Suspended on the edge of pleasure, she willed herself to surrender to the pull of release. She was close. So close. She whimpered and brazenly pushed herself against Rafe’s mouth. Nothing existed except him and his wicked possession of her sex. “Oh please... Please make me come.”
Rafe pressed one finger, then another inside her. Thrusting, pumping. Stroking faster and deeper as he surrounded her clitoris with his lips, increasing the suction, pulling hard. And then suddenly, everything inside her clenched tight. Unbearably tight. Too tight.
Yes. On an exultant scream, she fell. Let go. Spun away into the dazzling ecstasy of a breath-stealing, all-consuming orgasm. As spasms of pleasure racked her womb, wild joy filled her heart. And the warmth of gratitude.
Rafe had truly freed her. Taken her to another place entirely. A place where she was alive and whole again. A beautiful place where hope lived.
She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt Rafe brushing his fingers across her wet cheeks.
“Georgie,” he whispered hoarsely as he gathered her into his arms. “My gorgeous, passionate Georgie.” When she met his gaze, all she could see was tenderness in the smoky gray depths of his eyes. Understanding in his soft smile. There was no self-serving expression of triumph or smugness. He clearly knew she’d been satisfied and he was happy for her.
In that moment, her heart melted just that little bit more. Falling in love with Rafe suddenly didn’t seem like such a terrifying prospect after all. She caressed his jaw then kissed him, gently. His lips tasted like sex—his own addictive flavor was overlaid with a hint of her own musk—but she didn’t mind.
“Thank you,” she whispered, touching his strong, beautiful face again, tracing the line of his lips, his cheekbones, the slightly crooked line of his nose. “You have no idea what you have done for me. I feel like the sleeping beauty in the wood who’s just been awakened by the gallant prince.”
Although Rafe still smiled, his gaze grew heavier somehow, more focused. It was as if all of her artifice had been stripped away and he could really see her, all of her—her vulnerabilities, the shadows of her emotional scars, her hopes and dreams. Every single piece of her.
“Georgiana,” he murmured. “This—what we have started tonight—it’s very real, my darling. And I predict it’s going to be so much better than anything you’ve ever read in a fairy tale.”
Oh, my goodness. Before she could even think on the implications of what he’d just said, Rafe claimed her mouth in another languid, thoroughly drugging kiss. A kiss that left her in no doubt that their night of shared sensual pleasure was only just beginning. As he covered her body with his, she couldn’t fail to notice the hard press of his large, fully erect cock against her bare stomach. She had received a full measure of blissful release, but he had not. He must be in agony.
Breaking the kiss, she sought his gaze. “Rafe. You have pleased me so well. I think it’s your turn to receive some satisfaction, don’t you?” In her wildest dreams, she’d never thought there would be an occasion—or that she would have the confidence—to make such a bold offer. It might have been ten long years since she’d done anything like this, but she was going to try… After all, this was Markham. Rafe. The only man she wanted to think about. To pleasure.
I can do this and I’m going to enjoy it just as much as he is.
Georgie’s words provoked an immediate reaction. Rafe’s cock jerked and his balls contracted. Painfully. Christ. “Georgie. Are you sure, sweetheart? This evening is all about you. What you need—“
She smiled and pressed her hips against him; the wicked woman was deliberately teasing him. “What I need, is for you to experience the amazing pleasure I just felt,” she practically purred. She slid her hand between their bodies and gently grasped him through the fabric of his trousers. “I insist.”
Fireworks exploded in his head. “Sweet Jesus,” he groaned through gritted teeth. He’d vowed to himself that he would ignore his own need, but with the taste of her still on his tongue, and the way she was stroking him, he couldn’t take much more. “Georgie…” He stilled her hand and rolled away from her a little to ease the torturous pressure. “How? I mean... I can seek my own release if...” He didn’t know what she would feel comfortable doing for him. “Please don’t feel you have to—”
“Shhh, I want to.” She kissed his throat then ran the tip of her tongue along his clenched jaw. All the while her wicked hand rubbed and squeezed. “And as to your first question…” She drew back slightly and began to unbutton the placket at the front of his trousers with deft fingers. “What would you like me to do?” Her lovely mouth curved into a very feline, very sexually confident smile. “I am open to suggestions.”
