Good lord. She was entirely at the mercy of her skilled, eager lover. Romance novel characters knew what was what, this was nothing short of magnificent.
“Finn,” she said, turning his name into a mewling plea as he nuzzled her inner thighs, kissing his way toward her mound.
Using both thumbs, he fully exposed her most secret flesh. Then he dragged his tongue from her back entrance to her clitoris.
Pippa moaned as a jolt of intense pleasure arched her right up off the bed. But he was ruthless, his tongue exploring and darting, flicking and laving, while his gaze remained locked with hers, seemingly measuring each response to the sinfully good play. No part of her pussy remained unplundered; he lavished attention on her clitoris before pushing his tongue inside her, making a sort of a humming sound as he lapped up her honey and went back for more. Finn even circled her back entrance, and a dark thrill shot through her at the forbidden act, making her writhe helplessly. So sensitive!
“Oh, you like that, Pippet?” he rasped, continuing to torment her with his tongue and lips. “One day I might do more. Would you like my finger in your backside? Perhaps a nice little jade dildo? Penetration is one thing, but double penetration…that is a delight for the truly wicked. And my Lady Knighton is a wicked one, isn’t she?”
He fastened his lips around her clitoris and sucked hard. Pippa came with a blinding rush, screaming her pleasure as the orgasm scooped her up and hurled her over a cliff of pure ecstasy. When at last the pulses eased, her hands scrabbled against his back, trying to pull him closer. “Finn, she begged. “Please. I need you inside me.”
“Yes,” he said. “Apologies, Pippet, this may hurt a bit.”
“I know. Hurry.”
But he didn’t hurry. In fact, Finn moved with agonizing slowness, bathing the head of his swollen cock in her copious wetness, nudging her entrance, penetrating her the barest way then retreating.
Frustrated beyond measure, Pippa slapped his shoulder.
Finn laughed raggedly. “Have mercy. I’m trying to learn…er, what works best. Don’t want to hurt you. Or come too soon.”
Unable to take any more teasing, Pippa reached down and took his cock in her hand, fitted it to her pussy entrance, then shoved her hips up brutally hard. The flash of pain made her wince, but Finn was inside her at last and oh God, that was just where he needed to be. Experimentally, she tilted her hips and lifted her legs so her heels rubbed against the back of his thighs. Ohhhhhhh yes. That angle, right there. “Much better.”
“Pippa,” he moaned as his hips jerked and his cock went even deeper. “You’re so tight. So hot. Feels so good…fuck.”
The awe and wonder in his voice, almost as though he’d never had a woman before, emboldened her. Well, he had called her wicked.
“Oh, you like your wife’s pussy, Lord Knighton?” she murmured in his ear as she nipped his neck. “I bet you can’t make her come again. No lover could be that talented. Not even in a novel…”
Finn thrust deeper and a wild cry tore from her throat at the avalanche of sensation; his chest hair abrading her nipples, his groin rubbing her clitoris, the way his cock stuffed her pussy full. Incredibly, that wondrous starburst of a feeling was building in her core again, and Pippa moved with him, her nails clawing his back, her thighs riding his hips as she reached for paradise. And then she was there, her pussy spasming around his cock and it felt even better than before, so good her head fell back and she screamed in abandoned bliss.
He snarled, and seconds later he yanked his cock from her pussy and coated her mound and lower belly in seed, before collapsing beside her on the bed.
Pippa froze.
Why had he withdrawn? What on earth was going on?
Finn had spoken so fiercely about how precious children were, she had just assumed they would begin trying for an heir. Unless…he didn’t think she would be a good mother?
And just like that her cares and the intrusive world returned with a resounding thud.
Chapter 10
Finn yawned and stretched, rotating his ankles until they clicked before rolling onto his side and burrowing further into his pillow. He and mornings had never been friends, and today he felt particularly reluctant to get up, after having the best sleep of his life.
Because you are wedded and bedded!
