“It’s from Floris on Jermyn Street in St. James’s. They make it especially for me.” She paused to draw a steadying breath. Heavens, the press of Markham’s warm, muscular thigh against hers, the feel of his warm breath and lips at her hairline—it was enough to make her dizzy. “Your powers of observation have quite impressed me, actually. The scent is a blend of jasmine and lily-of-the-valley.”
“Ah, that’s it.” Markham nuzzled her ear, before pulling back a little. “Your hair is still damp from your bath.” He gently slid his fingers through the heavy tumble of curls. “May I brush it?” he asked, nodding toward her silver-backed brush on the nearby side-table.
“I... Ah, yes.” Georgie placed her wine down before passing it to him. Their fingers brushed and a tingling warmth spread up her arm and bloomed inside her chest.
Markham smiled knowingly. “If it doesn’t pain you, can you turn a little, so that your back is to me?”
Pulling her robe securely around herself to ensure that she didn’t expose her bare legs when she moved, Georgie did as Markham asked. She knew she was being overly prudish, considering what they would soon be doing, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. However, when she felt the brush gliding through her hair, with long, sure, gentle strokes, she closed her eyes and sighed with contentment. “You do that very well. Are you sure you weren’t a lady’s maid rather than a diplomat?”
Markham’s answering chuckle, deep and warm, made her toes curl in her blue satin slippers. “I have been many things, Your Grace, but not that.”
Georgie wanted to ask more about his past—for instance, how he had acquired a broken nose, the slashing scar through his right eyebrow, and why his knuckles were so misshapen—but the moment didn’t feel right. She couldn’t deny their verbal sparring was exciting. But right now, she was enjoying the companionable silence that had fallen between them.
Apart from the crackle of the fire, the steady patter of the rain against the window and the rhythmic sigh of the brush through her almost dry hair, there were no other sounds. However, when Markham brushed her hair over one of shoulders and then gently kneaded the base of her skull and the tight muscles in her neck with sure fingers, Georgie couldn’t suppress an appreciative moan. “Where on earth did you learn to do that?”
“Sweden.” His hands moved to her shoulders and began to work out the knots there. “During one of my postings.”
“Ah, Jonathon mentioned you had been there. So, where were your other postings, if you don’t mind my asking?” He had broached the seemingly forbidden topic so she didn’t see the harm in enquiring further.
“Vienna. I had a short tenure in Russia as well.”
“You are certainly very well-traveled.”
“You could say that.”
Georgie suddenly wondered why he never wanted to elaborate. What is he hiding? She turned her head a little. “You won’t tell me any more about your work, will you?”
She could almost hear the smile in Markham’s voice. “Not tonight.” He leaned forward and placed a light kiss on the sensitive flesh beneath her ear. “Tonight, I plan to use my mouth for other things besides talking.”
Moist heat immediately welled between Georgie’s thighs. “Markham,” she whispered, leaning back against his wide chest. She arched her neck and he didn’t hesitate to respond. He gently pulled on her earlobe with his teeth before skimming his lips along her neck to her shoulder.
“Take off your robe,” he urged in a voice suddenly graveled with lust. He slid his hands up and down the fabric covering her upper arms, creating a trail of pleasurable gooseflesh wherever he touched. “And please, call me, Rafe.” He resumed the sweet assault upon her neck and throat.
Georgie hesitated as a wave of self-consciousness suddenly assailed her. Once she removed her robe, she would only be clad in her chemise. It was the prettiest she owned—a confection of fine lawn and ivory lace—and unlike her chaste flannel nightrail, it had seemed entirely appropriate for an evening spent pursuing illicit pleasures of the flesh. But the garment was so flimsy, Markham—Rafe—would be able to see straight through it to what lay beneath. He’d seen and kissed her breasts, touched her in her most private place, but to think of his gaze traveling freely over her near-naked body… it was a level of intimacy she wasn’t certain she was ready for, just yet.
“Rafe. I...” It was hard to speak whilst he was still feathering hot, soft kisses along her throat and jawline. “Perhaps I’m behaving like a silly, virginal miss, which I’m not, but... but I’ve never been in a situation quite like this.”
Rafe raised his head. “Look at me, Georgiana.”
