Page 64 of My Best Friend's Earl
Oliver glanced at Constance, who shook her head. “Nothing that should be put into writing, no. I hope the duchess feels better by tomorrow,” he said.
As soon as the door closed behind the footman, he turned to her.
She clasped her hands behind her back, pushing her breasts against the neckline of her gown as she swayed playfully from side to side. “Feel free to tell me I was right anytime the urge strikes you.”
Oliver leaned against the door and tried not to eye her like a hungry wolf. “You were right. Now, it seems we’re all alone in this cozy little cottage in the middle of nowhere.”
Her eyes widened comically. “With only one bed! If I’m not careful, I might let my base urges overwhelm decorum. We must find something to do with ourselves to pass the time.”
Desire thrummed through him, thick and insistent even as Oliver grinned at her playacting. “You mean, to distract ourselves from temptation? Is this when I’m supposed to nobly offer to sleep on the floor so you may have the bed?”
The undulation of her hips stole his attention as she stepped closer. “I couldn’t possibly sleep in that big bed all by myself, knowing you were on the cold stone floor.” One of her hands covered his thundering heart. “I’m sure I can trust you to not take advantage of me.” Constance grinned cheekily up at him.
“Ah, but can you be trusted to not take advantage of me?” he asked. If she took another step toward him, she’d feel exactly how her playful teasing affected him.
“I’m afraid I may not be able to help myself,” Constance murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth.
“Thank fuck for that,” he growled and wrapped her in his arms.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Drive him mad
Regret nothing
The few times she’d been with Walter, Constance had loved the thrill of skulking about with a man. The possibility of her parents catching her in a lie, or Walter’s landlady opening her door and finding them sneaking down the hall to his flat, had sent her pulse racing. However, when it came down to the act itself, she’d struggled to rein in her mind.
Not that Walter noticed. Sure, it had felt nice. If it didn’t make a body sing in such a way, sexual intercourse would likely have gone out of style eons ago, and the human race would be extinct. Even as her body enjoyed the experience, Constance’s mind wandered. For example, there were fuzzy memories of him on top of her, but she had a vivid recollection of the water stain on his ceiling that looked exactly like the outline of a duck.
Yet something magical happened when Oliver kissed her. Those random thoughts, reminders of things she needed to write down, but would ultimately forget—all of it disappeared, like a snuffed candle. Instead, images of things she wanted to do with him flooded her brain, The smell, sound, taste, and feel of him engulfed the rest of her.
But then Oliver pulled back and narrowed his eyes comically. “What was in the package from your cousin?”
Grinning, she pulled the two items from her pocket. There’d been no note, not that she needed one. A sea sponge with a length of thread attached, and a small vial of vinegar. At his look of confusion, she explained. “Pregnancy prevention. Since she assumed you wouldn’t have reason to carry a French letter on your person.”
Constance made a mental note to thank Caro the next time she saw her. And that was a reminder she knew she wouldn’t forget. No writing it on her list needed.
Oliver paled. “Damn, I hadn’t considered that.”
Of course he hadn’t. After all, he’d abstained for this long. Fearing by-blows was simply not within his sphere of experience.
“Now, didn’t I promise to show you how to give me pleasure?”
His smile bordered on feral. “I believe the exact promise was teaching me how to make you beg and scream my name.”
Under her skirts, slick heat dampened her inner thighs. “First step.” She nipped the hard point of his chin, breathing in the sharp citrus scent of his cologne, and pressed her body against his. “Strip. Let me see you.” One hand brushed against the hardness tenting his breeches.
Urgent noises escaped his throat as he threw his coat to the floor, followed by his cravat. During the spare seconds it took for Oliver to whip the linen shirt over his head, he acted as if it caused physical pain to not touch her.
But oh, the glorious relief of having all that skin at her fingertips. Constance nearly purred at the feel of him. Smooth and warm, with the occasional abrasion of wiry hair interrupting the gentle curves of muscle and bone. Oliver’s build was lean like a greyhound, all tightly coiled power.
When her fingers traced a line low across his belly, dipping into the waistband of his breeches, the muscles in his abdomen rippled in her wake.
Oliver gasped and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “I was not exaggerating when I warned I’d finish quickly. I’d rather not do so inside my clothing.”
Fevered ideas of ways to explore him, of teaching him how to please her, turned Connie’s core molten. She’d never thought of a man finding his pleasure as an exceptionally arousing image. Given how that confession affected her pulse, the idea of Oliver in the throes of passion was enough to make her lightheaded.
“We should accept that you’ll finish quickly this first time. As long as we both know that, there’s no embarrassment. I’m feeling rather smug that a brush of my fingertips is enough to make you warn me.” Constance tugged her hand free and backed away. “Do you think watching me will have the same effect as my touch?”
