by Anna Bradley
“So wet. So hungry for me, Georgiana. You feel like warm silk.” A harsh moan fell from Benedict’s lips as he rubbed and circled and teased until she was slick from his wicked caresses. “Open your legs for me.”
In that moment, Georgiana couldn’t have refused him anything. She let her knees slide apart, arching her neck when he eased a long finger gently inside her as he continued to stroke her throbbing center. “Here, princess? Is this where you ache for me?”
“Yes.” Georgiana gripped his wrist, desperate to keep his teasing fingers where they were, the word nearly lost in her gasping breaths. “I…oh, please, Benedict.”
“Shhh. I’m going to take care of you, Georgiana,” he rasped before leaning down again to torment her breasts with slow, wicked strokes of his tongue. Her taut nipples strained for his lips and the pleasure swelled until it all blurred together into a throbbing ache inside her. Benedict was merciless, pinning her hips to the bed and stroking her, his fingers quickening until the pleasure built to a sharp edge, pushing her higher and higher until at last the tight heat unfurled in long pulses of bliss. They seemed to go on and on until at last she collapsed against the sheets, damp and trembling and breathless.
Long, quiet moments passed, their panting breaths the only sound until at last Georgiana opened her eyes.
Benedict was kneeling between her legs, his chest heaving. His lips were red and swollen, his hair mussed and falling over his forehead as he stared down at her with wild dark eyes.
“Benedict.” She reached for him, a drowsy smile curving her lips.
He caught her hand and brought it to his mouth, his lips grazing her knuckles. “I’ve never seen anything more breathtaking than you taking your pleasure, Georgiana. Nothing is more beautiful to me than you.”
A spasm of pain twisted his face, and Georgiana knew he was thinking of their parting tomorrow. For an instant her own heart felt heavy, but she made herself push the sadness away. These were the last hours she had with Benedict, and she wouldn’t waste them wishing for something that could never be. She’d love him now, and be grateful for the brief time they had together.
“You know, I wasn’t done teasing you before.” She traced a pattern over his thighs with her fingertips, her gaze fixed on the hard ridge straining against his breeches. Her eyes met his as she toyed with the buttons on his falls.
Benedict caught his breath, but he didn’t move as she twisted the buttons loose and pushed the fabric aside. “Oh.” Her eyes widened when his long, stiff length sprang free from the tight confines of his clothing.
She gazed at his erection, curious and baffled at once. It seemed impossible such a large thing could fit…well, where Sophia and Cecilia insisted it was meant to go, but Benedict had reduced her to a quivering, moaning heap of flesh with just the touch of his mouth and fingers alone, so perhaps this was like that had been.
Inexplicable, but wondrous.
It didn’t occur to her she’d been staring for quite a long time until she noticed Benedict had gone strangely still. Her eyes flicked to his face, and her heart clenched at his anxious expression.
He thinks I’m frightened.
She wasn’t. Not of it, and not of him—especially not of him, and she wouldn’t let him think otherwise. So, before he could say a word or draw away from her, she reached out her hand and touched him.
“Warm,” she murmured. “And your skin here is so soft.”
There was nothing else soft about him, though. Under the smooth, sleek skin he was as rigid as an ebony walking stick. She slid her hand experimentally over him, marveling at the smooth slide of that impossibly delicate skin over the hardness beneath, and the bead of moisture that rose on the blunt head.
She ran her thumb gently over the tip and a low moan broke from Benedict’s chest. Her gaze snapped to his face to find his eyes closed and his jaw clenched. She snatched her hand away at once, afraid she’d hurt him. “I’m sorry, Benedict. I didn’t mean to—”
“No. Touch me.” He grabbed her hand and pressed it against himself, letting out another desperate groan when she wrapped her fingers around him.
“It sounds as if I’m torturing you.”
A hoarse laugh broke from his lips. “You are. The only thing worse than your teasing strokes is not having your hand on me.”