She turned toward him and he cupped her jaw. She couldn’t escape his gaze even if she’d wanted to. When he spoke, his voice was rough with strong emotion. “You are brave and smart and passionate, and so beautiful, you steal my breath away every time I see you. I promised I wouldn’t push you for more than you’re willing to give, yet a moment ago, I was doing exactly that. My own desire makes me impatient. But, let me reassure you, tonight it is all about you. Your pleasure, not mine. All I ask is that you be honest with me. You must tell me what to do. What you like. And if you don’t like something, or are unsure about anything, at all, you must ask me to stop and I will, without question.” He brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek. “I want to fulfill your every desire. Whatever that may be.”
Oh my. Georgie worried at her lower lip for a moment considering how to respond. “I hardly know what to say. Where to begin,” she eventually said. “I know a little. As I said, I’m not a virgin, but there is also a great deal I don’t know about bed sport. And to even speak of such intimate things... to ask you to do certain things...” She shook her head as another wave of anxiety hit. “I’m not sure if I can.”
Rafe’s wide mouth tilted into a gentle smile. “Perhaps we could begin again with a kiss.”
“Yes. I would like that.”
Rafe threaded his fingers through the hair at her nape. His eyes then focused on her lips as he slowly, ever so slowly, lowered his mouth, stretching out the moment, expertly arousing her anticipation to fever pitch. When his lips finally slanted over hers, she whimpered and curled her hands around his wide shoulders, pulling him closer.
Yes, oh yes. This was exactly what she needed, this deliberate, agonizingly gentle, utterly delicious kiss. Her thoughts scattered as pleasurable sensation overwhelmed her; the hot, wet glide of Rafe’s tongue in her mouth as he languidly explored every recess, the tight ache of her sensitized nipples, the growing throb between her thighs. The feel of Rafe’s rock-hard body beneath her hands. His heady scent—fresh linen and bergamot cologne and clean male.
As soon as Rafe pushed her down into the cushions, Georgie immediately noticed the insistent press of his aroused member against her belly. Her heart was flooded with immeasurable, bittersweet delight. He wants me. In spite of everything, my hesitancy, my prickliness, my constant rebuffs, he truly wants me. And everything he is doing, and is going to do, is for me. My pleasure...
Their kiss soon changed into something wilder, deeper, purely abandoned. When Rafe nipped at her lower lip then sucked on it, she gasped. Never in her life had she experienced a kiss so decadent. Her desire instantly grew hotter, darker, and she moaned, arching her body against Rafe’s, wantonly and deliberately parting her legs. She was so, so wet. And aching, pulsing with urgent need. She suddenly knew she craved more than kisses. And this settee was not going to be adequate for what she ultimately wanted.
Georgie dragged her mouth from Rafe’s. “Please. If you don’t mind, I want to move to the bedroom. It may sound odd, but I’ve... I’ve never had sex in a bed before. And I would very much like to.”
Rafe smiled, his eyes flashing wickedly. “You have my whole-hearted agreement.” He pushed himself up but as Georgie attempted to stand, he swept her into his arms. She let out a squeal of surprise and he laughed.
“I’m sure your foot is still painful,” he said as he effo
rtlessly carried her through to the bedchamber. “I’m surprised you are actually wearing slippers.”
“Not anymore.” Georgie kicked them off. Her inhibitions seemed to be rapidly dissolving in the steady torrent of unbridled lust coursing through her veins.
As Rafe laid her on the enormous bed, then slid alongside her, she tugged at the tie on her robe. “I don’t need this either.”
“Well, I’m glad there’s something else we can both agree on.” Rafe helped her to ease off the garment, and in moments, Georgie was clad only in her all but transparent chemise. The awkward shyness that had previously overwhelmed her, had vanished at last. When Rafe’s avid gaze roamed slowly over her body, she felt adored. Desired.
She wanted to see him too. Explore all of his hard, masculine body with her hands and mouth. She licked her lips. “Your turn, Rafe. Take off your shirt.”
His mouth kicked into a devilish grin. “Certainly, Your Grace.” He sat up, raised his arm and snagged the back of his cambric shirt, then in one smooth movement, tugged it up and over his head before flinging it to one side.
