traveling the length of his body and lingering—unless he was mistaken—on his cock.
He swallowed. “What do you mean?” Christ, he hoped she didn’t want to engage in a lengthy debate of some sort. All he could think about was tearing the remaining coverings from her full breasts and losing himself in the inviting wet folds of her cunny.
“You’re still wearing all your evening finery, and I’ve been reduced to the rubble of my ladylike trappings.” She smiled hesitantly, reaching beneath his black jacket and helping him to shuck it from his shoulders.
Ah, so the lady wanted to be bold. Perhaps she was intent upon making him embarrass himself by coming before he even removed his clothes. Her tentative caresses, even through a layer of fabric, were nearly enough to undo him. “How kind of you to remedy the situation,” he said gruffly, trying to hide the tumultuous feelings at war within him. He felt very much like a boat at sea taking on water.
His coat joined her skirt on the floor. She began working on his tie next, fumbling with a lack of familiarity. He couldn’t blame her, for without his manservant, he was deuced hard put to disrobe himself. He attempted to help her and the result was only more confusion. Their eyes met and they shared a laugh. He leaned in and kissed her. The moment was so awkward and yet so tender, so familiar. It was as comforting as it was arousing. He had to admit that he’d never indulged in a mutual session of disrobing with another woman. He found he rather enjoyed the intimacy, the shared commitment to lovemaking that it signified.
She kissed him back, her mouth opening to his questing tongue. Her hands sank into his hair in that way she had that he already recognized and loved. His mouth worked over hers, perhaps harder than it ought to, but he couldn’t seem to rein himself in. She did things to him, powerful things that were as impossible as they were undeniable. Had it only been two days ago that he hadn’t been bothered to even think of her existence in his life? It seemed a lifetime ago instead.
He had to have her now, spend himself inside her. He hadn’t wanted the risk of getting a bastard on her last night, but now he wouldn’t deny himself the pleasure of filling her with his seed. She was his. Their child, should one occur, would be his. The idea warmed him more than he liked, and only served to make him harder.
He tore at his necktie, finally undoing it, and returned his attentions to her corset. At last, he undid the last fastener on the offending garment and tossed it to the floor. Her chemise was not much of a barrier. He cupped her breasts through its delicate fabric, gratified by her pebble-hard nipples hungry and eager for his touch. Damn but he was going to enjoy each second of making her his again and again.
Maggie was simultaneously terrified and thrilled. She was about to make love with her husband for the first time since they’d discovered each other’s true identities. The knowledge heightened her every sense. It seemed at once surreal that the man who had been a mystery to her was now in her arms. He had agreed to her madcap suggestion of playing the role of her lover for an entire month. She wouldn’t have believed it just two days before. Indeed, she scarcely believed it now. Nor would she have wanted it, but their lovemaking had changed everything.
He tugged her chemise up over her head and she helped him, tossing it away without a hint of shyness. Cool air made her nipples tighten to even harder peaks. The way he looked at her bare breasts set her aflame. He was once again her voracious lover, his every heated caress enough to make her wild with wanting.
He lowered his head and sucked an engorged nipple. She moaned. His mouth on her was her undoing. She clawed at his shirt, wanting to feel his well-muscled chest without the hindrance of his attire.
He grinned and looked up at her. “Patience, my dear, is a virtue.” His tongue flicked against her, prolonging the sweet tug of arousal his ministrations produced. But even as he chastised her, he tore his shirt from his body.
At last. She ran her eager hands down his chest to the whorl of hair on his taut belly that led to his trousers and an even greater prize. When she cupped the rigid outline of his cock, the breath escaped from his lungs. He caught her other nipple between his teeth, exerting just enough pressure to send a new, poignant sensation directly to her already swollen sex.
Her nimble fingers found the fastening on his trousers and opened them. He was wonderfully naked beneath, his member hot, hard and velvety all at once. She gripped him, gratified when he grew even larger in her hand. Touching him brought a sweet blossoming ache to her sex, a need for him to be inside her where he belonged. Dear heavens, she feared she was thoroughly debauched. A flush chased the ordinary paleness from her cheeks, heating them.
“Ah hell,” he murmured against the generous swell of her breast. He licked a naughty path around first one nipple, then another. “If you insist upon playing with my cock like that, I’m going to fill your hand with my come instead of your cunny.”
His plain speech was shocking yet titillating. The thought of him spending his seed inside her was intoxicating. She was curious too, wondering how it would feel. Last time, he had withdrawn from her. She thought then of his warning and was confused in her newness to lovemaking. “Do you not like my touch?”
“Quite the opposite,” he growled, his tone gruff. When she would have withdrawn, he pressed her hand to him, urging her to move up and down his shaft. With his other hand, he cup
ped the back of her head. His eyes melted into hers. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me, woman.”
She stared back at him, this enigmatic man who was her husband and her lover both, who had never wanted to make her his. But he had. And everything would forever be different between them. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me either,” she returned, breathless. “But I don’t want it to end.”
His mouth crushed down on hers for a hungry kiss. She leaned into him, still stroking his ever-growing cock. He felt so beautiful and long in her palm. She thought of how much pleasure he would bring her and a delicious dampness began soaking her between her thighs. Their tongues mated, their breaths becoming almost as one. His scent consumed her, that blend of musk and spice that was innately his. She pushed his trousers from his hips and barely heard him kick away his shoes and the remnants of his evening finery. Now he was as naked as she. Maggie was caught helplessly in his thrall, overcome by the pleasure that threatened to consume her.
He broke off their kiss, his breathing as erratic as hers. His gaze was dark and verdant as new grass in the spring. “The bed,” he said. “Now.”
They moved as one across the chamber. When they reached the high tester, he gently lifted her bottom onto the mattress. “Lie down,” he commanded.
She scooted back into the center of the bed, very conscious of her nudity yet still aroused by his smoldering air. Watching him silently, she sank into the soft, sweet-smelling coverlet, her mostly intact coiffure a bit of an uncomfortable lump behind her head. He was eying her as if he were a starving man and she the feast laid out before him. She shivered with anticipation as her eyes traveled over his fine form, lingering on the cock that rose proud and full between his thighs. She was anxious to once again feel him within her.
As if sensing her thoughts, he stroked himself. How she wished she could touch but she dared not move. She wanted to please him. They were playing a wicked game, seeing who could outlast the other, and it only served to intensify her longing.
Her Lovestruck Lord: 2 (Wicked Husbands) Page 7