Her father’s suicide.
Her husband’s demise mere months ago.
Someone must ensure she suffers for her sins of pride, lust, and greed.
And someone must protect Whitney from falling prey to those same sins.
That someone will be me.
Chapter 8
“Emily…?”
She gave herself a mental shake as she realized she had allowed her thoughts to drift in the middle of Whitney speaking to her.
Not that Whitney was in the least boring. He was far too intensely male to ever be that. Nor was he a gentleman she, or anyone else, would ever be able to overlook or ignore. Not only because of his dashing good looks and confident manner: his conversation, as they ate the rest of their dinner, had been both interesting and amusing, as he told her some of the funnier stories of Society. No doubt with the intention of putting Emily at ease.
He might have succeeded too, if not for the feeling she’d had all evening, and could not seem to shake, that she was being watched. That she and Whitney both were being watched.
Perhaps she had been wrong earlier and one or more of Whitney’s servants did bear him ill feelings? To the extent they spied upon him, and eavesdropped on his conversation?
Whatever or whoever was responsible for Emily’s feelings of discomfort during dinner—the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end, and cold shivers ran up and down the length of her spine—that feeling of being watched had dissipated only once they left the dining room and retired to Whitney’s study.
“Thank you.” She accepted the glass of brandy Clarke handed to her. She and Whitney were now seated opposite each other in the two armchairs placed either side of the warming fire, the curtains drawn against the night outside.
“Have you seen the library yet?” Whitney prompted once he had dismissed Clarke for the night.
Emily shot Whitney a mischievous smile. “I would not dare to presume to venture inside until I am given permission.”
“I am fast coming to appreciate there is little you would not presume or dare to do if you have a mind to do it,” he drawled dryly.
Her eyes widened. “I have no idea how you might have come by such a disagreeable opinion of me.”
“It was not meant as a criticism. I admire your determination and fortitude.”
“You do?”
“I do,” Xander confirmed, watching Emily through narrowed lids as he reclined back in his chair. Following a somewhat rocky start to the evening, he now felt far too mellow from their companionable dinner together, accompanied by several glasses of fine wine, to raise the energy to argue with Emily again tonight.
Arguing with her was the last thing on his mind.
Making love to her being the first.
“Come over here,” he invited huskily.
She blinked those long lashes several times before answering him. “I am perfectly comfortable where I am, thank you.”
He shook his head. “Your shoulders and back are tense. Come over here, sit on the floor between my legs, and I will massage them for you.”
Emily’s mouth became dry at Whitney’s outrageous suggestion. At the thought of being held captive between his thighs and having those long elegant hands touching her shoulders and down the length of her spine.
They seemed so very alone in here together, the rest of the house completely silent apart from the usual creaks and noises of any house.
There was no denying she was still a little tense from those feelings she’d had of being watched during dinner, but that was no reason for her to forget all social etiquette and sit between Whitney’s parted thighs. It would be most improper. Scandalously so.
Then why was it also wickedly tempting?
Perhaps she had become wicked since her arrival at Whitney Park. Her behavior last night, touching and caressing herself until she trembled and quaked in the ecstasy of release, would certainly seem to indicate as much.
An ecstasy of pleasure Emily had been unable to put from her mind all day.
And to long for the time she could be alone in her bedchamber later tonight, so that she might see if she could stroke and caress her body to ecstasy again.
How much more pleasurable would it be to have Whitney’s hands and fingers giving her that same pleasure?
Her nipples tingled, engorging to hard and sensitive peaks, a moist heat flooding between her thighs, from only imagining it.
“As you will not come to me, I will come to you.”
“No…” Emily could only protest weakly as she watched Whitney place his brandy glass on the table beside him before standing.
“Yes.” He easily held her mesmerized gaze as he removed his jacket and placed it on the arm of his chair before crossing the room to stand behind her chair. “Sit forward a little. Good,” he murmured his approval as she slowly leaned forward. “Relax,” he instructed sternly.
Emily had tensed at the first touch of his hands against the exposed flesh at her nape, and it now took every effort of will to force that stiffness from her shoulders beneath the warmth of Whitney’s palms.
She let out a groan, neck arching, as his fingers began to knead and press into the tightness at her nape. It felt…wonderful. Whitney’s hands were so warm, and those long and elegant fingers dug into her tensed flesh with just the right amount of pressure; a fine line between pleasure and pain.
“The high neckline of your gown is impeding my progress.”
Emily let out a squeak of protest as Whitney unfastened the half-dozen buttons running the length of her gown, from her nape to her bottom. As she had no maid to assist her with dressing, Emily had made all her gowns in such a way as to enable her to fasten and unfasten the buttons herself.
Another pleasurable groan passed her lips as she once again felt Whitney’s fingers against the heat of her bared skin. Lower this time, the pressure now being exerted between her exposed shoulder blades.
Xander felt like letting out a groan himself, his cock having hardened painfully at the low and breathy sounds of Emily’s sighs and moans of pleasure. Her skin felt soft as velvet beneath the hard caress of his fingers, silky smooth and yielding above her chemise.