God, she’s a siren. She’ll kill me. Rafe hissed as her hand encircled his throbbing shaft. His heart thundered so hard he thought it might explode. “What you are doing is more than fine,” he muttered hoarsely. The muscles of his abdomen, his thighs, his arse were bunched so tightly, he shook.
Georgie was stroking him with a steady rhythm, squeezing him with a sure grip whilst she used her other hand to gently roll his aching testicles. “Are you sure?” Her tongue darted out and swiped over her lower lip.
Cheeky wench. The urge to bury himself balls deep in her sweet pussy was suddenly overwhelming. “Yes,” he groaned. No.
She laughed, a low, musical, tantalizing sound. “Liar.”
She pushed him flat onto the bed and worked her way down his naked torso with her mouth, sprinkling light kisses upon his ribs, across his clenched stomach then down to the sharp ridge of one exposed hip. Her hand continued to work his length, sliding up and down, steadily escalating the hot, hungry fire in his veins. By the time her mouth reached the base of his cock, the head was slippery with his leaking seed.
To his frustration, she didn’t take him. Instead, she sat up and threw him a coquettish glance; her blue eyes gleamed through the fan of her long, brown lashes. “Tell me what you want,” she urged in a throaty whisper, mimicking his earlier teasing as she continued to stroke him.
A cruel wench. She was tormenting him, paying him back. He dropped his head into the pillows and gripped the silk counterpane. The voice he dredged up was little more than a ragged, desperate moan. “For God’s sake... your mouth... use it on me. Before you unman me completely.”
Another smile. Softer. “Well, we wouldn’t want that now.”
Bending forward, she licked along his entire shaft from root to head with the soft, moist, flat of her tongue. Then she skimmed the tip over his slit, lapping up his spilled seed. Rafe groaned. Wild lust pounded through his veins, making him dizzy. Making him crave more. He speared his fingers through the tumble of silky hair at the back of Georgie’s head, urging her downward. Ravening need was fast consuming him. He couldn’t take much more of her teasing. “Georgie... please...”
She relented. Thank God. At last her soft lips surrounded his engorged head completely and she sucked. Hard.
Fuck. He bucked, his whole body arching as if he’d been struck by lightening. The sensation was incredible. He’d never dreamed she would… or knew how to…
All further thought fled as she began to work him in earnest. The hot, wet plunge of her mouth up and down, the swirl and quick flicks of her deft tongue were exquisite torture. The gentle rolls and squeezes she administered to his balls were maddening. Everything she did drove him closer to the edge. Built the pressure inside him. When he came, it would be torrential. He glanced at her bowed head, her hand pumping his swelling cock. He should release the tight grip he had on her. He should pull away…
“Georgie. I’m going to—”Oh God. She drew hard, her cheeks hollowing with the sharp increase in suction and then he gave in. Lost control. With an almighty, chest-swelling groan, he climaxed, thrusting himself in and out of her hot, greedy mouth as his seed spurted out in an explosive rush. She grasped his shaft tightly with both hands, somehow swallowing everything he poured out. Not letting him go until he was c
ompletely spent and gasping as if he’d just sprinted a mile. The pleasure coursing through him was mind-numbing, his satisfaction so complete he could barely move a muscle. But he needed to. He didn’t want to fall asleep quite yet.
With an effort, he dragged himself out of the blissful oblivion Georgie had sent him to. Levering his heavy eyelids open, he caught her licking her lips, wiping the corners of her mouth with her fingers. Poignant awe immediately flooded his heart.
Georgie had avoided sex for such a long time. Yet she’d done this. For him.
He had no words. Instead, he lifted a hand and brushed Georgie’s hair away from her face, wanting to see her expression. She looked up and he could see that her mouth was curved in a triumphant smile.
