His hand fell to the curve of her belly, stroking gently. “You are so beautiful.”
“And you are impertinent, my lord,” she teased.
With his gaze never leaving hers, he moved off her, unfurling to his full height. He was all focus and determination. Completely lacking in amusement.
Turning, he sat on the edge of the bed and removed his boots, allowing them to fall with two dull thuds on the carpeted floor. Then he stood and turned back toward her, making a slow, deliberate show of removing each piece of clothing, until he stood in nothing but his breeches.
His body…it was all solid muscle, his abdomen knotting as he reached down and began unbuttoning his breeches. A long, angry scar ran down his left side, still red and angry.
Slowly, he pulled his breeches open, allowing his granite-hard erection to spring free. Shucking his breeches the rest of the way, he took himself in hand and smiled.
“Are you ready, Emily?”
Oh, dear God. He was so undeniably beautiful. Whatever she had imagined—the visions she had conjured in her mind’s eye could not compare to seeing him virile, swollen and in the flesh.
Swallowing, she struggled hard not to avert her eyes. She wanted to enjoy every moment of this. She would not admonish herself. She would not restrain herself. She would feel freely, give herself completely. She would allow herself this moment.
He glared down at her, the anger still apparent on his face. “I asked you a question.”
Are you ready, Emily?
“Y-yes.” She cleared her throat. “Yes,” she said more forcefully.
He stroked himself, pumping his shaft as his gaze devoured hers. The scar on his shoulder looked red and angry. “Lie back,” he commanded. “Open your thighs.”
She did as instructed, lying back and spreading her thighs, hands fisting in the comforter. At this angle, she couldn’t see his face and it was torment. She was open, exposed to him. Was he horrified? Intrigued? Aroused?
Her suspense was satisfied seconds later when he growled, low in his chest and the mattress dipped as he braced himself above her. “I’m going to taste every inch of your beautiful body.”
“Yes.” She exhaled the word, arching her back as the sound passed her lips. “Yes, please.”
Emily sucked in a sharp breath as Stephen dipped his head and touched his tongue to the valley between her breasts. Then he licked his way down her abdomen, past her ribs, past her navel, until he reached the curls that veiled her entrance.
“Oh,” she exclaimed.
With both hands he gripped her hips and pulled her forward, his mouth covering her slit. He licked at her, his tongue curling around the sensitive spot just above her entrance. Then he sucked and her hips instinctually rose up off the bed as she cried out in agonizing pleasure.
Just as hot pinpricks started to spread through her limbs, he lifted his head and positioned the tip of his shaft at her entrance. “Look at me,” he said harshly.
She turned her head toward him and looked into his eyes.
“You. Are. Mine,” he said slowly, deliberately. “Mine.”
“Yes.” She nodded as she wriggled beneath him, her slit drenched from the wicked things he’d done with his tongue. She wanted more of him. She wanted everything.
“So eager,” he said, as he slowly slid into her.
The sheer size of him stretched her wide and her body struggled to accommodate his width. Sharp, stinging pain gripped her, but it was brief, followed swiftly by a piercing hunger that stole the breath from her lungs.
She threaded her fingers through his hair and moaned as he began to thrust inside her. Everything narrowed to this—her and Stephen, their bodies moving in unison, molded together. Their gazes locked.
His hands were braced on either side of her head, his thrusts quickened, coming harder, deeper, and more feverish with each long stroke. Emily moaned again, her muscles tightening, the tension inside her building.
With one final thrust, Stephen threw his head back and groaned, pouring his seed into her. At that moment, she broke apart, completely shattering beneath him. She cried out in pleasure and he captured her mouth in a kiss, swallowing her cry as the last tendrils of pleasure twisted through her.
They stayed that way for long minutes, until finally her body relaxed, sinking into the mattress. He rolled off her, and kissed her forehead, settling onto the bed next to her. In the warm afterglow, she nestled against his chest, listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart. Warmth and contentment wrapped around her like a blanket.