All the events of the previous day—and night—crashed into his brain and his eyes flew open. “Pippa?” he said, bolting upright in the bed that would forever be enshrined as a sacred location of two momentous first-time events: feasting on England’s sweetest pussy and losing his virginity.
“Over here.”
At the sight of his wife curled up on a chair in front of a stoked fire, quill in hand and a piece of parchment balancing on a book, hot color flooded his cheeks. He was officially the worst husband in history; bedding her then falling asleep without so much as a kiss goodnight or an offer to fetch a warm washcloth. What kind of man did that?
Finn bowed his head. “Viscount Knighton pleads guilty to multiple crimes, your honor. Messiness, allergy to mornings, and neglecting his new wife after a most magnificent evening. He is utterly repentant and hopes very much to atone.”
She snorted. “The court concedes mitigating circumstances. Anyone who has to manage lawyers, bankers, physicians, the Archbishop of Canterbury, a seriously ill father, a tearful mother, and my villainous grandmother, may rest without prejudice.”
“But I didn’t take care of you properly.”
“You took care of me in a most satisfactory fashion. One might almost say…very well,” Pippa replied, her cheeks pink. “Besides, I like to wake early and attend to correspondence. I’m just writing to Lilian with all the details of the wedding.”
“All the details?”
Pink darkened to scarlet. “I’ll save the juiciest gossip for when we take tea. If my sister applauds next time she sees you, you’ll know why.”
He nodded, although his cheeks were probably the same shade. No, darker. “Gabriel and I have made peace with the fact that you share a great many details. So, you are…well?”
“Under interrogation I might admit to being a bit tender in certain places. But I will freely declare hunger. It would be a good idea to feed me before I start gnawing on the furniture.”
Relieved to have a task to make up for his shocking lapse in hero behavior, Finn climbed out of bed and grabbed his heavy silk robe from the iron hook nearby. “Tea and toast? Or something more substantial? In all honesty I think I could empty the larder. It won’t be a storm or an earthquake London hears, but my stomach.”
“Something substantial. I am partial to sliced ham and coddled eggs. Oh, and sautéed potato. Toasted bread with butter and marmalade. And, ah…a pot of chocolate.”
He grinned. “That’s all?”
“It’s a trifle early for caramels,” she replied pertly.
“Blasphemy.”
Finn tugged on the bellpull. When a maid arrived, he requested a breakfast tray, then returned and sat down next to Pippa. Somehow, she looked even more beautiful this morning, with her hair unbound and rumpled, wearing just her spectacles, chemise, and a blue dressing gown.
“If you were wondering,” she added, “there has been no word about your father from the physicians. I’m of the opinion that no news is good news.”
“I’m trying not to think about him at all. But I wanted to thank you. For everything. I know yesterday was…a lot, but you were so stoic. Gabriel may gnash his teeth, but it is obvious I married the greatest Nash; Princess Pippet, long may she reign.”
Pippa patted his hand. “Yes, you did. And as I suspect you supervised the transformation of your father’s chamber and made me paper flowers…I wanted to express my thanks. I do not like theatrics, but small, personal gestures are most welcome. You made the wedding as lovely as it could be.”
“I would do anything to make you happy,” Finn murmured. “Anything at all.”
She blinked. “Ah…yes. Well. It’s a bit too so
on to start worshipping at the Pippa altar. Wait until you learn my darkest secrets; such as I transform into a selkie when the moon is full, and also require regular fresh corpses for my bloodthirsty pet tiger…Bubbles.”
“Bubbles?”
“I panicked. Names are hard. That is why I read the books rather than write them.”
Finn hesitated. They had always jested with one another, their own language of support and care in times of turmoil. Most often about their complicated families and the uncomfortable emotions they unleashed; she knew exactly how it felt to live under the boot of someone who wielded power like a hammer. But today her humor seemed…brittle. Was it just the fact that she’d woken up married in a strange house after a hasty bedchamber wedding? Or something more?