Georgie sucked in a sharp breath as Rafe lay down beside her again, his weight propped on one elbow. Just as she’d always imagined, he was lean, his musculature so defined it was as if he had been chiseled from marble. Her gaze wandered over his broad shoulders and bulging upper arms, his wide chest, ridged abdomen, and narrow waist. The impressive bulge beneath the fall front of his trousers. Everything about him was perfect.
Feeling strangely bold, and more than a little curious, she reached out and lightly ran her fingertips through the smattering of dark hair covering his pectoral muscles. His nipples tightened and he closed his eyes and groaned. “I’m supposed to be teasing you, sweetheart. Not the other way around.”
Georgie smiled, thrilled that she was able to enflame his arousal. And he’d called her sweetheart. No one had ever called her that before. “Markham. I mean, Rafe,” she said softly and he opened his eyes. Unable to resist touching him, she placed her hand against his strong, square jaw. “Before we go any further, I wanted to tell you that your endless patience, your care, your tenderness, it means so very much to me.”
Rafe’s mouth tipped into a soft smile. “So much for my reputation of being incorrigible, impossible and wicked. You make me sound as harmless as an innocent choir boy.” As if to emphasize he had a disreputable side, he pulled the ribbon at the top of her chemise undone. “However, I think that very soon, you’ll be revising your opinion of me.”
Georgie’s pulse raced faster. Hotter. “I have no doubt that you are most definitely capable of doing very wicked things. In fact, I’m counting on it.” If Rafe could fill her senses, overwhelm her thoughts, and in the process, drive away the last remnants of her fears and self-doubt, she was now absolutely certain she would at long last achieve the fulfillment she so desperately craved.
“Good.” Rafe ran a fingertip along her exposed collarbone, then lower toward the dip between her breasts, making her shiver. “What wicked thing shall I do to you first? Tell me and I will do it.”
Georgie bit her lip. She understood what Rafe was trying to do. He was encouraging her to let go of her inhibitions entirely. But whilst her body vibrated with aching need, voicing her innermost desires with any degree of specificity still seemed like an impossible task. Nevertheless, she would try. “I want… Perhaps you could… I enjoyed what you did to me in the library. At the very beginning.”
“You mean when I pleasured your breasts?” Rafe’s fingers slid beneath the sagging neckline of her chemise and found one of her nipples. He squeezed gently, then rolled it between thumb and forefinger, coaxing it into a tight point. “Like this?”
“Yes.” The word emerged on a pant as wondrous desire flared inside her, setting every nerve alight.
“And what of this?” His lips closed around her other nipple and he suckled it through the lace and lawn.
Georgie gripped his head and shifted restlessly, her body now burning with want. “You are a devil,” she managed to gasp. “It’s cruel to tease me when you know what I really mean.”
“Words can arouse just as much as actions, my beautiful Georgiana. And words have power. I want you to know you are in complete control. What do you want from me? Say it.” The whisper of his warm breath across the tops of her breasts was a sweet torment in and of itself.
“I want your mouth... on my bare body.”
“All of your body? Kissing you, tasting you, everywhere?”
“Yes,” she whispered, frantically pulling at the loosened neckline of her chemise, exposing herself, at last bold and unashamed. Willingly wanton.
Rafe made a low growling sound in his throat as he claimed her naked breast. His hot mouth suckled her. His tongue mercilessly teased her, flicking then curling around the taut, pink tip, making her quiver and whimper. All the while, his fingers tormented her other nipple, rolling it and tugging it, effortlessly building the flames of desire within her to blazing proportions.
When he pulled his mouth away she mewled in protest. “Please, don’t stop.”
“I promise you, I’m only just beginning, my sweet.” He transferred his mouth to her other breast, this time working it with deeper, longer sucks that soon had her writhing and gasping. Mindless with pleasure.
“You are coming alive in my arms, Georgiana. I love it. But what do you prefer?” he asked at length, his voice husky with lust. “Light teasing or hard sucking?”
“Sucking. Definitely sucking. But...” Rafe’s lavish worship of her breasts was no longer enough. She knew she was ready to take things further.
“But what? Tell me.” Rafe’s dark whisper against her skin sent a fresh rush of slick heat straight to her pulsing sex.
She couldn’t deny him. “I want your fingers between my thighs,” she said, reaching for the hem of her chemise; it had already bunched halfway up her legs.