Sweet Lord, she is stunning. To see this unabashed sexual side of her flowering before his very eyes stole his breath as surely as the incredible orgasm he’d just had.
“Come here,” he urged, holding out his arms. “What you did was amazing… No. You are amazing.”
Georgie immediately slid into his embrace. “I’m glad you liked it,” she murmured against his neck, her breath tickling his skin.
“I think liked it is rather an understatement. I loved it.” Rafe inhaled deeply, drawing in her unique scent—flowers and the musk of pleasured woman. The tang of his own release. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She snuggled in closer to his side. Her chemise was still bunched up around her belly, her breasts bare. Unable to help himself, he brushed his fingers against the side of one lush mound, then gently pinched her puckered nipple. As far as he was concerned, any flesh that was exposed was now fair game.
She squirmed and attempted to swat his hand away. “You are insatiable,” she admonished but he could detect laughter in her voice.
“When it comes to you, Georgiana, yes I am.” He cupped her jaw and kissed her delicious mouth, wanting to show her that he meant every word. When he drew back, she was flushed and breathless, her eyes heavy-lidded with longing. He smiled. “Remember, the night has only just begun, sweetheart. And I’m yet to be convinced that you’ve been satisfied enough.”
She laughed, amusement dancing in her clear blue eyes. “Well, now that you mention it...” She draped her leg over his, unashamedly pressing her sex against him. “What do you have in mind?”
Even through the fabric of his trousers, Rafe could feel how damp and ready she was. He ran his fingers up the inside of her bare thigh and gave her a wolfish smile. “I’m still hungry.”
Chapter 12
Georgie’s eyes flew open. Something had woken her. A cry in the night.
Markham. Disoriented, heart crashing against her ribs, she pushed herself up to a sitting position in the opulent bed in her room at Rivergate. There was enough residual light from the remnants of the fire and the low burning candles to discern Markham lying beside her. Shirtless, the fine cotton sheets tangled around his legs and waist, he would have been a sight to behold—except for the fact that his chest rapidly rose and fell with each shallow, rasping breath he took and his face was contorted into a rictus, as though he was in pain.
A nightmare.
Georgie’s heart clenched for him. “Markham... Rafe,” she whispered, tentatively touching his shoulder. He was hot, slick with sweat.
He tossed his head on the silk pillows. In the dim light, she could just make out the silver-gray flash of his eyes between slitted lids. His fists gripped the sheets. “Solange,” he whispered. “Solange... je suis désolé, mon amour.” His French accent was perfect, his voice tinged with despair.
Another woman. Someone he cared about.
How very odd that he spoke in French.
Georgie reached out to him again, wanting to ease his torment as well as satisfy her curiosity about the mysterious Solange, but at the last moment, she drew back her hand. Despite the intimacies they’d shared tonight, there were so many things she didn’t know about this man. As she’d kissed him, explored his body, she’d noticed the faded silver of scars upon him—his left hip, along the line of a rib, the shoulder she’d just touched. She hadn’t commented, but her interest had deepened. There was violence in his past, that much was clear. For all his charm and rakish smiles, she sensed Rafe wore a mask; that beneath his urbane manner there was steel. A dark edge. Dark secrets he was reluctant to share.
They had more in common than she’d ever realized.
Rafe cried out again. Whimpered. His jaw was clenched so tightly, she feared it might snap.
She couldn’t let him suffer so. Drawing in a fortifying breath, she shook him. “Rafe. Please, wake up.”
He sat bolt upright. Sucked in one harsh breath after another; he looked as though the very hounds of hell had been chasing him. “Georgie...” His brow knitted into a deep frown when his gaze settled on her. “Are you all right?”
She shook her head, confused. “Y-yes. Perfectly fine. But you’re not. You’ve been having a nightmare. You don’t recall it?” She wanted to touch him again, but he seemed so withdrawn and agitated, she clasped the neckline of her gaping chemise to her chest instead. She could feel her own heart racing, her fingers trembling.