Georgiana touched her tongue to her bottom lip. “Show me.”
He covered her hand with his and closed her fingers around his length. He gripped himself much more tightly than she ever would have dared, but any anxiety she might have felt about hurting him fled when his mouth went slack, and his eyelids fluttered closed.
“Yes, sweetheart. Just like that. Now stroke me, like…ah, yes.” His head fell back as he guided her hand up and down his shaft. Georgiana stared, fascinated as the rigid length in her hand grew impossibly harder. The swollen head flushed and wept, turning the tip a dark, glossy red.
“So good, Georgiana. Harder, sweetheart, please…please, ah, ah…” He seemed to grow more desperate with every caress, broken pleas breaking from his lips and his hips jerking as he thrust his hot, straining length into her fist.
Georgiana bit her lip, an intoxicating sense of triumph sweeping through her as her gaze darted from his face to the twitching length in her palm. She was giving him this pleasure—she who’d always thought of herself as the perennial virgin spinster—was making this beautiful man shudder and moan and plead for her.
It was…heady, touching him like this, so much so she wanted to get closer, touch him everywhere. Georgiana rose to her knees, her hand still moving up and down his length, and pressed her open mouth to his.
He let out a helpless groan as she darted her tongue out to lick at his bottom lip, and a hard, muscular arm wrapped around her waist, his hand settling low on her back to press her harder against him. “Are you teasing me, princess?”
Was she? All Georgiana knew was that she wanted to wring more of those delicious pleas from him. “Perhaps I am, a little.”
“Teasing a rake?” His hand slid lower to cup her bottom. “Do you think that’s wise, Miss Harley?”
Georgiana’s lips curled against his. “Well, it’s been delightful so far.”
He nuzzled her neck before catching her earlobe in his teeth, his tiny bite making her shiver. “Oh, princess. We haven’t even begun.”
“You mean, there’s more?” Georgiana knew there was more. Cecilia and Sophia had, for better or worse, shared every breathless detail of their experiences with her, but she hadn’t understood until this moment that no one could explain what it would mean, or how it would feel to her to be with the man she loved.
She wanted Benedict. Desire pooled in her lower belly, and every inch of her skin burned for his touch, but her heart, the swell of tenderness there…no one had told her about that.
Because they couldn’t. This moment belonged to her and Benedict alone.
She met his heavy-lidded dark eyes, saw the softness in them as he gazed down at her, and her heart flailed in her chest, its frantic rhythm both exquisite and painful at once.
Slowly, she began to stroke him again, pressing the weeping head against the soft skin of her belly, her mouth opening when she felt a streak of dampness there.
Benedict sucked in a sharp breath, then caught her wrist to still her hand. “Stop.”
Georgiana didn’t want to stop. She wanted to press her lips to his and make him fall apart for her. “No, I want…Benedict!” She squealed and threw her arms around his neck as he tumbled her onto her back in the bed.
“I know what you want, sweetheart.” Benedict buried his face in the curve of her neck, nuzzling her there as he eased her legs open and settled himself between them.
Georgiana sank her hands into his hair as he dropped a string of tender kisses from her neck to the hollow of her throat.
“Do you trust me to take care
of you, Georgiana?” He brushed her hair from her forehead, his dark eyes serious as they held hers.
He even had to ask? A small smile drifted over Georgiana’s lips and she opened her legs wider, cradling his hips between her thighs. “Yes.”
He drew in a deep, shaky breathy and reached between them to stroke her, teasing and pinching her tiny bud until she was slick with arousal, and gasping and arching against him. “I—I need—”
“Sshh. I’ve got you, princess,” he whispered, shifting his hips so the tip of his cock nudged against her throbbing center. He didn’t thrust inside her, but remained still, caressing her damp folds and suckling and licking her nipples as he let her get used to the sensation of him between her legs.
