by Gaelen Foley
Thrusting the past out of his mind in favor of his much rosier future, he continued kissing her, reaching down to untie the tapes of her single petticoat. All he wanted this night was to make her feel as treasured and beloved as she did him. When her loosened petticoat crumpled to her feet, he glanced down to help her step out of it and noticed that she was still wearing her shoes. For that matter, so was he.
Realizing it simultaneously, they exchanged a smile, then both of them kicked off their shoes. Ian gazed at his soon-to-be bride for a long moment, relishing the sight of her stripped down to her chemise.
Helen of Troy was no match for Georgiana. She truly was the most ravishing woman in all of the world, he thought, admiring her midnight tresses, her creamy skin, her rosy lips with a blush to match. Her cobalt eyes.
“Excuse me, you’re staring,” she said sardonically, the pot calling the kettle black.
But he only smiled. “Can’t help it. I feel like a king.”
“You look like a god,” she whispered fervently.
He lowered her head, abashed by her too-lavish praise. “And you look like an angel.”
“But I’m not,” she reminded him with a saucy little smile, drawing him closer.
“No, you’re not,” he agreed with gusto, and when he tugged the charming vixen into his arms, she laughed aloud. “It’s your best quality.” He kissed her soundly, then released her from his snug embrace and offered her his hand, casting a nod of discreet invitation toward the bed. “My lady?” he murmured.
Cautiously, Georgiana placed her fingers atop his offered palm and let him lead her there, to her seduction.
As she climbed up onto his bed, he stole a peek under her chemise at her bare bottom. She gave a small shriek at his roguery and laughed, coming up onto her knees to hook her arm around his neck, and pulling him down with her as they kissed each other madly.
“You taste so good, Ian,” she whimpered when he finally let her up for air. “Are you going to do what you did to me before?”
“Oh, that, and much more besides,” he purred.
“There’s more?”
He lifted an eyebrow and gave her a slightly sinister smile.
“Ah, of course there is,” she whispered in a knowing tone. “How silly of me! I’ve seen those carvings on the temple walls.”
“Mmm,” he agreed, nodding.
“What will it be like for me?” she asked him almost shyly.
He tucked a lock of her dark hair behind her ear with a tender motion. “Would you like a little precursor, my darling? An introduction, as it were?”
“Yes.”
“Lie back,” he whispered, and the trust with which she obeyed him shook Ian to the core. “Now spread your legs,” he instructed in a husky murmur as he eased into position atop her.
Still safely trousered as he settled between her slim thighs, his senses reeled with bliss at the feel of her soft, warm body beneath him.
“Ian, you’re heavy!”
“Sorry.” Roused from his daze by her protest, he immediately shifted more of his weight onto his elbows, then paused to glance down at her, making sure that she was comfortable. “Better?”
“Yes—much.” She gazed at him with such sincerity, such sweet wonder, that Ian couldn’t break the spell of her wide, violet-blue eyes. He could not look away.
He had never made love to a virgin before.
He was supposed to have done so on his wedding night, but things were never what they seemed.
On some level, in fact, being a man of the world, he had prepared himself for the possibility that Georgiana wasn’t a virgin.
She was, after all, an extremely sensual young woman with an avid interest in the erotic. He had braced himself already not to be shocked if he learned in taking her that she had given way before at some point in her past, to some other man.
He wouldn’t be happy about it, God knew, but at least this time he wouldn’t be taken off guard. If he did still choose to go ahead with the marriage, then at least this time he would know what he was getting into. Last time, he hadn’t been granted that courtesy, and he had lived to regret it ever since.
But now, as Georgiana lay in his arms, he knew with every fiber of his being that she was pure, niece of the Hawkscliffe Harlot or no. It was written all over her lovely face. For her, this night was an earth-shattering event, and to be the man she had chosen to gift with her virginity made it just as profound for him.
No, indeed, he thought as he traced the line of her cheek and petted the delicate curve of her eyebrow with his fingertip, this was a new experience for him, too. To be sure, this was not how it usually went when he brought a woman to his bed.