She realized with a start that this was what bards and authors, and poets mooned about in their verses. This was happiness.
This was love.
She was exquisite.
Turning onto his side, Stephen allowed his gaze to slide over the woman sleeping next to him. He studied her openly, unabashedly. She was beautiful—not in the conventional sense, but in a natural, unembellished sort of way.
He pulled back the sheets gently, careful not to wake her. The silky fabric sliding down her body to expose the curve of her stomach. It was a mere suggestion of a bump, but nestled within was a babe.
His babe.
He remembered only snippets of his time with Emily in Scotland. Mere images, really. Her naked breast, the warmth of her breath on his skin. To imagine that they’d created a life in that short time was unexpected, but now that he’d had time to process it, not at all unwanted.
He placed his hand on her stomach and imagined what the babe would look like. Would he have his mother’s smile, or her headstrong personality? He hoped so.
With a faint moan, Emily blinked open her eyes. A slow smile spread across her lips. “Good morning, my lord,” she said playfully.
“Good morning, ma’am. How is it you look so fetching this early in the morning?”
Scrunching her nose in the most adorable way, she shook her head. “You are teasing. How exceedingly unkind of you.”
“I am most assuredly not teasing.”
She settled against him, resting her head on his chest. He pressed his nose to her hair and inhaled her lemon scent, something like happiness filling him.
“I must apologize for last night.”
“Truly? I thought you were rather extraordinary. Though, to be entirely truthful, I have little to compare you to.”
“Little to compare me to?”
“Very well. Nothing to compare you to.”
“I was apologizing for what transpired with my father. Over the last several months, his illness has worsened. At times, it seems he is adrift in a sea of his own imaginings.”
“But surely he is not lost entirely. He must be aware of his surroundings.”
“He can recall my mother’s face and name, but little else. He lives in the past, trapped in near constant delusion by his illness.”
She lifted her head and rose up onto her elbow. “What does the surgeon say?”
Stephen shook his head. “That my father will steadily worsen as the days pass.”
Her fingers had found the fine hairs on his chest and twirled them idly. “I can only imagine how difficult it must be for you to see your father in such a state.”
“Indeed, he’s always been a force to be reckoned with and now…now he doesn’t know his own son from Adam.”
“And the gossip,” she hedged. There was something odd in her manner, a hesitation that was out of place. “Could there be any truth to it?”
“No,” he answered. “This is the Duke Arlington’s doing. He as much as admitted it to me.”
She was all attention now. “You met with him?”
“I ran into the Duke and Lady Evelyn four days past at a chocolate shop in Piccadilly Street.”
“Well, I would say he is not capable such cruelty, but I worked in his household for two years. He was a fair man, but brutal when crossed. I daresay he was not pleased with your fleeing to Scotland with his sister.”
“Indeed, he was not,” he said.
“It’s unfortunate your father is ill, otherwise he could refute the claims and all would be well,” she said.
“No doubt the timing was by design. A man who is addled cannot defend himself against false allegations.”
“Are you and your father close?” she asked.
Stephen pushed out a breath. “We were close, yes. Nearly inseparable when I was younger. He would often take me fishing, or shooting, or riding, much to my mother’s aggravation.”
“Why should she be aggravated by a child spending time with his father?”
“I could not tell you,” he said. “Perhaps she felt cast aside.”
“Well.” Emily laid her head back down on his chest. “I’m sure Mr. Morris will discover the truth and put an end to the rumors—”
“Morris?” His muscles tightened. “How could you know I’d hired Morris to look into my family’s affairs?”
He had told no one, save for Grant, about hiring Morris.
She sat up, gathering the sheets against her chest. She stared at him a long moment before answering. “Of course you would hire a man. It would have been remiss not to investigate such malicious gossip, if only to salvage your father’s reputation. And I happen know Mr. Morris is the best in London.”