Soon that slight heaviness there wasn’t enough, and she was writhing against him, soft whimpers on her lips. She wanted…she wanted…
“Oh!” Georgiana’s back arched as he sank one long finger inside her.
Benedict gazed down at her, his lips parting. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”
Georgiana’s reply was lost in a strangled moan as he shifted his hips again, dragging the head of his cock over her center at the same time as he stroked his finger inside her, taking up an easy rhythm, his glittering dark eyes on her face. He kept up the slow, steady thrusts until her hips began to move to the pulses of his finger inside her.
Then he added a second finger, groaning as her legs fell open to welcome him inside. “God, look at you. So beautiful, and so wet for me. Do you want me, Georgiana?”
“Yes!” She clawed at the sheets beneath her, desperate. “Please…”
She cried out in protest when he suddenly withdrew his fingers, her head thrashing on the pillow at being left empty and aching, but he caught her chin in his hand to still her. “Look at me, Georgiana.”
She stilled, meeting his hot, dark gaze.
“I need to see your face when I take you,” he gritted out, his voice hoarse. “Do you feel me, sweetheart? Do you feel how much I want you?” As he spoke, he was pressing into her, at once impossibly large and hard inside her and somehow necessary at the same time.
Then he gave a quick, hard thrust and a sharp pain exploded inside Georgiana. She sucked in a breath, stunned, but Benedict was there, stroking her damp hair back from her face and murmuring to her, tender words of praise mixed with regret at having hurt her, until at last the burning pain receded, and her body relaxed around his.
He began to move then, slow, gentle strokes at first, crooning to her as he kissed her lips and neck and teased his tongue into the hollow of her throat, and she was so lost in his kisses, so lost in him she wasn’t aware she’d wrapped her legs around his waist and was urging him on, her body and her words begging him for more.
“Benedict, please, please…”
He threw his head back with a groan when she sank her nails into the sweat-slick muscles of his back, the cords of his neck straining as he worked his hips to give her what she needed. “Come for me, princess. I need to feel you come…”
Georgiana didn’t understand what he meant, but her body cooperated instinctively, pulling tighter with each snap of his hips, pushing her closer and closer to the edge of the peak, then holding her there for a breathless instant until the tension inside her began to unravel in warm waves of bliss, and she clutched at Benedict, lost in pleasure as she cried out his name.
She clung to him as he went rigid above her, a hoarse groan tearing from his chest as he took his pleasure. She held him tightly against her as the final spasms rocked him, a dazed smile on her lips as damp heat rushed between her legs.
Then his lips were in her hair, and his whispered words in her ears, and she was falling, falling into a dark, soft place where no one had to go away, and she and Benedict might stay here forever, with his arms wrapped around her and his heart beating against her cheek.
Chapter Twenty-two
It was strange how the night could drag on endlessly when one wished for it to be over, but pass in the blink of an eye when one wished it might linger forever.
Benedict was still asleep when Georgiana woke. His warm chest was pressed closely to her back and his arms were wrapped snugly around her. His soft exhalations tickled her skin and stirred the loose hairs at the back of her neck, and she squeezed her eyes closed to savor the sensation.
If she could have remained here like this with him forever, she would have everything she ever wanted. Something had woken her, though—a log falling to pieces in the fireplace. Despite the darkness, real life was already stirring, already prying into the private cocoon they’d woven around themselves.
London loomed large on the horizon, but she wouldn’t think of it now. Not yet. Not while she was still here with him. Their time together was nearly over, but right now this was her world, the only one that existed.
Everything else could wait.
Georgiana slid from his arms and raised herself onto an elbow, a delicious flutter in her chest as she gazed down at his sleeping face. His sensuous lips were parted, his hair tousled, and a faint flush stained his cheekbones. His cravat and shirt, his waistcoat and coat were on the floor beside the settee where he’d tossed them when he stripped them off last night, and her fond gaze lingered on his bare skin, the smattering of dark red hair on his chest.
