The Virgin who Bewitched Lord Lymington

by Anna Bradley

  “Ah, God.” Samuel arched his back, his pelvis jerking again, and Emma slid her hands from his chest to his hips. She wouldn’t be able to hold him once he grew desperate enough to break free, but until then…

  She leaned close, pressing her bare breasts to his chest, her hips still moving against his, and traced her tongue over his lower lip.

  “Emma,” he moaned.

  “Yes, my lord?” Emma drew back to gaze at him, lingering over his sweat-sheened chest, his hard nipples, his straining hips, and her core gave a needy throb.

  “Please,” he gritted, with another desperate surge.

  “Shhh.” Emma held her finger to his lips. She couldn’t deny him for much longer, but dear God, tormenting him until he was maddened with desire was the most arousing thing she’d ever seen. “Soon.”

  She watched his face as she circled her thumb around the head of his cock. His eyes were closed, his neck corded. “No,” he groaned, twisting out of her grip. “I want to be inside you.”

  Emma’s skin was flushed, her entire body trembling as she leaned down to kiss his neck and the sensitive skin behind his ear, a promise on her lips that he could have her, that she would give him anything, everything, but before she could whisper the words, he tensed beneath her, his stomach muscles tightening, and with a powerful surge of his hips, he tumbled her onto her back.

  “Samuel!” Emma gasped with surprise, but her cry dissolved into a moan as he fell on top of her, taking care not to crush her. She gazed up at him, her heart pounding. His expression was like nothing she’d ever seen on his face before—wild and fierce and darkly possessive.

  He nudged her legs apart and settled his hips between them, his eyelids heavy over glittering gray eyes. “Such a tease, Miss Downing.” He nuzzled her neck, then slid lower to kiss the damp skin between her breasts. “I never would have guessed it.”

  “Nor I. I’ve never…” She trailed off, cradling his cheek in her palm. She’d never behaved so before, but with him she felt safe enough to seize control where before she’d had none.

  Samuel pressed a tender kiss to her lips, as if he understood what she couldn’t say. “I want you, Emma.” He slid his warm palm over her knee, urging her thigh onto his hip.

  “Yes.” Emma wrapped her other leg around him, cradling him between her thighs, pressing their hips tightly together and dragging a hoarse groan from his lips.

  He stroked the secret skin of her inner thighs before slipping a hand between her legs. Emma writhed under him, arching her back as he stroked and teased until his fingers were slick with her arousal, and she was pleading with him, her fingernails scoring his back.

  Samuel’s burning eyes slid closed as he pressed the tip of his cock against her, sweat beading his brow as he slid inside, slowly, so slowly, his every move careful. When he was nearly all the way inside her he paused to brush damp strands of hair from her forehead. “Are you all right, love?”

  Emma arched into him, taking him those last few inches, until he filled her completely. “Yes. Please, Samuel.”

  He gazed down at her with parted lips as he began to move, restrained at first, but his strokes quickening as her legs tightened around him. A broken moan tore from his chest as his thrusts deepened, and Emma clung to him as he took them closer to bliss with every snap of his hips.

  “Come for me, Emma,” he whispered, slipping his fingers between her legs to stroke her swollen core.

  “Oh.” Emma whimpered at his touch. Heat unfurled in her lower belly, burning hotter with his caresses until she exploded in a sudden burst of pleasure. “Ah, Samuel.”

  “Yes,” he growled against her throat, his entire body going rigid as the pulsing of her core around him dragged him over the edge with a deep groan.

  He held her, his face buried in her neck until she went limp beneath him, then he drew back to gaze at her face. What he saw there must have pleased him, because his mouth curved, and he pressed a tender kiss to her lips.

  “Sleep, sweetheart.” He settled on his side and gathered her against his chest, his arm around her waist and his face buried in her hair. “Sleep.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Emma was asleep, her head resting on Samuel’s shoulder and her hair tickling his chest. He toyed lazily with the long locks, running his fingers through them and admiring the play of moonlight over the silky strands.