The acts he performed with his carefully selected lovers were mere empty performances of cold virtuosity beside this. A necessity for a healthy grown male, like water or food.
But this, she, nourished him so much more deeply. Her sweetness pierced into the very soul of him and loosed a floodgate of emotion. He leaned down and kissed her softly. She cupped his face and returned his kiss with all the nubile eagerness that he had come to know from her. Her responsiveness made him want to protect her all the more from other males who might think they could take advantage. They wouldn’t dare touch her once they knew that she was his. And she wouldn’t dare let them once he had schooled her lush young body in the arts of ecstasy. When she wanted pleasure, she must always come to him.
“Now,” he continued, resuming the lesson in a voice gone gravelly with desire. “You’ll push with your hips against me as much as you please. The stimulation will heighten your pleasure.” He swallowed hard, trying to contain himself. “Try it,” he whispered.
She did.
Georgie did as he told her, delighting herself and him with her first, slow, exploratory efforts. Ian smiled and closed his eyes with a low “Ahh,” while she shuddered in wild thrill at the dazzling sensations that that small motion sent coursing through her body. She was acutely aware of every place that his bare chest and arms pressed against her skin. He was warm and pleasantly heavy atop her and smooth to the touch everywhere, and so wonderfully hard, muscle and bone, strength so skillfully restrained.
She lifted her hips again, caressing him with her whole body, and he met her movement, raking himself against her. Georgie groaned aloud. “I think I’m going to enjoy this, Ian,” she panted.
His low laughter tickled her earlobe. “I fully intend to make sure that you do.” He hooked his finger under one strap of her chemise and dragged it down off her shoulder, freeing her breast while she continued rubbing against him. She could feel him there between her legs, big and throbbing, gaining in size, as hard as steel.
He cupped her bare breast for a moment, fondling her, and then did away with the other strap, peeling the top part of her chemise down about her waist. Again, he stroked her gently, and then paused to cover her chest in kisses. As he sucked on her nipples, she ran her fingers through his hair and then down to his shoulders, dragging her nails in light, taunting play across his splendid back.
He moaned and came back up to claim her mouth again. Her whole body eased against the mattress as she found her rhythm, her legs dropping open wider to cradle him between her thighs. She wrapped her arms around him. Her temperature rose another few degrees when he reached down and tugged the hem of her chemise up her leg and slipped his warm, smooth hand beneath the light cloth, apparently to pleasure her as he had that night in the prayer cave. For a long moment, she savored his touch, emitting a needy sigh as he penetrated her with his fingers. This time, however, unlike in the prayer cave, she was determined to reciprocate. Shoring up her courage, she reached for the placket of his trousers.
Ian paused.
It seemed she had His Lordship’s full attention! He barely breathed as she unfastened his trousers and pulled out the prize. “Oh, my,” she breathed, taking hold of him, her fingers wrapping around his weighty girth. She explored the kingly length of it and could not believe its size. “I
an, it’s so huge.”
He laughed breathlessly and winced a bit, closing his eyes. “Don’t worry, I told you I’d be gentle. God.”
“Am I doing this right?”
He never did answer the question. His closed eyes and rapt expression gave her all the information she required.
He appeared completely absorbed in the hand that she had wrapped around his rock-hard member. How curious, the way it throbbed against her firm grasp.
“God—your touch,” he whispered abruptly, his fingers curving around her shoulder. “I could spend in your hand. Stroke me. Stroke me, Georgiana. It feels so good.”
His silken plea set her on fire. She did as he asked, letting him show her how he wished it to be done. Once she got the hang of it, she pulled back and murmured to him to turn. He obeyed, moving onto his back. He reclined on one elbow; Georgie slung her leg across his thighs and straddled him on her knees. She leaned down and kissed him for all she was worth as she gave him the hard caresses he said he liked best.