The vulnerability of her nape was mere inches away, a temptation Xander could no longer resist as he lowered his head to breathe in her perfume: lemons, flowers, and… His already hard cock began to throb in response to the womanly aroma of Emily’s arousal.
“What are you…” Emily broke off with a soft gasp as Xander pressed soft lips against the warmth of her exposed flesh.
Something he had been wanting to do for hours.
Looking at Emily aroused him.
Conversing with Emily aroused him.
Arguing with Emily aroused him.
The truth of the matter was, everything about this woman aroused him.
She was not as beautiful as many of the women he had bedded in the past. Her contrariness in arguing with him on almost every subject was also at odds with the obliging eagerness of those other women. Her determination to keep the mystery of her past to herself was decidedly irritating.
But her conversation was not only interesting but stimulating.
Those womanly curves even more so.
The huskiness of her laugh sent pleasure rushing straight to his cock.
Xander could not remember the last time he had wanted a woman as much as he wanted Emily. If he ever had…
His lips continued to explore the silk of her skin as his hands moved beneath her gown and then forward until they cupped her chemise-covered breasts. So soft and yielding, at the same time allowing him to feel the hard and turgid nipples pressing against his palms.
Further indication, despite her earlier protests, that Emily was as aroused as he was.
She gave a soft whimper as Xander took those protruding nipples between a finger and thumb, rolling that swollen flesh before squeezing gently.
Her head fell back against his shoulder, arching her spine, and lifting and
pushing the fullness of her breasts more firmly into the caress of Xander’s hands.
Her groans grew deeper still as Xander continued to pull and squeeze her nipples, lengthening those engorged nubbins. Saliva flooded Xander’s mouth in anticipation of sucking on those ripe and swollen berries.
Emily made a sound of protest as Xander removed his hands from her breasts and then from her gown altogether. There had been something…erotic, in having those disembodied hands and lips caressing and tasting her body. Almost as if she were alone again, as she had been last night, giving herself pleasure.
That protest turned to a gasp of surprise as her gown was pushed down the length of her arms and allowed to fall to her waist. The straps of her chemise quickly followed, exposing the heat of her breasts to the cooler air.
Emily glanced down self-consciously at her breasts now spilling over the top of her corset. She had never seen her nipples so red and swollen, and surely they were grown to twice their normal size and length?
She glanced up uncertainly at Whitney as he moved from the back of the chair to stand in front of her, leaving her in no doubt as to whom those disembodied hands and lips belonged. He gently nudged her legs apart, pushing the skirt of her gown up to her thighs as he knelt between them. Emily could only watch in fascination as he held her gaze with his, then leaned forward to slowly rasp the moistness of his tongue across one of those protruding nipples.
Pleasure.
He continued to hold her gaze as he rasped that moist tongue over her other nipple.
More pleasure.
Hot waves of it, flooding from her breasts down to between her parted thighs in a hot gush of fluid that moistened her swollen nether lips.
She cried out with the intensity of that pleasure as she watched Whitney’s parted lips take the whole of her nipple into his mouth and begin to suckle. Softly at first, and then harder, deeper. His other hand captured its twin, rolling and squeezing the turgid and aroused flesh.
Emily could no longer look at him, her eyelids fluttering closed as she surrendered completely to that pleasure.
She gave a quiver of excitement as she felt Whitney’s other hand traveling the length of her calf, over her knee, along the length of her inner thigh, before his fingers parted and then entered the slit in her drawers. Those fingers sought out, found, and then caressed and stroked her throbbing nubbin.
Emily had imagined it was Whitney last night when she touched and caressed herself to completion. Had longed for those same caresses from him.
From Xander.
She could no longer think of him as Whitney. Any more than he was any longer those disembodied lips and hands.
It was Xander who knelt before her. One of her nipples was being suckled into the heat of Xander’s mouth, the other squeezed and caressed by Xander’s fingers and thumb. Xander’s other hand was between her thighs, touching her intimately, stroking and then gently pumping the erect nubbin nestled amid the dampness of her curls.
The pleasure was unimaginable.
Immeasurable.
Overwhelming.
Building higher, and then higher still.
Emily began to tremble and quake from the intensity of pleasure that held her firmly in its grip, her hips undulating up and into those caresses.
She gasped, her eyes closing again, as Xander’s fingers now stroked and swirled about the entrance of her channel, crying out as she felt one of those long fingers breach and slowly slide inside the contracting walls of her sheath. That cry became a loud and ecstatic moan as that first finger was joined by a second, stretching her as the soft pad of his thumb now pressed against the throbbing and exposed nubbin above. Moving to the same rhythm as he suckled and bit her nipples, and his fingers thrust in and out of her grasping channel.
“Come for me, Emily,” Xander encouraged gruffly, eyes navy blue as he looked at her.
Did he mean that blinding pleasure she had experienced last night? Was that called coming—
Those thrusting fingers curled inside her, stroking some hitherto unknown cluster of nerve endings and causing the pleasure to rush and then explode inside her. Fiercer, stronger than the release she had experienced the previous night, her juices flowing copiously over Xander’s fingers, the walls of her channel contracted about them.
