Her breasts pressed against his chest, rough with coarse hair that only heightened her desire. He ran his hands over her back and skimmed along her sides to rest in the dip of her waist. Heat pooled deep in her womb and moisture dampened between her legs. His arousal lay hard against her stomach and she slipped her hand between their bodies to wrap it around his—cock was the word in Hermione’s memoirs when nothing else would serve. Not a word that Julia would have so much as thought before reading her great-grandmother’s adventures, but here and now it was—a shiver ran through her—erotic and exciting. A voice in the back of her head noted, even with her husband, she had never been so bold as to touch him in this manner but she didn’t care. Bold seemed right, natural somehow with this man. As if something inside her had been waiting for him to set it free. Maybe she had changed, maybe she was indeed like Hermione but she’d never known this kind of passion, this kind of desire. Gripping and driving and unrelenting. As if she were no longer the Julia she had always been but a creature of sensation and need. He groaned against her mouth and she stroked him, relishing the feel of his arousal—his cock—in her hand.
His hands slid lower, skimming over her skin, searing a path of fire in their wake. A spark to kindling. He cupped her derriere and dragged his lips from her mouth to run kisses along the line of her jaw and down her neck. She pressed her hips against his, his cock hard between them. He pulled her tighter against him and lifted her. Her legs wrapped around him and her most intimate places pressed against the solid muscle of his stomach and throbbed. She felt his cock, hot and hard, resting beneath the crack of her buttocks. Her head fell back and he tasted the hollow of her throat and she arched toward him.
He took a step backward and they tumbled together onto the bed. Her legs fell open and he shifted to lie between them, cupping her breasts. His tongue toyed with her nipple, tightening beneath his touch. Aching need and pure pleasure sparked from his mouth to deep within her. She moaned and gripped his shoulders. He sucked at her nipple and teased it with his tongue and lightly with his teeth. Sensation flooded her. Her fingers dug into his flesh and faint whimpering sounds came from the back of her throat.
“Oh God, Harrison …”
He turned his attention to her other breast, cupping it in his hand.
“Julia.” Her name whispered against her skin.
Again his mouth tasted her, teased her. His tongue circled her nipple then flicked over the tip. And her back arched upward and she wanted … more.
He shifted to lay beside her, wrapping one arm around her. His mouth trailed over her neck and throat. His free hand drifted over her breasts, exploring her, caressing her. She’d never imagined her skin could feel so aware, so alive. She traced the hills and valleys of his chest, his stomach, with her fingertips. His hand traveled lower, his fingers tracing circles on her stomach. He hooked one leg over hers, spreading her open. His hand slipped down to rest on her mound, one finger sliding lower, barely touching her.
She tensed, her breath caught, and for an endless moment she thought she would surely perish from the intensity of her need. His fingers slid over the place where only one man had ever touched her and she shuddered with the indescribable feeling. He caressed her, his fingers slick with her own desire. The pressure of his fingers increased and she rolled her hips in rhythm with his touch. Aching need curled tighter within her.
Without warning his fingers withdrew and she whimpered with loss. He shifted to settle between her legs and she felt his erection, hard and hot, nudge her. Slowly he slid into her, filling her, completing her, and she moaned with the pleasure of being one with him. He pulled back very nearly entirely then eased into her again. His strokes were agonizingly slow, measured, and she felt every inch of him within her. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him deeper, her body throbbing around him, his cock pulsing within her.
Gradually, he moved faster, harder. She rocked her hips against his, their movement growing faster, frantic. He thrust into her again and again and she met his passion with her own. His need with hers. Faster and harder and hotter they moved in a rhythm natural and primal and instinctive. And she wondered if the glory and intensity of the pleasure tightening within her would surely destroy her and didn’t care and wanted more. Ached for more. And release claimed her, shattered her. She cried out, her back arched upward, and her body shuddered again and again with wave after wave of exquisite pleasure. He thrust hard once more and his muscles tensed against her. He groaned and his body shook with his own release for a moment or forever. Until at last he stilled and she clung to him.
For a long time, neither of them moved and she reveled in the feel of him still buried inside her. Still one with her. And nice was the farthest word from her mind.
For an eternity or a moment they lay together. Harrison struggled to catch his breath. At last he reluctantly withdrew and rolled to her side, pulling her close.
“Dear Lord,” she murmured against him. “Oh, Harrison.”
His arms tightened around her. He had been satisfied by intimacy with a woman before but never like this. Never as if it wasn’t merely their bodies that had joined but their souls.
“I do feel, well, my apologies.”
“Your apologies?” He shifted to gaze into her eyes. “Are you sorry that we did this? I realize it was unexpected. But I thought you … and I know I certainly, well, if you regret—”
“No, nothing like that.” She shook her head. “I don’t regret so much as a single instant. It’s just that I, well …” She buried her face in his neck and murmured something too muffled to make out.
“Julia?”
She raised her head and stared at him. “I was just so … abandoned! I swear to you, Harrison, I have never behaved like that before.”
“Never?”
“Never.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what came over me. I was certainly, well, I simply …”
“But surely, you and your husband …”
“Well, yes, of course, but not like that.”
“Like what?”
