The Lord Meets His Lady

by Gina Conkle

  He groaned, staring hard at her mouth on his hand. Good. It was his turn to feel agonized lust. His bulging placket brushed against her. Hands and legs bumped. Together, they yanked the shift over her head. Lord Bowles snatched the flimsy garment and let it fall.

  His eyes feasted on her body. “You drive me to distraction, yet I find I want to devour you. Slowly. One taste at a time if I can.”

  He pinned her to the wall and kissed her hard. His hands tangled in her hair. Metal buttons pressed against her ribs. Breasts mashed into his wool-covered chest. Openmouthed, his lips grazed her jaw, her chin, seeking more skin to taste. Whiskers scraped her skin as he made a path of searing kisses down the center of her body.

  Down her breastbone. Down her navel. Down he went on bended knee, kissing lower.

  Till his mouth landed on her tiny nub of flesh at the top of her cleft.

  She gasped. Light spangled behind her eyelids.

  And then he sucked.

  A tempest rushed through her. Hot. Sweet. Slick.

  “Oh, Marcus.” Air huffed hard from her lungs.

  He grunted and parted her folds and kept sucking. Craving scorched her everywhere. From under her lashes, she watched his head’s gentle thrusts between her legs. He nursed the one spot. Determined. Almost greedy in his intimate kiss.

  Her new husband would have his way with her, and she’d let him.

  Both hands slid into his hair, and her legs spread wider. Any control she thought she’d had was slipping. With him, she’d never fall. Never lose her way. Truth and pleasure surged inside her like a thousand sparks of light.

  She closed her eyes again and let go.

  Tremors started in her thighs, and she moaned. All his attention focused right there. He saw everything, knew everything. No part of her would be hidden after tonight.

  A man’s mouth had claimed her once before. But not like this. Not with insatiable need for her.

  Between his expert tongue and niggling feelings, Marcus led her down a dangerous path. She craved coming apart at the seams. He sought her, wooed her, made her want to give in. This wasn’t supposed to be. Yes, he pleasured her. But this was more than a simple act of sex.

  Emotions whirled between them.

  He nudged the tip of one finger inside her, not more than half an inch. The hint of what was to come, of him inside her. It stole her breath. His thumb flattened above her entrance and slid between sex-slicked, smaller folds of skin. But his thumb didn’t slide any higher. Marcus rubbed delicious little circles under the pink nub he sucked, his other finger just inside her.

  “Ohh! Marcus!”

  Her hips swayed into his face, and wicked male laughter vibrated in her quim. Teeth scraped her nub. If that was punishment, she’d take more.

  She circled her hips into his hungry mouth. His suckling noises alone drove her mad.

  “Mar-cus.” Her voice was thin and high.

  “You’re close.” And he licked exposed flesh where his thumb pressed her.

  “I… Yes!” Her grip tightened on his head.

  Grabbing her bottom, Lord Bowles feasted, sucking harder. A rush seized her. Muscles tensed. She cried out. Legs shaking, bliss came fast. Bigger. Harder. Wetter. Colors exploded behind her eyelids.

  La petite mort.

  The desired end? Or a beginning?

  Pleasure bumps spread across her inner thighs. Strong hands skimmed her hips, her ribs. Eyes opening, she slumped against the wall.

  “Here,” he whispered and pulled her close.

  He caressed the small of her back, the skin between her shoulder blades. How could he know she needed this? Him holding her? Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed his neck by the golden curl as his humored voice teased.

  “Now that we’ve taken the edge off…”

  Expert hands slid lower, kneading her bottom. Marcus coddled her, cupping her bottom cheeks with his perfect, soothing massage. A healing liquid sensation like warm wax stole over her.

  “A bed would be nice,” she purred. She was limp and invigorated at the same time.

  “My thoughts exactly.” He guided her backward to the bed, spreading her bottom cheeks wide. Chill air kissed her bottom cleft, and her tight bottom hole puckered.

