Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  The thought of Trenton helped him to regain control of his body.

  He placed his head between her legs, moved his hands to cradle her bottom and gently lifted her hips. Her legs boneless, they spread apart, and suddenly, she was all his. He lowered his face to the soft curls as he used a finger to gently part her feminine folds. His mouth took purchase on the swollen flesh, his tongue stroking and circling. He first felt her recoil in sur­prise at the assault of his tongue on her womanhood, and then he was aware of her trying to force herself harder against his mouth. Lifting and tilting her hips until she felt his hand cover her mound to hold her down, she began mewling. When his thumb pressed against the aching bud he had aroused with his tongue and thumb, Elizabeth inhaled sharply. George gently licked the space beneath the bud, inciting another gasp and a whispered ‘yes’. Knowing she was as ready as she would ever be, he laved his tongue across the swollen center of her wom­anhood—once, twice—and then his lips took purchase on it and suckled it.

  Her back arched up, her chin tilted so her head was thrown back to expose her throat, and her hands clutched the bed linens as if to keep her body anchored to the bed. George could feel her entire body shatter beneath him. But it was the sound of her voice, crying out his name, the sound of her ecstasy his very name, drawn out in several syllables in the form of a prayer, that made George realize his own release could not be stopped. He hauled his body up and over hers, his rigid cock seeking her sheath. Sliding it along her wet folds, desperate to bury it inside her but knowing he could not—he had promised her he would not—he growled as her hot, slick vulva surrounded him, cradled him when her knees lifted and pressed against his hips, slid along the entire length of him, up and back down his hardened shaft as she lifted and lowered her hips. When Elizabeth’s body again shuddered beneath his and her fingernails branded his back with half-moons and her voice cried out his name again, ecstasy took him, the intense darkness and bright light and extreme pleasure engulfing everything around and inside him.

  Only she could do this to him—make him feel like he hadn’t felt in his entire life. Make his body ache for her touch and her lips and those fingers that were hot and searing against the skin of his back. His voice forced out a strangled, “Oh, God, … Elizabeth … I … I love you,” before his seed spilt onto her belly. Suddenly drained of strength, his body collapsed onto hers. He buried his head between her neck and shoulder and allowed a blanket of darkness to cover him.

  The sensation of warm arms wrapping around his back, of fingertips stroking his flesh, of lips kissing his ear, brought him back from sleep. He listened intently at first, aware his breath­ing had finally returned to normal. He wondered if Elizabeth was all right.

  And, for just a moment, he wondered where he was.

  “George?” It was a barely audible whisper, said against the whorl of his ear and followed by the sensation of a tongue lick­ing his earlobe.

  George slowly lifted his head, careful not to put more weight on the feminine body he was squishing into the mat­tress. How long did I sleep? he wondered absently, suddenly embarrassed he had passed out on her, his hard body press­ing her deep into the bed. The sight of Elizabeth in the wan­ing light from the fireplace made him grin. Her bee-stung lips were smiling, and her hair was splayed out in a jumble of curls across the pillow they shared. “Are you … well?” he wondered, his voice still husky.

  She turned her head to look up at the canopy, moving bits of her body one after the other as if they had been momen­tarily removed from her and she had just managed to put them back into place. “I think so,” she whispered, a giggle escaping her throat. “But, are you? You looked as if …”

  Nodding, George lifted himself onto one elbow. “I was not in pain, I assure you,” he answered in an amused whisper, knowing she probably thought he was experiencing extreme discomfort when his own body had come apart into a billions pieces. He surveyed the bed. And then he surveyed Elizabeth. Her luscious body, with its creamy white skin and full breasts and slight belly, was posed as if she were a goddess in a paint­ing. She had managed to pull her knees together; they rested off to one side so that her mound was nearly hidden from his view. At the sight of his semen gleaming on her belly, he flinched and caught her gazing at him. “I apologize, milady. I didn’t intend to take my own pleas…”

  Reaching out with a finger, Elizabeth placed it over his lips to stop his comment. “Do not. Please,” she struggled to get out, her eyes clear and her voice quite steady.

