Page 54 of Deceiving an Earl
“Oliver, please,” Ellen warned. “You don’t want to know about him.”
“I want to know everything about you.”
She turned her head away. He could tell because the moon’s rays lit her cheekbone. “No, you don’t.”
He slid closer to her. She didn’t notice until she turned back to him. They were within touching distance. He wanted to remember what it was like to touch her, the feel of her skin on his.
He leaned forward until his lips were near her ear. They weren’t touching, but he could feel her trembling. She had stopped breathing. He could feel it suspended inside of her as if she were waiting.
“You were my first,” he whispered.
Her breath whooshed out of her, and he turned his head slightly until his lips brushed against hers.
“And you were the best. A memory I’ve always cherished.”
She drew in a breath, no doubt to set him straight, but he kissed her instead. Her lips were like heaven, warm and pliant and smooth, and that night came rushing back, every fumbling touch, every moan, every thrust, every kiss, everyI love you.
To his immense surprise she responded to him, clinging to him as she kissed him back. He drew her closer then stepped into the corner where he thought the balustrade met the edge of the house, but the balustrade ended and a set of stone steps descended into the complete darkness of the garden below.
He swooped her up in his arms, fighting with her voluminous skirts, and descended the steps, praying he wouldn’t trip and break both of their necks. He wanted her. His entire body was throbbing for her, and she was pliant in his arms, clinging as if she would drown without him and kissing him as if tomorrow did not exist.
And for him, nothing existed except Ellen and this moment in time.
The sound of the ball faded, the music a lovely backdrop as he leaned her against the side of the house and pressed against her while kissing her with the full force of his passion.
She moaned, driving his need higher as he fumbled with her skirts, raising them until he felt the smoothness of her inner thigh.
“Oliver,” she whispered.
He froze, thinking she would tell him to stop. He wanted her so badly that he thought he would expire from the need. But she didn’t tell him to stop. She cupped his cheeks and drew his head toward her to kiss him again as she raised a knee to wrap a leg around his waist.
“God,” he said between kisses. “My God.”
He’d imagined this only in his wildest dreams and had never thought he would have Ellen again.
He pulled back, his senses returning. “Let me take you home,” he said. “Let’s do this properly.”
She shook her head and cupped his cheeks with her hands. “I want this here and now. If we stop… I’m afraid to stop now.”
He leaned his forehead against hers. “I want to make love to you in a bed.”
She grinned and he was so reminded of the seventeen-year-old Ellen that his heart surged with the old love he had for her.
“For old time’s sake,” she said. “For the memories.”
She undid his breeches and released his throbbing manhood, and there was nothing Oliver could say after that. He wanted her so badly that he didn’t think he could wait until they reached her house.
“Come inside of me,” she whispered in his ear and he shuddered, testing her entrance, nearly weeping at how slick she was. He slid inside her, closing his eyes in ecstasy, biting back a moan. She was so tight, so wet, so ready for him.
She wrapped her other leg around him and he cupped her buttocks, sliding out, then thrusting back in. His only regret was that he wouldn’t last. He’d wanted this for far too long. He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted Ellen until he’d started kissing her.
She moved with him, her moans low as he pumped harder and harder. He was racing toward his completion but refused to end this without her. He stroked her clitoris, and she gasped loudly. Mindful that there was a ball just feet from them, he kissed her as her body jerked and arched and her passageway clamped around his cock. He swallowed her screams as he came inside her, pumping all his seed until he was wrung dry.
…
Ellen bore the full weight of Oliver’s heaving body as he tried to catch his breath. He was still inside her, still pulsating, and she was reeling from the emotions and sensations that had just ripped through her body.
She wanted to weep with both joy and mortification. She wanted to hold on to him and never let go. So many times she’d relived their first time lovemaking in the gazebo. So many times she’d cried remembering it, wanting Oliver back, wanting a life with him. Until she’d realized that she needed to put it behind her and move on with Arthur and Philip. But always the memories were there, just barely buried, haunting her.