He wiped a hand over his face. “I am sorry to have woken you.” He shook his head as if to clear it, then slid from the bed, facing away from her as he stood. The well-defined muscles of his shoulders and back were rigid with tension. His breathing was still effortful, a sharp sawing sound in the almost silent room. “I... I haven’t had a dream like that in some time. I apologize if I startled you.”
“You did wake me. You called out in your sleep. But I promise you, I am truly all right. But you... Can I get you anything?”
“I have it.” Rafe strode toward the door into the sitting room. “I’ll get the wine. I think we could both use a drink.”
Georgie could not argue with his logic.
Within moments, Rafe returned with their glasses and what remained of the claret. She took her glass and sipped whilst he all but downed his in one gulp before refilling his glass. After depositing the decanter on the side table, he sat back down on the bed. His long, trouser-clad legs stretched out beside her, close but not quite touching. She didn’t say anything. Just listened to the ever-present rain and the gentle tick of the clock on the white marble mantel. It was nearly midnight.
“What did I... what did I call out exactly?” he asked at length.
Georgie took a quick sip of her wine before responding. But there really was no point in beating about the bush. “Who is Solange?”
He sighed heavily. “A woman I once cared about. She died. Some time ago.”
Georgie didn’t want to seem like a jealous lover; certainly not over a woman who had long since passed, but she had to know. “You loved her?”
Rafe turned toward her and caught her gaze. “I had feelings for her, yes. But I didn’t love her. Not like—” He suddenly broke off and took another mouthful of wine before he spoke again. “The way she died…” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “She died well before her time. I’ve never reconciled myself with what happened. And perhaps I never will.”
Georgie didn’t quite know what to say. She wanted to ask him about whom he had actually loved, but it was the wrong moment entirely. And she wanted to know more about Solange and the circumstances of her death but the expression on Rafe’s face was so grim—the hard set of his mouth, the way the skin drew tightly across his cheekbones—she didn’t have the courage to ask him about that either. Instead, she reached for his hand and squeezed it gently. “It seems I’m not the only one haunted by the past.”
His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “As I said before, I haven’t had that dream for a very long time, Georgiana. I’m sorry to have burdened you with recollections of my misspent youth shall we say?” He gently scuffed his thumb across the back of her hand. “It cannot have been easy to hear me calling out another woman’s name as I lay beside you in your bed. Again, I apologize.”
Georgie offered him a smile in return
. “There is no need, Rafe. But... Perhaps I shouldn’t say this...”
He raised her hand and kissed her fingertips. “Tell me. I want you to feel as though you can share anything with me.”
She blew out a breath. “What I found most strange was the fact you spoke French. Very good French. It seems most peculiar.”
He quirked an eyebrow and his smile grew wider. The rake had returned. “I pride myself on my linguistic skills. I also speak Russian, German and some Swedish. As well as a smattering of Spanish and Italian.”
It was obvious he was attempting to deflect her line of inquiry, however, she decided she wasn’t prepared to press the matter. Not in her bed at midnight. Especially when Rafe was clad only in trousers talking about how adept he was with his tongue. He’d effortlessly brought her to orgasm a second time with his mouth before they’d fallen asleep. And she was suddenly dying to know if he could make her climax a third time. There were so many things they could do… So many things he could show her...
“Really? You speak Italian?” she asked absently as her gaze drifted across Rafe’s chest, down his taut stomach to the line of dark hair that disappeared into the waistband of his trousers. It appeared he had similar thoughts; she didn’t think she imagined the telltale swelling beneath the placket.
“Si, ma bella, Georgiana.” Rafe replied in a soft, seductive voice that made her belly curl tightly with renewed desire. He set aside his wine glass. “Voglio fare l'amore con te. Togliere la tua camicia.”
She’d attended enough performances of the operas Le Nozze di Figaro and Don Giovanni to know Rafe’s Italian accent was also perfect. Given the heaviness of his gaze and the way it traveled over her scantily clad body, it was easy to deduce what he wanted her to do even though she barely spoke a word of the language herself.
The Ice Duchess: Scandalous Regency Widows, Book 2 Page 18