  George regarded her for a very long time, realizing she had aged just a bit with this experience. She seemed more— more sure of herself, more assertive, more of a woman—and he found he rather liked her better this way. “Did my dem­onstration …was it what you … expected?” he wondered then, not sure, other than simple curiosity, what her motivation had been when she made the request of him to pleasure her.

  As a blush suddenly colored her upper body and face, Elizabeth lowered her eyes. “I had no idea, George,” she mur­mured, a finger reaching up to trace his jawline. “My mother once told me that intercourse was like a massive tickle, but that is … a massive understatement. I cannot describe it, and I cannot believe that I could ever experience it again,” she mur­mured, her voice barely audible, the tone of it suggesting she had accepted a fate that didn’t include the possibility of such pleasure. Ever again.

  George stared down at her. “Every night, should you choose,” he answered quickly, chiding himself that he would seem so eager. “And,” he paused, leaning in to kiss her cheek, “There is more.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, my God,” she breathed. “You didn’t ..?” she started to ask, her brow furrowed in confusion. She stared down at the wetness on her belly, sure he had sim­ply pulled out of her as his orgasm took hold of his body. She had overheard gossip that suggested some men did that, so as to lessen the chances of getting their mistresses with child.

  “I promised I would leave your maidenhood intact, and I have done so. It is yours to give to your husband.” Whoever that will be, he thought reluctantly, a sudden pain slicing though his middle at the thought that she would marry someone else. Butter Blond. God, no.

  Instead of appearing relieved, Elizabeth seemed somehow disappointed, her eyes downcast as she turned her body on the bed so she lay on her side. George kissed her shoulder. “I also promised I would allow you an hour to rest. I shall take my leave of you and return …”

  “You leave this bed, George Bennett-Jones, and I shall never speak to you again,” Elizabeth countered angrily, her body suddenly raised and supported on one elbow while her flushed face turned to regard him. Her entire body trembled.

  At that moment, Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to pull George down atop her, to feel the length of his body against hers, to hold him and kiss him and stroke him until sleep took them for the rest of the night. There was desire, certainly, but also a need for closeness, a need to wake up in his arms, to somehow guarantee that what had occurred this evening really had happened and wasn’t just a figment of her overactive imagination.

  George froze and stared at her in shock. He watched as her sudden anger dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, though, and she seemed to crumble back onto the bed under his gaze. “What is it, Elizabeth?” he whispered, slipping an arm beneath her body and pulling it toward him. With his other hand, he wiped away the evidence of his orgasm from her belly and wondered if the chambermaid would notice the stain on the linen where he cleaned his hand.

  Whatever tension had been in her body the moment before was suddenly gone; she felt boneless as he positioned her on top of his chest and hip, pulling one of her legs to rest between his. Her whole body still shivered. There was the sen­sation of moisture on his shoulder. Placing a hand against the side of her face, he felt a hot tear. “Are you hurt?” he asked in alarm, wondering if he had done something wrong. Thinking she was cold, he reached down, grabbed at the edge of the bed linens and pulled them over their bodies.

>   “No,” she whispered, one of her arms reaching around his chest to anchor herself more firmly to him. The trembles slowly subsided as George ran his hand up and down her arm and then tucked the linen and coverlet around her shoulders.

  “Tell me, please,” George said very quietly, part of him marveling at the way he was able to hold her entire body against his. He had expected she would want him out of the bed, that she would want privacy after their lovemaking. Josie never stayed long, hurrying off to the bath to clean herself and to remove the vinegar-soaked sponges she inserted before their time together.

  “Do you think me wanton?” Elizabeth had closed her eyes in an effort to concentrate. She was aware of George’s heartbeat, of one arm around her waist, of the hand that held the linen against her shoulder, of the feel of his chest and hip beneath her body, of his engorged cock resting against the top of her thigh, of the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took.

  God, yes! Wasn’t it every man’s dream to have a beautiful woman ask him to bed her? But that didn’t necessarily make the woman a wanton. Unless she makes it a habit of asking sev­eral men for the favor. “How many men have you asked to plea­sure you?” he countered quietly, hoping she would make her own conclusion.