“Pippa…you would tell me if there was something on your mind, wouldn’t you? I mean, you can tell me anything. Ask me anything. I’m not going to say your ears are too delicate or some such horseshit. I know we shared a lot as friends, but I hope we can be, er…closer as husband and wife. Truly share the darkest secrets.”
She stared at him for a long moment. But just as she opened her mouth, there was a tap at the door and a muffled voice said, “Breakfast, my lord, my lady.”
“Hold that thought,” he said, hurrying over and opening it for the two footmen carrying trays of heavenly-scented food. After placing the trays on the low table in front of the fireplace, the footmen inclined their heads and swiftly departed.
“Mmmm,” said Pippa, picking up a warmed china plate and adding a large spoonful of coddled eggs, three pieces of thinly sliced ham, a small mountain of sautéed potato, and some toasted bread thickly spread with butter and orange marmalade. “Cold food is a crime, so let us eat.”
“May I pour you a cup of chocolate?”
“You may,” she replied, gracious as a queen.
They ate in silence, until he couldn’t eat another bite, yet Pippa still perused the trays. Damnation. Something was wrong. Picking at a tray to avoid conversation was a tactic he’d seen Pippa employ with her grandmother; he examined jacket sleeves when his father sailed past the point of unbearable.
Never had he thought she would do that with him, though.
Finn swallowed hard. “Pippa, just tell me. Whatever it is. No matter how delicate or taboo. I know there is something on your mind. No piece of ham is that interesting.”
She stilled, then put her plate down. “I did the picking thing.”
“You did,” he said lightly.
“There is something. Perhaps I am overthinking it. Perhaps it doesn’t matter at all and there is an excellent explanation. But last night when we were in bed, you—”
Another knock sounded, sharp this time, and Finn swore under his breath.
“Enter,” he barked.
A maid poked her head around the door. “Begging your pardon, my lord, my lady, but the physicians ask you to come at once.”
Icy cold tendrils shot down his spine and tangled around his heart.
No. Please God no.
“We’ll go together,” said Pippa, taking his hand and lacing her fingers with his, once again providing him strength.
Hand in hand, clad only in dressing gowns, they left his bedchamber and walked down the hallway to his father’s room. His temples dripped with sweat, the food he’d just eaten churned in his belly, and he had to force his feet onward; every step felt spiked yet slippery as though closer and closer to purgatory.
As soon as they entered the room, the stench of camphor and impending death hit him like a sickly slap. Smothering his senses. Paralyzing them.
No. Please God no.
His mother flew over to him, her face twisted in tearstained agony. “Finlay…do something. They say soon. Don’t let Pinehurst die. Help him.”
Finn staggered over to his father’s bedside, but even before he got near, he knew nothing could be done. That rattling, choking breathing…those hands twisted into claws, those sunken, unfocused eyes…
His vision grew blurry as he fell to his knees. Fuck. Fuck.
The final moments of this man, this heartless monster who had carelessly and cruelly hurt others his whole life, should not provoke any emotion other than relief and elation. And yet Finn found himself reaching for that twisted hand. Holding it.
Pinehurst stared at him, his gaze focusing momentarily. “Weak,” he hissed. “Be better.”
Then his father exhaled in a rush, his eyes closed, and his hand grew limp. One of the physicians leaped forward, bending down to place his ear next to the marquess’s mouth. Next, he snatched up Pinehurst’s wrist and pressed two fingers to it. But eventually, he gently set it back down.
“It is my sad duty to inform you, Lord Knighton, that your father the Marquess of Pinehurst has passed,” he said gravely. “May God have mercy on his soul.”
Evangeline screamed and collapsed onto the floor, her wails of grief echoing in the bedchamber and clawing at his ears.
Black dots danced in front of Finn’s eyes, and for a horrible moment he thought he might faint. He was cold. So damned cold, like he’d walked for hours in a snowstorm. Then slender arms wrapped around him, holding him tight.
“Breathe, my lord husband,” Pippa said, stroking his hair so soothingly he tilted his head to get closer. “In and out. In and out.”
But destiny and duty had caught him. He was heir no more, and soon would officially be Marquess of Pinehurst and all that entailed.