  He didn’t sleep, but spent the rest of the night watching the night give way to the weak glow of dawn, not wishing to lose even a moment of holding her warm, sleeping body in his arms, of feeling the drift of her breath over his bare skin.

  She hadn’t told him she loved him last night.

  Had he imagined that spark of love in her deep blue eyes? Had he persuaded himself there was tenderness in the way she’d clung to him, whispered his name? Or had he simply seen, heard, and felt what he wished to?

  Samuel didn’t know. He wasn’t certain of anything anymore, but for this.

  He wasn’t letting her go.

  “Samuel?” Emma stirred, warm and drowsy against him. “What time is it?”

  Samuel didn’t answer her, nor did he give her a chance to open her eyes before he was kissing her—her forehead, her cheeks, her chin, and at last, her parted lips. Emma sighed and twined her arms around his neck as his mouth opened over hers, his tongue stealing inside.

  He wanted her again. He’d never stop wanting her.

  “Mmmm.” Emma hummed with pleasure as he trailed hot kisses down her neck. “You make it difficult to banish you from my bed, my lord, but you must return to your own bedchamber before anyone notices we—”

  “No.” Samuel’s mouth drifted lower to taste the soft skin between her breasts. “Not yet.”

  If he had his way, not ever.

  Emma gave his hair a playful tug. “Refusing to leave a lady’s bed? You’re dreadfully arrogant, Lord Lymington.”

  “All marquesses are arrogant, Miss Downing.” Samuel nibbled at her lower lip, still swollen from his kisses the night before. “Demanding, too, especially in the bedchamber.”

  “You don’t frighten me, my lord.” Emma’s lips curved in a cheeky smile. “I’ve never been one to obey commands, and I don’t suppose that will change now, even if you are a marquess.”

  Samuel drew back to gaze down at her, and was instantly bewitched by her mischievous little smile. “Is that a challenge?”

  Emma moved one shoulder in a dainty shrug. “Perhaps it is, but not…Samuel! What do you think you’re doing?”

  In one quick move Samuel had tossed her onto her back and thrown one leg over both of hers, trapping her beneath him. “Never challenge a marquess, Miss Downing, especially in the bedchamber.”

  “There seem to be quite a lot of rules about marquesses in bedchambers.” Emma wriggled underneath him, making a great show of attempting to escape him. “Why, you wicked man.”

  Samuel had never seen her so playful before, and her breathless laughter was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. “There’s no point in struggling, Miss Downing. I have you now.” He dipped his head to nuzzle her neck. “Behave yourself, and perhaps I’ll reward you.”

  “Never!” Emma declared, but her objections didn’t carry as much weight as they might have done if she hadn’t been stroking her fingers down the back of his thigh, tickling him with her fingernails. “Surrender is for the weak, and I’m not…oh.” Her laughing protests were swallowed in a gasp. “Oh, my goodness.”

  Samuel cupped her breasts in his hands, his thumb teasing one nipple as his lips closed around the other one. He circled the swollen peak with his tongue before drawing it into his mouth and sucking, tormenting her with light strokes, easing back only when Emma was gasping.

  “Pretty.” Samuel flicked the edge of his fingernail over an eager nipple, watching her face as he crooned to her, low and wicked, his words both a tease and an in
vitation. “Yes, you like that. Do you need more? Beg me sweetly, and I’ll give you whatever you want.”

  He nuzzled her again, dragging his beard-roughened cheek over the tips of her breasts, a dark chuckle falling from his lips when she sank her fingers into his hair to still him and pressed her nipple against his mouth. He obliged her with a lingering lick before pulling away again. “I don’t hear a plea, Emma.”

  Emma arched up to catch his lower lip between her teeth, her gentle nibble distracting him as she dragged her hand down his chest to his stomach and brushed her fingers over his cock, standing at stiff attention against his belly. He was already aching, and when she teased her thumb over the swollen tip his hips jerked forward, thrusting his hard length into her fist.

  God, he wanted her so badly, wanted to keep thrusting until he came into that tight, warm hand, but there would be time for that later. Right now, he wanted to make Emma writhe and plead, and then he wanted to give her everything until she fell apart in his arms.