  Instead, she gasped, and raised her head again. “None, of course!” After a pause, she gasped. “Well, one,” she corrected herself in a barely heard whisper, her face coloring up as she made the admission.

  When George regarded her with a half-smile, she strug­gled to push herself away from his body. His arm held her in place, though. “Then, no,” he answered, his head shaking just a bit on the pillow.

  When he didn’t elaborate on his answer, Elizabeth con­tinued to stare at him. “How can you not?” she wondered, the tone of her voice suggesting he should think her wanton.

  “Because, my sweet, being sensual is not the same as being a wanton. And you are … a very sensuous woman.” He took the opportunity to kiss her, his lips capturing hers in a light caress that made her body shiver again. “And one apparently suffering from the cold,” he added as he turned on his side and rolled her so he could tuck her back against his chest and the front of his thighs against the back of hers. He tried not to think of his arousal as it rested against her bottom.

  Elizabeth allowed him the intimate contact, a sigh escap­ing as she realized how much warmer and safer she felt. How much she craved his touch. She wasn’t cold, really, but she had no idea why her body thrummed as it did. She only knew she had to stay pressed against George for as long as he would allow her to do so.

  She wasn’t aware of time passing or of falling into a dream-filled sleep.

  When George was sure Elizabeth was asleep, he reluc­tantly climbed out of the bed. Glancing at the hearth, he saw the two basins of water Elkins had left warming there. He wet a flannel and cleaned himself, hoping he wouldn’t remove the musky scent of Elizabeth as he did so. He wanted to smell it again and again as he slept later.

  Sleep? How would he be able to sleep after a night such as this? To have lain with the woman of his dreams, to have plea­sured her and been pleasured so thoroughly by simply rub­bing his shaft against her—how could he ever hope to sleep again? Just the thought of her body still in his bed made his entire body thrum.

  She has to marry me.

  If she didn’t, he would be left feeling bereft and quite sorry he hadn’t taken the opportunity to ruin her when he had the chance. He had no intention of considering any other woman to be his wife. If Elizabeth denied his request for her hand, he would simply live out his days without a wife, without an heir. The viscountcy could revert back to the Crown …

  Why the thought of Prinny gaining the Bostwick vis­countcy should bring George to his senses, he didn’t know. But it did.

  She has to marry me.

  Chapter 35

  After Ecstasy, Reality

  Aware that the comforting warmth at her back was gone, Elizabeth woke from her dreams of being pleasured. George! she thought happily, remembering the feel of his hands and his kisses and his tongue as he pleasured her. She watched his sil­houette from where she lay on the bed. God, he was somehow handsome, she thought. He, with a fencer’s grace and a body finer than any of the Grecian marbles, with his manhood still erect, looking like a sword, ready to impale her and promising even more pleasure than what she had already experienced. He, a master of kisses to make her knees weak and her head spin, George Bennett-Jones was the man she should be mar­rying, she realized.

  Somewhere deep inside, the flutterbies suddenly flipped. Her heart tightened. And Josephine’s words came back to her. He just wants to give you what you want. What you asked for.

  And he had!

  But she was the daughter of a marquess. How could she marry an untitled man? Even if she loved him, and she could not say yet if she did or did not, she was expected to marry well. She was sure her father would require her to marry at least a viscount. Even if George was wealthy, he was still a cit!

  And if Trenton could never pleasure her the way George had tonight, at least she had experienced sexual pleasure. She would remember this night for as long as she lived and not have to wonder what she might have missed. At that last thought, a feeling of emptiness slowly settled over her.

  When he was done cleaning himself, George picked up the other basin and a flannel and moved to the bed. Wetting the cloth, he reached over to wipe Elizabeth’s body. One of her hands reached out and rested over the top of his hand. “What are you doing?” she wondered, gasping as she felt the warm, wet flannel touch her still-sensitive skin. Her eyes were bright in the dim light, as if they were limned with unshed tears.

  “I need to … I wish to clean …” He stopped, not sure what to say to explain himself. He moved the cloth over her belly, gently washing her creamy white skin, removing the evidence of his orgasm from her skin and the lingering dampness from between her legs. When he completed his ministrations, he leaned over her body and kissed her belly and her breasts and finally her lips. Before he had finished, she was weeping quietly.