Oh fuck.
It was the calm before the mourning storm.
With more patience than she thought she possessed, Pippa stood on a cushioned stool in her mother-in-law’s bedchamber and held up her arms so the modiste could take measurements of her bust, waist, and hips. She would have been quite content with one black gown that could then be accidentally set on fire by a rogue spark, but as she had to wear black for the next three months before moving into the mauves, browns, grays and whites of half-mourning, she required more than that. Damn it all.
She utterly resented this display for the cretinous late marquess, as did poor Finn, who had lived under his control for so long. But ignoring propriety would only lead to gossip. Besides, at least it wasn’t a year as the dowager marchioness would have to do. Nor had they been forced to venture into town for their new wardrobe; the modiste had been delighted to make a house call for such an exalted lord’s widow.
“What do you think of this pattern, Pippa darling?” asked Evangeline, holding up a fashion plate.
“Lovely,” she replied, trying not to stare longingly at the door.
“I’ll have that in black, and perhaps lilac for my daughter-in-law—”
“Not lilac,” said Pippa shortly.
Evangeline looked at her in surprise. “You don’t like lilac? With your fair hair it would certainly suit.”
She shifted uncomfortably on the stool. Even the thought of wearing the color Grandmother wore each day like a badge of honor made her recoil. She needed no reminders of the dowager Lady Kingsford in her wardrobe. None.
“I would prefer white,” Pippa said, offering a smile to atone for her bluntness. “Perhaps with a violet trim?”
“Of course, madam, that is no trouble,” said the modiste smoothly, her eyes flint-hard. Such mettle was no doubt essential when catering to the whims of society ladies. “But one gown for half-mourning surely isn’t sufficient for a lady of your standing. The granddaughter of a society grande dame…sister to a duchess…a new marchioness…”
Gah. She could hardly say no thank you, I refuse to pretend mourn that bile-ridden skunk in front of someone who had loved the late Lord Pinehurst. Although quite why Evangeline did was a mystery. It wasn’t like he had loved her, or even treated her with consideration and civility. He’d been as cold and cruel toward her as he’d been toward Finn.
Then again, she couldn’t judge, not when her own sister remained utterly infatuated with someone who didn’t even make her come during their secret assignations. After the wedding cer
emony, Georgiana had taken her aside and guiltily confessed to succumbing to the gentleman’s pleas and meeting him once again. In a bloody coat room. The whole situation made her want to hunt this scoundrel down and string him up by the cock; hopefully Xavier and his mysterious contacts, whoever they were, would have a name soon. Gigi deserved respect. Tender care. And copious orgasms, damn it.
She could highly recommend a husband who provided all three. And listened to her point of view.
“Three black gowns, a white, a violet, and er…brown,” said Pippa reluctantly. “But not light brown, dark brown like chocolate. I have a fondness for the color.”
“Very good, my lady. It is no trouble to return should you discover that six gowns are grossly inadequate for your needs.”
She pursed her lips. Shopping pained at her at the best of times, but spending money on mourning and half-mourning gowns for Finn’s father grated her last nerve. The only benefit to all this nonsense was that she had a watertight excuse to decline party invitations and host no balls. If she could stretch it to midsummer, the ton would be retiring to their country estates, in which case she wouldn’t have to entertain at all.
Perfect.
Pippa glanced over at her mother-in-law as she stepped down from the stool. “Do you need any further gowns, Evangeline? I’m quite satisfied with six.”
The older woman sighed. “I think I have sufficient gowns until summer at least.”
The modiste looked utterly woebegone, but rallied herself, curtsied, and departed the chamber after promising to deliver the first black gowns in the morning.
Grateful her brief submission to society norms was over, Pippa slumped into the chair beside Evangeline. “How are you feeling after that?”
“I’m not sure,” said her mother-in-law. “The year is stretching ahead of me like an abyss. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with myself except wear black, which really won’t do anything to improve my mood.”
THE BEST MARQUESS: Wickedly Wed #2 Page 15