  He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pinned it to the bed, ignoring the insistent throbbing of his cock, and slipped his other hand between her legs.

  Emma gasped, her back arching as he dragged one fingertip through her satiny folds, gathering the moisture there.

  He stroked her again, then again until she was slick, and he’d coaxed the swollen nub at her core to rise, begging for another stroke of his fingers. “Spread your legs for me, Emma.”

  This time she did as he commanded at once, all teasing protests melting away as she opened herself to him.

  “Yes. God, yes, sweetheart.” Samuel shifted his thigh so it rested between hers, gritting his teeth to fight back his climax at the thought of holding her open and pleasuring her relentlessly until she came for him.

  He touched her lightly, delicately, his big, rough fingers parting her dainty pink flesh and revealing the pearl at her center, open and blossoming for him. “So eager. You’re beautiful like this, Emma.” He dragged the pad of his finger over her, lighter than a whisper.

  Emma’s back bowed at the caress, seeking more of his touch. So Samuel stroked her again, but too lightly to give her what she needed, his lips parting as she squirmed for him.

  “Do you need to come, sweetheart?” He was every bit as wicked as she’d accused him of being, because he loved this, loved teasing her, loved making her moan and beg. He could listen to her incoherent pleas forever.

  A broken sob left her lips. “Yes! Samuel, I…please, make me—”

  Samuel stroked her again, groaning when she arched against him, seeking his fingers. He was nearly as frenzied as she was, his cock harder than it had ever been, the tip weeping with his arousal. He allowed himself one desperate stroke down his length, but no more than that, certain another one would send him over the edge.

  He leaned over her heaving chest and lowered his mouth to her nipple, suckling her as he continued to brush his fingertips over her, again and again, but slowly, so slowly she began to thrash against the bed, every inch of her creamy skin flushed, his fingers slippery against her quivering flesh.

  And still, he kept her on the edge, panting with the effort of holding them both back. “God, look at you, sweetheart.” Samuel bit her earlobe as he whispered in her ear. “So needy, so desperate to come. I could watch you forever.”

  Another frustrated sob left Emma’s chest, and her hand slid down, slipping between her own thighs, tearing a groan from Samuel’s throat. The thought of her pleasuring herself, of working those pale, delicate fingers between her legs until she climaxed was so erotic, he was forced to clamp down hard on the base of his cock to keep from coming.

  But he wouldn’t allow it. He would be the one to give her pleasure.

  “No.” Samuel let out a possessive growl, took her hand and pinned it to the bed. “You’ll come at my hand only, Emma.”

  He slid his thigh from between her legs and worked his way down her body, dropping kisses over her sleek stomach as he went, lingering over her inner thighs, the skin there so soft, so impossibly soft, before at last his tongue found her hungry nub. He licked her there, once, then again, soft, quick flicks of his tongue.

  “Oh, oh, oh…” Emma cried out, bucking against him.

  Samuel held her legs open and pinned to the bed. “Dear God, you’re sweet.” Her taste was driving him mad. He licked and sucked, nearly snarling as he devoured her like a ravenous animal.

  “Please, please.” Emma pumped her hips against his mouth, her fingers twisting in his hair, pulling hard when he pointed his tongue and drove it into her. “Ah, yes, please, Samuel.”

  “That’s right, love. Beg for what you need.” Samuel was thrusting against the bed, so close to coming he could feel the orgasm tingling in his spine, but he held off, licking her with wild strokes until Emma’s entire body went taut.

  “Samuel.” His name on her lips was part whisper, part moan, her hips surging as a powerful orgasm thundered through her. Samuel closed his eyes and gritted his teeth and held back his own orgasm as he stroked her through hers.

  He stayed with her as she trembled against the bed, suckling her through her release until she let out a ragged sigh, and her fingers gentled in his hair. Samuel pressed a kiss to her thighs, one and then the other, but as surely as he’d tormented her, he’d tormented himself, and now he couldn’t wait any longer. He was desperate for release, and he needed to be inside her.