  His dimple showed, and he squeezed her bottom cheeks again. “Let me emphasize how much I like this part of you.” He kissed her shoulder. “And this part.” He kissed the top of her breast. “And this part.” He kissed the crook of her elbow. “And this part…”

  Head back, she laughed as he delivered soft kisses to all her parts. His kisses marked her with the scent of her sex and brandy. How intoxicating. They bumped into the bed, stopping there. His tender ministrations put her back together again as good as the body-melting petite mort. And he liked toying with her. Of course sex would be playful with him. It was his nature.

  In his arms, the lonely ache vanished. Her husband’s smile was sunshine on a dark day; his kisses were just as warm and fulfilling. His mouth swept over her as though he’d cover every inch of skin. Gone was the practiced lover of nights ago. Another man replaced him.

  This sensual man was fiercely protective, honest, and tender…qualities that unhinged her.

  Twenty

  “I’ve yet to decide where your first kiss should be,” Marcus said, raining down kiss after kiss along her collarbone.

  Gentle laughter tripped from her body to his mouth. “You’ve already given me a first kiss.”

  “Don’t spoil my game.” His words muffled against her neck.

  “You are fond of games, aren’t you?” And she arched her neck for him.

  They stood at the bed’s side, failing to take advantage of its comfort. Didn’t matter. He discovered the sinew connecting her neck to her shoulder. The skin was soft and warm and, judging by the laughter bubbling up, a ticklish spot. His tongue traced the sinew’s line, and gratification swelled when Genevieve’s breath hitched.

  She needed…flustering.

  He pulled back. Light danced in those big eyes of hers. Despite his rampant erection, he lost himself in her. This night, he’d take all the time necessary to please his wife.

  Wife. The word felt good.

  The stiff-limbed, stoic woman of hours ago was long gone, replaced by a lovely forest maiden found in fairy tales. But this maid was no innocent.

  She traced his bottom lip. “What a fine mouth you have.”

  Dark-blond hair fell everywhere. An amber lock curled around her nipple. Entranced by the pink flesh, he kissed the tip. “All the better to kiss you with.”

  One finger outlined the pretty coil, and a flush spilled across her chest. Light pink spread to her breasts, where her nipples tightened to singular points. Exquisite. His palm circled a tiny peak. Her beautiful breasts fascinated him. He cupped bountiful curves before skimming her breastbone, her ribs. Genevieve’s heartbeat pulsed beneath smooth skin as gratifying to feel as the rest of her.

  She watched his hands roam over her body as though enthralled by the sight of his touch.

  With both hands, he rolled her nipples again and again between his thumbs and forefingers. She’d never nursed a child. The aureole was close in color to her breast, not the deeper shade of a woman who’d carried a babe. The small, rosy circles contrasted with her size. Would her nipples get larger when she bore a child?

  His child?

  Both hands fell away at the phantom image of an infant at her breast. He nearly stepped back. Of course that wouldn’t happen. The brandy-soaked linen. He was familiar with the modes women used to prevent a babe.

  Her kiss-swollen lips parted. She clasped his hands with hers and set them on her breasts. “Don’t stop.”

  Lust mad, his pulse banged. Light hazed around him. His brain had already slipped between his legs when he’d spied her pushing the linen into her nest of curls.
/>   He’d given up trying to think straight.

  It was useless. He was good for one thing tonight—pleasuring his bride.

  Genevieve warmed to the sex play, kneading her plump breasts with him. Together their joined hands explored her pale skin. She fed him soft smiles and tender laughter, kissing his whisker-rough jaw. He’d participated in too much bed sport with women convinced he wanted erotic seduction. They put on plays, batting lashes, arching their bodies coyly…all false drama.

  They gave what they thought he expected. None gave themselves.

  His buxom bride was different. Was this what happened to the man who bedded his fair friend? Genevieve laughed and sighed as though sex was fun. She rubbed her breast with him, her other hand sliding down his chest. Lower. Lower until she reached his breeches.

  He stiffened. Her touch was light; the ache between his legs was hard. One button loosened. Then another.

  “We are going to do this on the bed, aren’t we?” Husky laughter followed her teasing question.

  She pushed his coat off his shoulders. All the while, he stared at her shapely arms. He stroked her, shoulder to elbow, muttering, “Sleeves are a waste.”