Xander watched Emily in the throes of her release, her head thrown back, lids closed, lips slightly parted, throat arched. Her breasts were thrust forward over her corset, nipples red and swollen from the ministrations of his lips, tongue, and teeth.
He continued to look at her as he lifted his other hand, squeezing and pinching one elongated nipple and then the other, prolonging her release as her pussy grasped and squeezed his fingers. He could feel the hot gush of her juices coating his digits as they continued to press that knot of nerves deep inside her.
“No more, Xander. Please, no more,” she finally groaned weakly, having slumped down in the chair, eyes dark, her cheeks flushed.
His cock strained against his pantaloons as he gently withdrew his fingers before placing both hands on her thighs and slowly pushing her gown up even farther to fully reveal her white drawers. The slit up the middle gaped open from the invasion of his fingers, revealing the dampness of her auburn curls. Her nether lips were plump and red, and slick with her juices. The fully exposed nubbin above still pulsed from her orgasm.
Xander licked his lips. “I have to taste you.”
“I do not— Oh God…!”
Xander felt intoxicated by her aroma as he ran his tongue along the seam of her pussy, licking up all the sweet-tasting juices before turning his attention to the nubbin above, moistening and stroking that hard nub until it once again stood as erect and throbbing as his cock.
“Xander…?” Her cry was only half in protest, and she fell silent again, hands tightly gripping the arms of the chair as her hips rose and fell to meet the strokes of his tongue against that hardened and sensitized bud.
He slid his fingers inside her pussy again, two and then three, pumping them inside her while his tongue lashed that pulsing bud. The nubbin swelled against his tongue seconds before he felt, and then tasted, her second release.
Which was the moment Xander realized Emily was sobbing. Deep, racking sobs that shook her whole body, the tears streaming down her cheeks.
He frowned his concern as he sat back on his heels. “Did I hurt you?”
She gave a wordless shake of her head. But the tears continuing to fall down her cheeks indicated otherwise, as did her white-knuckled grip on the chair.
Xander pulled her gown down her thighs before rising to his feet. “Please believe I meant only to give you pleasure.”
“You did not hurt me.” She pulled her chemise and the top of her gown back into place between sobs. “It is only… I had not realized…” She buried her face in her hands.
Xander was at a loss to understand the reason for her tears. If he had not hurt her, and Emily claimed he had not, then what… “This is the first time you have experienced physical pleasure,” he realized with a frown.
“Yes! No! Well…not quite.” Heat now suffused her cheeks with color.
He studied her closely, noting that color, the way she chewed on her bottom lip, and the manner in which her gaze avoided meeting his. “You have given yourself physical pleasure in the past,” he finally guessed.
“Only the once,” she quickly defended. “Last night. I did not know… I had no idea before…”
“Before I kissed and aroused you, and you felt compelled to touch yourself to find some relief for the aches and needs of your body?”
The color blazed even more hotly in her cheeks at his frankness. “Yes. But this…this was so much more…intense, even than…than that.”
Xander did not know what to say in answer to Emily’s admission.
He felt angry with whoever or whatever had taught her maintaining control is everything. It was an impossibility to remain completely in control and still take full enjoyment from
lovemaking.
He knew a deeper anger with the man who had married her but not cared enough for her, in the five years of their marriage, to help her overcome her inhibitions. To secure his young wife’s satisfaction, as well as his own.
Marsden was not unique in that selfishness, of course. Many men in Society believed a lady must always remain a lady, even in bed. Obviously, Marsden was one of that ilk.
Was it any wonder Emily had responded so deeply to Xander’s kisses and caresses, and that once in the privacy of her bedchamber, she had felt compelled to give herself the pleasure no man had ever bothered to gift her with?
His expression softened. “Did you enjoy it?”
She smiled tremulously. “Very much.”
“There is more, you know.”
She swallowed. “I had a feeling there might be.”
Xander nodded. “Would you like to explore further during your stay here?”
Would she?
Emily’s immediate answer was yes. Oh God, yes.
Her second and cautionary one was is it possible to find sexual gratification with someone without falling in love with them? Because she could not allow herself to fall in love with Xander. He was a lord, a member of the ton, who socialized with dukes and marquises. A world in which she would never be welcome.
But she did not need to be in Xander’s world to enjoy his lovemaking.
Only for the duration of her stay here at Whitney Park, of course.
The temptation to say yes was overwhelming.
Chapter 9
“A picnic luncheon?” Emily repeated Xander’s suggestion uncertainly late the following morning. “Outside?”
His lips twitched. “That is where one usually enjoys a picnic. We should make the most of this continued hot weather.”
She glanced out the window. There was no doubting it was an unseasonably warm and sunny day. Perhaps the last of such clement days before the winter set in.
She was not concerned with the weather. It was the look of wicked intent in Xander’s gleaming blue eyes that was making her nervous.
She had woken alone in her bedchamber this morning, absolutely sure she must have imagined the events of last night. That she could not really have allowed Xander to make love to her so shamelessly in the study. That he had not really suggested, and she had accepted, she become his mistress for the time of her stay here. That the two of them would explore sexual pleasure together in more depth.
Desired by a Lord (Regency Unlaced 5) Page 6