As he accepted her ministrations in lavish pleasure, his sleek hips riding against her touch with every stroke, she had never seen him so close to letting go. After several minutes of this, his chest heaving, he tried to stop her, but Georgie refused to stop, not when she wanted so badly for him to let go.
And when it finally happened, she couldn’t take her eyes off him, devouring the look of anguished rapture that fled across his gorgeous face. His groans intoxicated her while his massive pulsations burst against her hand, hot and thick, spurting halfway up his chest. She was drunk on his soul-deep groans, mesmerized by the rippling power of his abdomen as another spasm racked him. Instinct alone was her guide at this point, but the wave of release that crashed through him was nearly contagious, shaking her, too.
Her heart slamming, she leaned down and kissed him as the height of pleasure left him adrift some seconds later. In the meantime, though, she wasn’t quite sure what to do with her hand, coated in his seed and turning sticky.
“I cannot believe,” he said at length, “that you just did that.”
“Did what?” she asked innocently, smiling to herself as she nuzzled his cheek.
He snorted, his low laugh husky and dazed. “Made me lose my mind. Could you get us a towel, love?” he added wryly.
“Where?”
He nodded toward the distant washstand. She gave him a mischievous smile and went to do his bidding.
In all, she was so thrilled with her success that she wanted to do it again right away. But, she supposed as she rinsed her hands at the washstand, he’d probably need at least a moment or two. Then she dried her hands and brought him the towel.
By the time he had cleaned himself up a bit, he looked like a different person, or perhaps a younger, happier version of himself, almost as if he were drunk. His lips looked fuller, plump and seductive. His heavy-lidded eyes shone with a lustrous golden glow. All the taut angles of his chiseled face—square jaw, sharp cheekbones—these were softened by deep, sensuous relaxation.
As she climbed into this new, cuddly Ian’s arms, she wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he looked even more handsome than before.
“You know,” he drawled, “I think I needed that.”
“You think?” she exclaimed in jaunty irreverence.
“Don’t get cheeky with me,” he retorted as he tumbled her onto the pile of pillows behind her. He came up onto all fours and crawled toward her slowly, like a big, hungry tiger. Wickedness glinted in his green eyes. “Don’t think I’m done with you yet, my girl,” he purred.
“No?” she asked with a gulp, her blush rising again.
He held her gaze with a smoldering stare as he kissed her knee—and licked it. “You’re delicious,” he told her as he pressed apart her knees, moving lower.
“What are you doing?”
“Oh, nothing,” he murmured as he strewed a primrose path of light, little, nibbling kisses up the inside of her thigh. He hiked her chemise higher with one hand until it was little more than a belt of loose fabric hanging around hips.
“Ian?”
“Georgiana,” he panted, his mouth hovering an inch above her mound. She could feel his hot breath against her most delicate flesh. He dropped his head lower as his tongue came out and explored at the juncture of her thighs. He clasped her hip possessively with his left hand, stroking her deeply with his right. All the while, his lush, uninhibited kisses adored her womanhood.
Good God. He built bliss in her body like a man would build a fire. She melted back against the mound of pillows by the headboard, petting him, and watching him through hazy, glittering eyes. He lay on his stomach between her legs, enjoying himself immensely, it seemed, as he gave himself over to this diversion, teasing and tasting her, playing with her and turning her into an utter wanton.
Never in her life had she felt so completely worshiped. His endless kisses celebrated her body, each cunning stroke of his tongue exalting her to new heights. Its warm tip sported and circled about her hardened center, and more deeply, he lapped up her nectar, still greedy for it even as it dripped down his chin. She filled his vast room with her moans and writhed against his warm, wet mouth in total abandon.
But soon, she needed more. All teasing fell away as she clutched at his shoulders, bidding him without a word to rise. She wanted him on top of her. Inside of her. She wanted him to make this impossible craving go away. She was so aroused that she bit his chest in hungry love-play as he came up to oblige her, freeing his fully erect phallus from his trousers once again.