  Intent on getting him undressed, Genevieve dropped his coat to the floor. She maneuvered him to the edge of the bed, endeavoring to tug off his boots. His brain turned to porridge at the pale, teardrop-shaped bottom bent over before him.

  With a whoosh, the leather gave way. Genevieve straddled his other leg and yanked. The recalcitrant boot didn’t budge. He leaned back on his elbows. She yanked again, and the boot gave an inch. He planted his stockinged foot on one lush cheek. She looked over her shoulder, doe-brown eyes sparkling through a fall of amber hair.

  He grinned. “You look like you could use some help.”

  With a toss of her head, she giggled and tugged again. This time the boot yielded. It landed with a thud.

  Faint gold-brown lines stained her inner thigh. The brandy. Those tempting streaks contrasted with pale skin and snagged black wool stockings. He rubbed the hard bulge between his legs, glad he’d licked one small part of her clean.

  Genevieve bent to remove her garter.

  “Don’t.”

  She stopped, and her gaze dropped to his hand stroking himself.

  “Keep them on. Please.” His voice was hoarse.

  Exhaustion hit him, but he wouldn’t stop. Not until he’d sated himself on her. This night had wrung him dry, yet Genevieve’s black wool stockings, the weave thin at her knees, entranced him. One stocking was torn at the knee, the skin scraped from her fall in the woods.

  Had that happened today?

  Being with her was natural. Real. The same as walking back into Pallinsburn and seeing things in their place. Naked, threadbare stockings, her hair falling uncombed… His new wife was perfection.

  “You’re the most beautiful woman. Ever.”

  Words gushed unintended. She straightened, her hourglass form perfect. High, full breasts begged to be touched. And those freckles on her nose. By the way her brow furrowed, she didn’t believe him. He should’ve told her downstairs, fully dressed, without so much as a kiss between them. He should’ve told her when she labored in his garden. Or when she read Ben Franklin’s tedious pamphlet on electricity.

  And he knew. Right then as he stroked his placket. He was in love with Genevieve Turner Bowles.

  His hand worked faster. Breath quickening, he clenched his teeth. This was reckless. He was reckless, yet he wanted to profess his love to the naked lady of his affections while sprawled on the bed rubbing his man parts.

  He had piss-poor timing.

  Genevieve brushed her hair back. “It’s all right, Marcus,” she said quietly. “You don’t have to ply me with fine compliments.”

  Words eluded him. Lust raged, but her pert smile stayed in place. His new wife had no idea about the slope of need and emotion he tumbled down. Positioning herself between his legs, she captured his hand and set it on the mattress. He flopped back, blinking at the canopy overhead, and let her take over.

  “I don’t know if I’ll be any good to you. I’m…” His words trailed off.

  “Perfect,” she said, rubbing his thighs, the wool fabric rustling under her hands. “I like you just as you are.”

  He tried to assimilate her admission, but a rush of helplessness consumed him. She worked on his nearly opened placket, her full breasts jiggling.

  He raked both hands through his hair. “You’d think I was the one who met with bad news today.”

  “We’ve both had trying times of late,” she said gently.

  Genevieve needed coddling, yet she untied his smalls. His cock sprang free, but all he had eyes for were her big, round breasts. He started to rouse, got head and shoulders up, and her hand stroked him. He fell back, groaning. Tingling pleasure shot through him. A spurt of seed glistened on the tip of his penis. From under heavy lids, he watched Genevieve grip the rounded head.

  Another quake shook him when she touched the small opening and smeared the droplet in circles. His chest expanded and contracted from the tender torture.

  He grabbed handfuls of sheets. “Is this how I’m supposed to help you forget?”

  Orange and yellow light glowed on her pale skin. Genevieve climbed on the bed. The ropes creaked as she straddled his legs. This night, the late hour, the upset, he’d hardly done justice to their sensual play. She was entirely in control, and he was still half-dressed.

  His head lifted off the mattress. “My clothes…”

  “Don’t worry.”

  Genevieve’s head dipped low, and she kissed the crown of his phallus. It was a sweet, chaste kiss singeing an unchaste spot. She scooted forward and, grasping his length, positioned the round tip in her curls. His neck strained to hold his head up. He wanted to watch his flesh slide into hers. Demanding pressure spread over his abdomen. His body existed in that moment for one thing—to be inside Genevieve.