“Wanton!”
“Wanton?”
“Yes, wanton. I’ve never behaved like that before. I never knew it could feel like that.” She rolled over, wrapped a blanket around her, and slid off the bed. “I never! I mean I don’t. Well, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. And yet, I did.” She paced at the foot of the bed and he sat up to watch her, shoving a pillow behind him. She was amazing. All indignant and tousled from lovemaking and confused. She’d never been lovelier. His muscles tightened.
“You’re saying”—he chose his words with care—“that I make you feel wanton?”
“Yes!”
“Really?” The most absurd sense of masculine pride swelled within him. “Wanton?”
“Yes! Don’t make me say it again. I’ve scarcely ever thought the word let alone said it.” She paced. “Just as the word co—well, other words are now in my head.” She stared at him. “Words like that were never in my head. And things like—” She waved at the bed. “—like this! I never even imagined!”
“Never?”
“Never! I mean, I am not inexperienced. I have well, you know, but never with anyone other than William and certainly never unmarried … and”—she gestured wildly—“never with the lights on. Dear Lord.” She resumed pacing.
“Do you have any idea how disloyal this makes me feel as well?” She shook her head. “I loved William. And this, with him, was very”—she waved at the bed and grimaced—“nice.”
“I see.” It was all he could do to keep a straight face. She was so charmingly flustered. And he was so ridiculously pleased. Regardless, he was smart enough to know better than to let his amusement and pride show.
“All of which makes me think I am like Hermione and worse …” She stopped and stared at him. “Bloody hell, Harrison, I liked being wanton!” Her eyes widened and she groaned. He’d wager “bloody hell” hadn’t been in her vocabulary until recently either.
He c
hoked back a laugh.
She glared. “This isn’t funny!”
“No, you’re right, it isn’t funny.” He tried and failed to keep a grin from his face.
“You think it is!”
“Not at all.” He threw back the covers, crawled to the foot of the bed, then swung his legs over the side to plant his feet on the floor. “I think it’s marvelous.”
She studied him. “Do you?”
“I do indeed.” He reached out, grabbed the blanket she clutched around herself, and pulled her back to him.
“You’re completely naked, you know.”
“I am well aware of that.” He tugged at her blanket. “And I do hate to be naked alone.” She sighed and released her grip. He pulled the blanket free and dropped it. “Much better.” He drew her closer and nuzzled the soft, creamy skin of her midsection.
She gasped and her breath quickened. “You’re quite pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”
He glanced up. Her eyes were again glazing with desire and he cast her a wicked grin. “I have never been so pleased.”
She looked down between them where it was obvious just how pleased he was. She met his gaze and hesitated then smiled slowly. “Why, my lord, I believe you may be just as wanton as I am.”
“I do hope so, Lady Winterset, I do hope so.” He slipped his hand between her legs, his fingers sliding over her. She shuddered and rocked tentatively against his hand, again slick with desire.
He settled his hands around her waist and drew her closer to straddle his legs.
“Harrison,” she said in a weak protest that was more a moan than a word.
She rested her hands on his shoulders. He moved one hand to cup her bottom and with the other positioned his cock, sliding it against her until she made a tiny whimpering sound of need. Her body trembled and she gripped his shoulders. He lowered her onto his shaft, again hard and eager, and she moaned as he entered her.
His hands slid around her waist. He tried to restrain himself, to move at a calm, measured pace. But within moments of entering her, passion and need gripped him and he thrust into her harder and faster. She responded in kind, riding him, driving him deeper. Her muscles caressed him, gripped him, drove him on. All thoughts vanished and he existed only in the feel of being surrounded by her, engulfed by her, one with her. And the pleasure, tense and demanding, growing again. She throbbed around him and his blood pulsed in his veins. Her head dropped back, and he pressed his mouth against the base of her throat, tasting her, feeling the beat of her heart in rhythm with his own. Aching need for release spiraled tighter and tighter within him.
Dimly he noticed the bed rocking hard against the wall, the moans of pleasure that came from the back of her throat, his own labored breath. Wanton. Abandoned. Completely uncivilized.
Glorious.
He groaned and thrust upward and exploded into her, clinging hard to her as he shuddered against her again and again.
“Harrison.” She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Please …”
He thrust again and once more and her muscles tightened around him. Her release gripped her and she cried out, shaking against him for long moments until her head fell forward onto his shoulder. He tightened his arms around her and she clung to him. Until at last his breathing resembled something vaguely normal.
She giggled against his neck.
He stroked her hair. “My God, you are wanton.”
Her head jerked up and she stared at him. “Harrison!”
He grinned. “I like it.”
She stared at him for a moment then laughed. “That works out nicely then.”
A few minutes later, they had washed up and returned to bed. He pulled her close, her lovely bottom fitting snugly against him, his body curled around hers. Had he ever been so … spent? Satisfied? Content? Had anything ever felt as right as this? And he had the scandalous behavior of his father and Lady Middlebury to thank. She could be exactly like her great-grandmother if she wished but only in his bed. Only for him.
“It’s the book, I think,” she murmured in a sleepy voice. “I have been unduly influenced by Hermione’s adventures.”