“I want you so much,” she said in a shaky whisper, watching it spring free. She started to caress his hard length, but he captured her hand and pressed her down onto the mattress, linking his fingers through hers as he moved atop her. She wrapped her arms around his waist, spreading her legs wider to enfold him.
“It might hurt a bit,” he said gruffly.
“I don’t even care,” she panted, his for the taking.
She could feel Ian shaking with lust as his mouth swooped down on hers in a rough, ravishing kiss. She took it gladly, parting her lips and her legs for his most welcome invasion. As his stiff rod angled into the damp curls enshrouding her core, she clutched him to her, pressing her fingers into the supple flesh of his muscled back, urgently drawing him closer still.
She wanted to be filled with him. Her body arched beneath him as he glided up to her dew-drenched brink.
“Dear God,” she gasped out, her chest heaving against his.
“Georgie,” he whispered.
“What is it?”
“Look at me. I want to gaze into your eyes when I take you.”
“Oh, Ian.” She did as he asked, holding his stare in desperate adoration. She saw the fierce, stark need in his eyes, but more than that, she saw the tender reassurance. After all, he had promised to be gentle with her and she could not even imagine him breaking his word.
Wonderful man.
Somehow she summoned up the self-control to lift her hand and caress his cheek in a wordless affirmation that there was so much more than lust between them. Still, it was heaven to know that he was in control and he would get her through this fevered madness, satisfy her wildest hungers, and bring her out safely on the other side.
With an intensity in his stare that told her it was time, he began inching deeper into her aching passage.
Unfortunately, that was the same moment that they were interrupted, and the sheer fantasy of this night came crashing down.
From the long, narrow parlor adjoining his bedroom came the sound of bickering voices.
Jarred by the noise, both of them paused.
As the intruders came closer, Georgie recognized the butler’s voice, his tone full of pleading agitation.
The other voice—a woman’s voice—was breezy and sophisticated. “No worries, my dear Tooke, Lord Griffith is expecting me, I’m very sure. What has gotten into you? Would you please stand aside?”
“No,” Ian whispered in a
n agonized tone, going motionless. “God, no. Bloody hell!”
“Ian, who is that?” Georgie demanded.
He didn’t answer. He just looked at her in pain.
“Lady Faulconer, you don’t understand!” Mr. Tooke berated her. “His Lordship isn’t at home!”
“Then why is the light burning in his window? Silly old man, of course he is.”
“But he isn’t feeling well!”
“Oh? I saw him at the theater earlier, and he looked perfectly healthy to me,” she declared while Georgie stared at her near-seducer in shock.
“Madam, I really must insist, you cannot go in there!”
Georgie gasped as the doorknob jiggled, but her jaw dropped when the haughty intruder rapped impatiently on the door.
“Griffith? I am here to visit you. Would you please tell your butler to stop nipping at my heels like a dashed terrier?”
“I’ll get rid of her,” he whispered, “I swear. Don’t move.”
“What is going on?” both women demanded nearly in unison.
But while outrage filled Georgie’s face, the woman on the other side of the door let out a sudden peal of worldly laughter.
“Ian Prescott, you wicked beast, do you have somebody in there with you?”
“Tess—you really must leave,” he ground out in a strangled tone over his shoulder. “This isn’t a—good time!”
“Sorry, darling, am I ruining your fun?” she retorted, sounding a little less elegant. “Oh, I see. You’re with Baroness Watson again, aren’t you? Hallo, Emily!” she called sarcastically. “I do hope you’re enjoying yourself, for you have quite ruined my night.”
“Who is Emily?” Georgie demanded.
“It doesn’t matter!” Ian said hotly.
“Yes, it does!” With a furious huff, she planted her hands on his shoulders. “Get off of me!”
He lifted away from her with an exasperated growl.
Freed of his weight, she sat up at once. “Who is that woman outside of your door?” she whispered, trying to keep her voice low as she pointed angrily toward it.
“That’s Tess. Lady Faulconer.”