He looked like a different man when he was asleep. More powerful somehow, without the layers of clothing covering his body and hiding the hard, tight muscles of his shoulders and arms. Those arms had been wrapped around her, and those long fingers had tangled in her hair, and her own hands had stroked the hard planes of his chest.
Georgiana gave into the urge to brush the wayward lock of dark red hair from his forehead. Benedict stirred at her touch and opened his eyes. His lips curled in a smile the moment he saw her face. “Good morning, Miss Harley.”
“Good morning, Lord Haslemere.” She returned his drowsy smile even as her heart gave a painful throb in her chest.
He pressed a sleepy kiss behind her ear before stretching with a contented groan. “Are you hungry, princess?” He rose from the bed, and Georgiana curled into the warm spot he left behind, pressing her face into the sheets to inhale his scent.
“I’m famished.”
Georgiana peeked over the edge of the coverlet to find Benedict standing by the table, peering into the hamper. His thick hair was mussed, his chest bare, and his breeches hanging low on his lean hips. Despite the heaviness of her heart, her breath caught in her chest. If this was how he looked freshly tumbled from the bed, it was no wonder every lady in London wanted him.
But he wasn’t with any of those ladies. He was with her, and she intended to take advantage of the little time they had left together. “Are there any quince preserves left?”
“We finished them yesterday.” He rummaged through the hamper. “Bread with butter, sliced ham, boiled eggs and…ah, here we are.” He held up a jar with a triumphant air. “Another jar of preserves. Strawberry, this time.”
“I suppose the strawberry will have to do.” Georgiana attempted a pout, but a grin rose to her lips instead. “May I have bread with some butter and preserves, please?”
Benedict’s gaze roved over her, lingering on her lower lip caught between her teeth, and an answering grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “You, Miss Harley, may have anything you wish for.”
Not anything. I can’t have you.
She pushed the thought away, unwilling to say it aloud and break the spell between them. Instead, she arched a coy eyebrow at him. “Anything?”
Benedict was arranging the rolls he’d found in the hamper on a cloth, but at her suggestive drawl, he raised half-lidded eyes to her face. “Anything, Georgiana. Everything.”
“There is one thing I’d like.” She beckoned to him with a quirk of her finger.
He took in the long waves of her hair tumbling over her bare shoulders
, and the strong column of his throat moved in a swallow. “I’m at your command.” He paused at the fireplace, coaxing it back into a blaze before settling himself on the edge of the bed. He gazed at her for a moment, then held a piece of bread generously slathered with butter and preserves to her lips.
Georgiana opened, sighing with pleasure as he fed her.
“The strawberry preserves meet with your approval, then?” Benedict asked, his voice husky.
“They do, indeed.” She licked her lips. “They’re lovely and sweet.”
He watched her with hot, dark eyes as the tip of her tongue darted out to lick daintily at the corner of her mouth. “Are they? May I have a taste?”
“Of course.” She held the piece of bread out to him.
He took it, but instead of biting it he leaned forward and ran his tongue over her lower lip. “Mmm. That is sweet. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted any sweeter, but just to be sure…”
He held the bread to her lips. Georgiana took an obedient nibble, the sweet flavor rolling over her tongue before the bread was gone again, abandoned on the table, and his mouth was there, hot and tart with strawberries, nibbling on her parted lips before he teased his tongue between them and plunged inside. He devoured her with a seemingly endless hunger until she was moaning, her lips swollen from his kisses and her fingers clutching desperately at his hair. “Benedict—”
“Lie down, back against the pillows.” His voice was strained, his touch urgent as he eased her onto her back with a gentle tug on her hips. “Yes, like that.” He lay on top of her, settling his hips between her legs and pressing his open lips to her throat.
Georgiana arched her neck, offering it to him. “I thought you were hungry.”
“Oh, I am.” He buried his face in the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply before dropping a chain of wet, open-mouthed kisses down her throat to the tops of her breasts. “Starving.”