He relaxed a degree. For some strange reason, he wondered if she knew more than she let on. Perhaps it was Grant’s proclamation that all women were nefarious creatures in pursuit of their own comfort that fed his mistrust. But that wasn’t Emily. She was far too wide-eyed and innocent to be so calculating.
“Tell me about our first time,” he said, directing the conversation toward a more agreeable subject.
“My lord?”
“I have only vague recollections, scraps of imagery. I wish to know the whole of what transpired between us.”
She glanced down at her lap and avoided his gaze. “You will think me a light skirt.”
“Look at me,” he said. She looked up at him. “What transpired between us is ours to share. You are not to blame.”
She dragged in a heavy breath. “We were returning home from Glasgow in a private carriage, and you were mended, but still a little delirious from the laudanum—though your manner was unaltered, your speech was a little slurred.” She glanced down, twisting the sheets in her hands anxiously. “We were discussing the benefits of farming one’s land in a crop rotation, when you asked me to come closer. So I settled into the seat next to you. At once, you leaned over and kissed me.”
Yes, he could easily imagine doing such a thing, especially with laudanum eddying within his veins, subduing his moral restraints. What few he possessed. She had a kind of sorcery about her. She possessed a charm and ease that drew him back to her again and again. That kiss had been inevitable.
“Continue,” he said, reaching beneath the sheet to stroke her thigh. Her gaze fluttered up to meet his and she swallowed.
“You kissed my jaw, and my chin, and the tops of my breasts…” He glided his fingertip along the inside of her thigh, savoring the texture of her soft, warm skin.
Sitting up, he leaned close and mimicked her words, tasting the tops of her sweet breasts. “And then…?”
“And then hooked your arm around my waist and pulled me onto your lap.” Her breath came harder, faster as she dropped the sheet and allowed his tongue to sweep across her nipple. “My skirts bunched up when I straddled you.”
“Yes…” he growled, shoving the sheets aside and tugging her on top of him. “What else?”
“You kissed me again, quite deeply and we stayed that way for a long while. At length, you reached between our bodies and unbuttoned your breeches.”
He kissed her then, sliding his tongue into her mouth as his hands found the globes of her backside. She straddled him, her wet slit cleaved lengthwise by his cock. His shaft jerked in anticipation.
“What next?”
She moaned a little, squirming against him. “And then, you entered me.”
Lifting her slightly, he shifted his hips and adjusted his angle, his cock poised at her entrance. “How did it feel?” he asked.
Her hands fell to his shoulders. “It felt tight, full.” Her nails dug into his skin as she rocked her hips forward. It was agony. “Painful, at first. But gradually the discomfort eased and I began to enjoy it.”
“Enjoyed it, did you?” he laughed. “And now?”
She arched her spine and tilted her head back, thrusting her breasts into his face. Christ, yes. This woman was a damned miracle. His tongue snaked out and flicked her nipple.
“Now I am beyond enjoyment. Now I want you with a desperation that’s painful and unrelenting.” Her nails dug deeper into his skin. “Please, Stephen.”
His cock ached with the need to sink into her. “Please what, Emily?”
She pushed out a frustrated breath, as though the answer should be obvious. “I want you inside me.”
“Ah, ah,” he said, moving his hands to grip her hips. “If you want it, love, you will have to take it.”
With a low, erotic growl of her own, she sank down onto his shaft, seating herself to the hilt. The heat of her core surrounded him, clutching his cock so tight he was sure he glimpsed heaven. A low, guttural moan emerged from his throat and he lifted his hips, taking her even deeper.
“Christ,” he rasped, pulling out, nearly all the way, then thrusting back into her. “Emily, you feel so damned good.”
“Faster,” she panted. “Move faster.”
Any hope he had of taking things slow, of savoring his time with her, was lost the second she took control. Her knees tightened around his ribs as she rocked against him, her breasts bouncing as she moved.