  A quick glance at the clock told George they hadn’t much time. It was already a bit after one. I promised to have Elizabeth home by two! Leaving the bed again, he moved toward the pile of clothes near the chair. “I must get you dressed,” he mur­mured as he pulled on and buttoned his breeches. He tossed his shirt over his head. Hurrying to the bed, he reached down to lift her, but Elizabeth waved off his assistance.

  “I can manage,” she whispered, tears creeping down one side of her face. George shook out her gown and held it for her. She pulled it on in silence as he recovered her stockings.

  “May I be of assistance?” he wondered quietly. At her quizzical look, he added, “It seems only fair given I removed them,” he said as he held up one of the stockings.

  Elizabeth regarded the rolled stocking he held and then moved to take a seat at their dinner table. “I suppose I should insist,” she replied, a wan smile appearing.

  His own smile tentative, George knelt before her. He kissed the back of her fingers as he waited for her to extend a bare foot. Elizabeth pulled up the hem of her gown so a foot barely appeared. She watched as George placed the stocking over her toes and very slowly unrolled the silk onto her foot, over her ankle and up her calf. When his fingers reached the back of her knee, she inhaled sharply. George looked up to find she had leaned her head back, her face displaying a look of pure joy made golden by the light of the fire. “What is it, my sweeting?” he whispered, keeping his fingers firmly in place at the back of her knee.

  “It’s nothing,” she replied, lowering her head until her eyes opened and regarded him with an impish grin.

  Not believing her, George very lightly stroked the back of her knee again, all the while pretending he was pulling the stocking over her bent knee. He felt her leg shiver and heard her gasp again. “You would make a fine lady’s maid,” she tried to tease, a sob interrupting her jest.

  George grinned a
s he repeated his caresses with the other stocking, all the while wondering what Elizabeth thought of their night together. He placed her slippers back on her feet and stood up. “I rather doubt that. I have never done this before,” he said as he moved to refasten the hooks at the back of her gown.

  Stifling a gasp of surprise, Elizabeth regarded him with a glance over her shoulder. Josephine was his mistress; certainly he would have had to undress her. But, perhaps not. “Please, do not fasten all of them,” she said suddenly, referring to the hooks he was fastening at her back. “I have to undress myself,” she added as she felt his fingers against her bare skin. A frisson passed through her even as more tears escaped her eyes.

  He stopped fastening the hooks and wondered at the hitch in her breath, wondered what she was thinking as she went about gathering up her things and retrieving stray hairpins from the bed, all the while tears streamed down her face. Had she made some sort of decision then?

  He tucked his shirt into his breeches and reached for his waist coat, buttoning it as quickly as he could given his fingers didn’t want to be doing this. They wanted to be undoing the hooks on the back of Elizabeth’s dress. They wanted to be slid­ing along her skin, over her breasts and down her belly and between her thighs and into the warm, wet sheath that prom­ised … he shook his head to clear it.

  Trenton would ask for her hand any day now. Does she regret having asked me to do this? he wondered suddenly, afraid that perhaps he had made a huge mistake in introducing her to the wonders of sensual pleasure. He pulled on his top coat, still lost in thought. Now that she knew what sensations she could experience with him, did she realize they might not be the same with a different man? With a man who didn’t care if he provided pleasure in return for the pleasure he took from her?

  George picked up the bonnet from the table where she had carefully placed it earlier that evening. Teal velvet with peacock feathers. Yes, this had to be the bonnet he had paid for that day at Neville Peabody’s shop. He traced a finger tip along the edge of the feathers, remembering the afternoon he had discovered her shopping with Lady Charlotte. He had noticed them because of their maids, the young misses mentioning their mistresses’ names while they flirted with his groom and tiger. He was immediately curious as to what might interest the young ladies. Surely they would already have purchased their bonnets for the Little Season. That meant they were in the market for winter bonnets or riding hats. And when Nev­ille had mentioned Lady Elizabeth’s purchase, he had thought immediately to pay for it on her behalf.