  She hadn’t fully seated herself. A rim of inner muscles clenched his cock’s head, and he moaned at the craving low on his spine. The need to push back. Hard. To bury himself in her wetness. His breaths turned jagged. His ass squeezed, ready to rock his body into hers. Coiled desire tensed like the force of an arrow notched and the bow pulled tight. He grasped her hips as much to hold back as to hold on.

  “Gen…I…” His voice was lost.

  Her knees pushed into the mattress. She rode the tip of his cock’s head, acclimating herself to him. Slowly. His bollocks tightened painfully. He shook from clenched muscles.

  “It’s been awhile.” Her alto voice was husky. “Please don’t move yet. Let me…adjust.”

  Feminine hips undulated over him, each stroke sensual and slow. Her hair fell forward, masking her breasts. Pink tips poked through her hair. He reached up and palmed her breasts, kneading them, rolling her pointy nipples with his fingers, her cries of satisfaction urging him on.

  “Yes. That feels so good… Your fingers…there.”

  She grasped his shoulders and slipped halfway down his erection. Her pale thighs worked hard. Up and down, she rode him cautiously, not seating herself all the way.

  “Gen,” he rasped. “I…”

  His legs shook. He couldn’t wait. His body took over where words failed. His hips slammed into her, and he yelled at the pleasure of burying his cock inside her. Genevieve cried out, her dark eyes wide, but she kept going. Hips slapped awkwardly before his body found rhythm with hers.

  The sheets rustled. Mattress ropes squeaked faster. He put one hand on her mons. Two fingers slipped inside her amber curls, finding the pink pebble at the top of her cleft. The touch imperfect, jostled from frantic thrusts.

  Keening air came from her. Wild-eyed, she pushed hair off her face, her mouth forming an O. She stared at his hand buried between them. She was close. So was he. White-hot heat built lower
on his spine, fed by his wife’s excitement.

  His other hand dropped from her breast. He gripped her thigh. The bed frame rattled. Genevieve moaned. This was wild and chaotic. Her high-pitched cries turned feverish. Her body drove down on him. Skin slapped skin. He pushed hard back. Pumping. Head and neck strained off the bed. He wanted to see her and know what his wife looked like when she reached her pleasure.

  A sheen glowed from skin he’d caressed. Tremors racked her body. Her hips bucked wantonly, and her mouth was wide open.

  “Ohh,” she yelped and flopped onto his chest. “I can’t… I…”

  His arm was still between them, his two fingers playing clumsily with her nub. She ground against him, her hips shaking with fast, desperate thrusts. Her mouth sought his, kissing him. Tongues touched and rubbed. He tasted salt and her, the velvety perfection of a deep kiss.

  And he couldn’t get enough.

  A guttural yell erupted from his throat into her mouth. He grabbed Genevieve’s bottom, one hand digging hard into her flesh. His body strained from head to toe, and pleasure’s white heat washed over him.

  His bride gave one last shuddering moan. Little quivers shook her bottom, her thighs. Her inner channel pulsed around his phallus, milking him. Her head nestled against his neck, and he held her. Exhausted. Sated. Yet, he wanted more.

  Heat rolled off their joined bodies. Sweat dampened his hairline. Genevieve’s skin gleamed in the firelight. She was beautiful and untidy. Her life as uncertain as his. And he didn’t want to let her go.

  He freed his hand squashed between them. Wetness glistened on his fingers.

  “Don’t…move,” Genevieve grumbled against his neck.

  He chuckled, his sex-sated laugh sending her blond hair falling over his face. “I’ll need to take my clothes off eventually.”

  Another grunt. Her hips shifted, and she rolled off him. Stretching her arms and legs, she made a long, pale line on his bed. Genevieve pushed herself upright, amber hair tumbling over dreamy eyes. He traced her spine. Tender gooseflesh followed his touch. The top of her bottom’s cleft peeked provocatively from a nest of bedsheets. The night was ending perfectly, with more intimacy to come. Once he got his clothes off.