He was forced to oblige, taking her hard and quick, thrusting into her with wild, primal intent. A handful of thrusts and she cried out, her core tightening like a vice around his cock. “Oh, dear God, Stephen.”
The clenching of her inner walls drove him to the edge of the abyss and his own climax slammed into him. Another groan was ripped from his throat as he drove into her, hard, thrusting over and over again until every last drop of seed was drained from his cock.
Finally, she sagged and then collapsed on top of him, a fine mist of sweat coating her skin. He slid out of her, and rolled over, pinning her to the mattress, careful not to put any weight on her belly.
“You. Are. Extraordinary,” he said, punctuating each word with a kiss on her lips.
She smiled. “You had better leave before Bess comes in with my breakfast tray.”
Rolling to the side, he trailed a finger down the valley between her breasts to her navel. She was so soft, delicate, and yet the strongest woman he knew. “When does she come?”
“Half past seven.”
Turning, he glanced at the timepiece on the nightstand. He turned back to her and smiled. “Twenty minutes.”
“Fifteen,” she countered. “You must allow for time to return to your chamber.”
Reaching up, he brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. “Such a clever woman,” he said, more to himself that to her. “My God, Emily, what have you done to me?”
She blinked up at him, the look in her eyes uncertain. “I dare not speculate.”
He leaned in and brushed his lips over her jaw. “Then perhaps I should show you.”
She laughed, shoving at his chest half-heartedly. “You must go.”
A then, as if by design, there was a knock on the door.
Stephen groaned and threw his arm over face, frustrated by the intrusion. What he would give for just five more minutes alone with Emily. Five damn minutes. There was always some intrusion, some reason why they must be pulled apart. It was maddening.
“It must be Bess. Hide at once!” Emily said.
He lowered his arm and sighed. “Just send her away.”
Emily stared at him blankly. “If I open the door, even a little, you will been seen, clear as day.”
The yawning gulf between their stations could not have been more evident. Emily was horrified by
the prospect of a maid discovering their liaison, while Stephen could not possibly care less. Servants were a part of one’s life as a gentleman. Silent specters, hovering at the edges of the room, poised to offer assistance at a moment’s notice. If they had opinions, they did not share them and Stephen did not care to hear them.
“I won’t hide from my own servants,” he said.
“Everyone below stairs already distrust me,” she whispered harshly.
Another knock.
“Just a moment,” Emily called out.
She rose up onto her knees on the bed, her hair tumbling around her shoulders and shoved at him. “Stephen!” she hissed. “Hide this instant or I shall never forgive you!”
Good God. There was no closet, only a wardrobe that wasn’t large enough to admit his tall frame. With a groan, he slid off the bed and grabbed a throw, wrapping it around his hips as he strode across the room to stand behind the door.
Emily followed behind him. When she reached the door, she cast him a stern look before opening it.
“Oh, Bess,” she said in feigned astonishment—her voice was too high, her tone too cheery. Were it anyone else, they would not have noticed, but he did. He noticed everything about her. He made a study of her gestures and tones. The subtle way she licked her bottom lip when she was nervous or the way she fidgeted with the cuff of her sleeve when she was bored.
“Apologies, I must have overslept. No need to help me dress this morning. I’d like to rest a while longer before James arrives for our morning walk.”
“Very well, I shall return—” Bess started.
“No, no, I can manage,” Emily interrupted quickly. “T-thank you.”
Swiftly, the maid pushed the door open and stepped inside. “I just need to take the linens down stai—”
At that point, she had reached the middle of the room and turned toward Emily—but in doing so, she caught sight of Stephen, standing behind the door like a fugitive in his own home with only a throw to cover his modesty.
“O-oh, my lord,” the maid said. “I apologize, I didn’t…that is to say, I had no…”
“It’s quite alright.” Stephen stepped forward. “Naturally you will not mention this to anyone.”
License to Kiss Page 11