“We shall have to do something about that,” he said softly against her ear.
She yawned. “I won’t let you destroy it.”
“I have no intention of destroying it.” His hands cupped the full firmness of her breasts. She snuggled back against him. “In fact, I think you should read it again.” He nibbled lightly on her ear. “Over and over again.”
She sighed in agreement. Within moments her breathing was even and he knew she was asleep. And, whether she yet realized it or not, she was his.
He hadn’t admitted it to her but he too was stunned by the passion of their joining. He’d always enjoyed the intimacies between a man and a woman. He’d always found it most satisfying. But this, making love with Julia, was beyond his experience. It was not merely a melding of their bodies but their souls. He’d never been insatiable before but with this woman he knew he would never be able to have enough of her. Would never stop wanting her.
Then again, he’d never been with a woman he loved before. Obviously, that made all the difference. He was not merely satisfied but he was, well, happy. Gloriously, deliriously happy. He wanted to laugh out loud at the thought.
In his entire proper existence he had never once considered that wanton was to be appreciated.
Julia opened her eyes, smiled, and propped herself on one elbow. She watched Harrison sleep and her heart melted. She should be exhausted but instead she was invigorated and quite, quite happy. They’d slept together, arms and legs entwined and at some point, made love again in the dark. Slowly and lazily and infinitely sweet. The late-morning sunlight now fell across the bed and she marveled at the path that had brought them together.
If indeed she was wanton, well, there was something to be said for that. It was obviously part and parcel of loving him. Still, she had loved William. Their intimate relations had always been most satisfying. But with her husband, the heights they had climbed had been somehow smaller and not the least bit overwhelming. At least for her. The release she had experienced, on occasion, in his arms had been far less intense than the explosion of sensation and bliss Harrison had brought her. But William had always seemed quite satisfied and she had been satisfied as well. Still, she’d never imagined the difference between tumbling down a gently sloping hill and soaring wildly off a towering cliff. She tried to ignore a twinge of guilt at the thought that perhaps Harrison was more concerned for her pleasure than William had been. William had been a sensitive and caring lover but he had never ignited the fire inside her that Harrison had lit. Good Lord, maybe she was wanton. Or just in love.
That too was different. Certainly, at the moment it could well be colored by the aftermath of physical passion but it seemed whereas William had owned her heart, Harrison possessed her soul. She had no idea why or how but it was something she knew deep within her. Perhaps Hermione was right. There was nothing as passionate as a man one argued with.
Harrison’s eyes remained closed but a slow smile spread across his face. “I don’t even want to know what you’re thinking.”
She laughed.
He opened his eyes and grinned, looking not at all like the stuffy Earl of Mountdale, with whom a woman might be content, but rather a man who promised a lifetime of adventure. “I changed my mind.” Without warning he wrapped his arms around her and rolled her over until she lay on top of him, arms folded on his chest, staring down into his blue eyes. “Now, my love, tell me what is on your mind.”
“You, my lord, you are on my mind.”
“Excellent.” He leaned forward to kiss the tip of her nose. “And that is where I wish to stay.”
Lord, when had she last been so happy? Still, as wonderful as last night had been, there were realities that needed to be faced with the new day. “The servants must be wondering why neither of us have made an appearance.”
He
chuckled. “The servants are probably already aware of why we have not made an appearance, given my bed was not slept in.”
“I had forgotten about that.” She sighed. “Still, we should be up and about.”
“Why?”
“Well, it’s late morning. I am never still in bed at this hour.”
“Nor am I.”
“We should dress.”
“Why?”
She drew her brows together. “Harrison, what has gotten into you?”
“You have and it’s quite delightful.” He kissed her hard. “But you’re probably right. As much as I should like nothing better than to spend the entire day right here, in bed with you, I, for one, am hungry. Ravenous really. Can’t remember the last time I was this hungry.” He grinned. “I wonder why?”
“Odd, isn’t it?” She returned his grin. “Especially as I am as hungry as you.” How had she ever thought him annoying and not completely charming and quite irresistible?
His arms tightened around her and he rolled her over on her back, kissed her once again then hopped out of bed. She caught her breath. She’d seen him last night, of course, but not standing, naked with the sunlight hitting him, highlighting the hard muscles of his chest, the way it tapered to his hips and, even in its passive state, his most impressive—she winced—cock.
He glanced around the room. “Do you have any idea where my clothes went to?”
“Under the chaise in the corner perhaps?” she said innocently then watched him stride across the room and bend over to look under the couch. Hermione was right. A man should look good walking away.
He straightened and shook his head. “Not here. Now, if I remember right …” He grinned at her. “I lost my dressing gown somewhere between the door and—”
A sharp knock sounded at the door and at once it opened.
… and he dove under the bedclothes and pretended to be fast asleep thus leaving me to face the wrath of the lady I had been told no longer held his affections. It was obvious she had not been similarly informed. You can well imagine, Dear Reader, especially given my lack of attire, that I was quite at a loss for words. Still, there was a lesson to be learned. Regardless of how discreet one may believe one’s actions or the precautions taken to avoid discovery, privacy can never be completely assured.
The Perfect Mistress Page 26