  He crawled back up her body and settled his hips between her legs. “I need you, sweetheart. Will you have me?”

  She might have teased him as mercilessly as he’d teased her, but Emma only smiled, her blue eyes soft. “Yes.”

  He hissed as she wrapped her long, slender fingers around his cock and drew her hand up his length. “I want you, Emma, more than I’ve ever wanted anyone.”

  “Then take me.” She tightened her legs around him, pressed his head to her weeping core, and moved her hips against his in invitation.

  He paused to press a kiss to her lips, and then he was sinking into her slick, welcoming heat, the pleasure so intense for a moment Samuel had to close his eyes against it. “Ah, God. Emma.”

  It was all he could do not to drive wildly into her, to seize the pleasure he’d been denying himself, but he forced himself to take slow, shallow thrusts, his jaw tight with the strain of holding back.

  If he could last long enough to make her come again…

  It took all the restraint he possessed, but Samuel took her with slow, gentle nudges until her breathing quickened, a telltale flush rose in her cheeks, and her mouth opened in a soft moan. “Come with me, Emma.”

  Another moan escaped, and she caught her lower lip in her teeth.

  Samuel’s gaze darted to her mouth, and he took her lips in a hot, deep kiss, quickening his pace until their hips were moving together in a timeless rhythm.

  Another thrust, then another, but just as Samuel was sure he would explode, Emma let out a soft cry, her neck arching as she came again in a rush of wet heat.

  The tight squeeze of her body around his cock tore a guttural moan from Samuel’s chest. He threw his head back and fell over the edge in a climax so intense his body shook with it, hot white flashing behind his closed eyes.

  They were both still panting when he gathered her against his chest and fell onto his back, taking her with him so she was sprawled on top of him. Once Emma had caught her breath, she struggled onto her elbows, and gazed down at him in wonder. “I—it’s never felt like that for me.”

  He reached up to cup her cheek in his palm. “Nor for me, Emma. Nor for me.”

  * * * *

  Making love was nothing at all like Emma had thought it would be. Making love with Samuel was everything she’d once dreamed it would be, but had long ago ceased hoping for.

  She’s heard enough from the courtesans at the Pink Pearl to know it wasn’t always like th
is with a man. Indeed, it seemed it was very rarely like this.

  Samuel was a consummate lover—Emma knew enough about the act to know that. He was both tender and wicked by turns, with a depth of passion another lady might find unusual in so solemn a gentleman.

  But not her. She’d always known it was there, like the spark of an ember just waiting for a chance to burst into flame. From the moment she’d met him she’d instinctively sensed the heat simmering just below his cool surface. Even when she’d despised him, or been furious with him, she’d still been drawn to that heat.

  Perhaps she’d known all along he’d be the man who’d melt the ice that imprisoned her heart.

  But it was more than that. What had unfolded between them, the passion, his whispered words of desire and adoration, had little to do with his skills as a lover.

  He’d said he loved her. He’d whispered those sacred words to her, and she’d longed to say them back to him. They’d hovered just at the edge of her tongue, but somehow, she hadn’t been able to speak them into reality.

  Yet she did love him. These stolen moments with him were everything to her.

  For all that she’d never believed love would be hers, her scarred heart had suddenly learned to beat again, and now it throbbed with a flood of love for him.

  Samuel shifted beside her in the bed. Emma’s fingers drifted over his chest, and he caught her hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to her fingertips. “Tell me about your scars, Emma.”

  Emma let out a long, slow breath. She never talked about her scars to anyone. Only Lady Clifford and Daniel knew what had really happened that night. What little Emma could remember she’d vowed to take to her grave.

  But now, as she lay safely in Samuel’s arms, the words began to fall from her lips. “I’ve only ever had one other lover.”

  His hand stilled in her hair. “I don’t understand. The Pink Pearl—”

  Emma pressed her fingers to his lips to hush him. “I did spend a year at the Pink Pearl, yes, but I never…I wasn’t like the other courtesans. I never, er…entertained any gentleman but one. Madame Marchand auctioned off my virginity to him, and I—he—I became his, after that.”