But Rafe was faster. Within seconds, he’d pushed the fabric above her waist. His fingers tiptoed a lazy path across her ribs, her quivering stomach then down toward her hips. He paused, the heel of his hand resting lightly on the curls hiding her mound. “Only my fingers?” he asked, cocking a dark brow.
Georgie’s gaze crept along Rafe’s body to where his massive erection strained against the front of his trousers. She gnawed on her lower lip as uneasiness flickered through her. “I want you inside me, but I’m not sure if I’m quite ready—”
“Don’t be alarmed. You mistake my meaning.” He kissed her, his tongue sweeping suggestively over her lower lip. “I want to use more than my fingers. I want to pleasure your sweet, wet quim with my mouth.”
What? She’d agreed to Rafe kissing all of her body but surely not there. “You cannot be serious,” Georgie gasped. His wicked suggestion had immediately triggered a frisson of panic in her belly, but perversely, her curiosity was also piqued. She frowned, horrified yet intrigued. “Why would you want to?”
“I have fantasized about doing this, ever since we first kissed, Georgiana. I’m dying to learn how every single part of you tastes. And I can guarantee that if you allow me to pleasure you this way, you will not leave this room unsatisfied.” His burning gray gaze bore into hers. “Trust me.”
The thought of his mouth exploring her sex, it was too shocking. Yet Georgie couldn’t deny that a small, wicked part of her found the bizarre offer wildly exciting. She certainly knew women pleasured men that way so maybe the idea wasn’t that outlandish. Perhaps trying something new, outside of her realm of experience was exactly what she needed. “All right,” she whispered.
Rafe’s wide mouth spread into a slow, thoroughly captivating smile. “I promise you, you won’t regret this.”
Dear Lord, I pray that I won’t either. Georgie forced herself to relax into the pillows as Rafe moved down the bed with studied purpose. Along the way, he slid his mouth down her torso, swirled the tip of his tongue around her navel then traced a line of leisurely, feather-light kisses over her hip and l
ower belly until he reached the very edge of her light brown curls. Despite her initial trepidation, hot thrills skittered across her sensitive skin wherever he touched.
“Open for me, Georgie.”
Her heart crashing against her ribs, Georgie did as Rafe bid. She stole a glance at him as he positioned himself between her trembling thighs and heat immediately scorched her cheeks. Oh, God. He was staring at her most private place with an expression that could only be described as rapt. He had the look of a starving man contemplating a feast.
“Rafe,” she whispered uncertainly, fighting the urge to close her legs.
“Shhh, sweetheart.” He ran a finger through the moisture she could feel drenching her folds and she moaned. How could she be so embarrassed yet so completely aroused all at once?
“How beautifully wet you are for me,” he continued hoarsely. “Slick and swollen and flushed with desire.” He spread her aching, heavy lips with his thumbs then dipped his head and blew across the throbbing bud at the very apex. “I want you. Tell me you want this too, Georgie.”
“Yes.” She arched her hips. This suspense was agony. Her need had never been so acute. Unbearable. “I want this.”
Her breathless plea was enough to prompt Rafe into taking immediate action. Using his fingers to keep her fully exposed, he closed his lips around her core and delicately suckled. Georgie cried out as a bolt of pleasure streaked through her. She clutched Rafe’s head. He was right. This could work. She wouldn’t regret it. The sensations he was arousing in her with this outrageous act were utterly divine, unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. Primal yet profoundly intimate. Beyond words.
And Rafe was relentless, unforgiving in his pursuit to drive her to the climax she so desperately needed. Everything he did with his mouth—the hot, wet slide and flicks of his tongue, the tight pull of his lips around the engorged, tender nub of her clitoris—he did it with relish. Even the sounds he made—the low growls, his heavy breathing, the lapping and wet sucking noises—sounds that should have shocked her, only served to drive her need higher. As her insides clenched tighter, her pants and moans became increasingly ragged, her thrashing and jerking more frantic. She gripped Rafe’s hair—pulling so hard she must have hurt him—but he gave her no quarter, no respite at all from the hot, mad frenzy that he was steadily building inside her.
The Ice Duchess: Scandalous Regency Widows, Book 2 Page 17